Throne of Scars (Lost Kings MC 20)

She tilts her head.

I’d rather not mention that I flipped through her bills when I was at her apartment the other day, but she’ll find out eventually. “To be honest, I looked through some of the stuff on your desk when I went to your apartment.”

There go her cheeks getting all red again. Might as well disclose everything.

“Took your hospital bill. Club should be covering that one, anyway,” I growl.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. “Fair enough,” she finally mutters.

Now she’s gettin’ it.

“I didn’t do this on purpose so you’d take care of me, you know.”

Or maybe she’s still not hearing me.

“No shit, buttercup. Trappin’ an old man who works part-time as a janitor is a piss-poor plan. You’re smarter than that.”

“Gray—”

“Here we are.” The waiter sets our desserts on the table and returns a few seconds later with our coffee. “Anything else?”

“Just the check.”

“Sure thing.”

Like before, Serena hurries to take a huge bite of the cake. “Oh my God,” she moans. “It’s so good.”

Chuckling, I fix my coffee, stirring it slowly while I watch her alternate between forkfuls of cake and spoonfuls of the dark red gelato.

“Do they go well together?”

“Yes. Perfectly.” She nudges the dishes in my direction. “Try it?”

“I’m good.” I hold up my hand. “If you want some of my dessert, say so now, though.” I tap my fork against my plate.

She takes a sip of water. “I have more than enough here.”

I can’t get my fill of watching the delight she takes in enjoying something so simple. Two things that, to me, don’t seem to go together.

Kind of like us.

After paying the check, we step outside. The cool night air washes over us and I take a deep breath. Hadn’t realized how stuffy it felt inside until now.

“Can we walk a little?” Serena asks. “Down Main Street.”

“I don’t think anything’s open this late.”

“I just want to look. I haven’t really poked around here in a while.”

Johnsonville isn’t a particularly prosperous area, but downtown is a quaint collection of small businesses and offices. Reminds me of something out of a history book about the Fifties.

I glance down at her shoes. “Sure you don’t mind walking in those?”

“I’m fine.”

I take her hand and we stroll at a slow pace. As we approach a tea shop, she stops to stare in the window. “Emily’s a tea drinker. I’ll have to stop by when they’re open and get her something as a thank you.”

I tuck that bit of information away for the future. “She’s a good friend.”

“She is. I’m sorry if she—”

“Nope. No need to apologize. I’d probably feel the same way if I were in her shoes.” We continue walking. “How’d Libby feel about you moving in?”

“Already trying to steal my boots.” She laughs. “Thank God we’re not the same size. I’m kind of stingy about sharing shoes.” Her steps falter. “I never really had my own. My mom would grab hand-me-downs from random people when I was a kid. Half the time, they wouldn’t fit right or would already be falling apart, so I’d get blisters and get made fun of. When I was older, we were the same size, so she’d let me borrow hers. But I always hated it.” She shrugs.

“I don’t think that’s stingy.” Even as broke and abusive as my parents could be, we always had the basics.

“Maybe not, but I love Libby. I don’t want to be mean about it. Maybe I’ll save up and buy her a pair of her own Doc Martens for her birthday or something.”

“That’s sweet.” I lean in and kiss her forehead.

We cross the near-empty street to the opposite sidewalk and start walking back to the restaurant.

The wide picture window of the florist where I bought her sunflowers earlier is dark now. Strike Back is only a few doors down. Also dark.

“Oh, this is your place.” Serena stops and nods toward Strike Back.

“That’s it.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s good. It’s a small gym, so you get to know the regulars pretty well. It’s just Sully, his brother, and his fiancée working there, so I’m actually helping him out. The schedule is flexible, and he lets me use whatever equipment I want when it’s slow.”

“Sounds like a good situation.”

Nothing I did on my own, since Wrath’s the one who got me the job, but I don’t feel like getting into that now.

She turns to face me and brushes her fingers over my shoulder. “Do you think it would be okay if I stopped by to have lunch with you one day?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Let me know your hours and when would be best.”

“All right.” I tug her toward the parking lot. I’m not ready to say goodnight yet. But the evening’s been perfect so far. I don’t want to push when she’s still skittish but slowly warming up again.