“Be the worst mob boss ever, clearly.” Looking over at me again, she says, “Do you know how old I was when Carly let me watch The Godfather?”
“I’m going to guess way too young.”
Laurel nods. “Nine. She had this boyfriend—too old for her, obviously—and he would come over after Nana and Granddad went to sleep, but I was a night owl and I always wanted to stay up with Carly. He brought it o
ver to watch with her, and I was just sort of there.”
“Aw.” I release her hand and drape my arm around her shoulder, tugging her close. “Always the afterthought, huh?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. Carly always put me first. She’d do anything for me. She’ll be a great mom. She’s already good at it and she doesn’t have any kids of her own.”
Her tone drops at the end of that statement, her mind clearly going back to her own problems.
If we can’t ignore them, maybe we can address them. “You don’t think you’ll be a good mom?”
“I don’t know. I hope I will be. It’s a big, scary job.”
At least on that, we agree. “Yeah, it’s pretty permanent.” Glancing at her to gauge her reaction, I ask, “Should we talk about that, or keep ignoring it for a while longer?”
“I think the second one, the ignoring it thing.”
Smiling faintly, I nod my head. “All right.”
Laurel falls quiet, looking around at the scenery as we continue on our way. Once we get to the private beach, she sees what I had set up ahead of our arrival. A large, wicker picnic basket sits atop a traditional checkered blanket. Laurel clasps her hands together, grinning up at me.
“A picnic?”
“Unless I have a Tommy gun stashed in there instead,” I tell her.
Delighted, she breaks away from my hold to go over and investigate. I follow a little slower, smiling as she drops to her knees and opens up the basket. I had Juanita pack it up, so everything is nice and neat. Laurel pulls out two plates, some napkins, two bottles of ice cold water, and a couple spoons. She looks so pretty with the emerald green water behind her, a few ducks floating along, minding their business. I can’t resist pulling out my phone, turning it sideways, and framing her up.
I take the picture, but I can’t see her face. I want to be able to see her smile in the days ahead, when I’m trying to remember why I’m working so hard when I don’t have to.
“Laurel,” I call, to get her attention.
Her head snaps up and she smiles, resting her hand on the picnic basket.
That one’s perfect. I nod my approval and she goes back to unpacking our lunch.
I look at the picture one more time, then I start to slide my phone back in my pocket, but I stop. Sin crosses my mind. I don’t want to play dirty as far as Laurel can see, but pissing off Sin can’t be a bad idea.
Well, I mean, it could, since he works for me. But in the spirit of competition, it can’t be a bad thing. It won’t hurt me if he’s a dick to Laurel because he’s jealous—and I know this will make him jealous. Sin is a possessive motherfucker, and if he really likes her, it has to be killing him that he’s competing with me, of all people.
Since Laurel is still busy, I open my message to Sin. Nothing new since this morning, but I’m not surprised. I have him running his ass off today. I attach the picture of Laurel smiling at me at our picnic lunch and send it without any accompanying text.
It’s petty as hell, but I’m playing to win here, I don’t give a fuck.
Now I tuck the phone back in my pocket and go over to join Laurel on the beach.
“These are still warm,” she marvels, lifting a sandwich out of an insulated bag. She puts one on my plate and hands it to me, then puts the second sandwich on her own plate. Inhaling and closing her eyes, she says, “Oh, this looks and smells so good.”
Juanita made roast chicken sandwiches served up on ciabatta bread—they are good. She also gave us an assortment of fruit—sliced strawberries, grapes, watermelon—and a container full of carrot sticks.
“My housekeeper keeps me fed, especially when I’m single. You met her, didn’t you?”
“Briefly. You’ll have to tell her thank you for me. This is a perfect picnic spread.”
“I’m glad you like it.”