Page 15 of These Godly Lies
For a sliver of a moment, she thinks he’ll argue—that those stubborn defenses she quietly convinced him to shed will rise up stronger than ever. Instead, he looks around the kitchen, eyes lingering on the meal they’ve been preparing since morning. “So this is my home?”
It breaks her heart that he feels the need to ask. “Yes. For as long as you want it.”
He nods, tongue in his cheek. When he meets her eyes, there’s a determined edge to his stare. “Then I don’t want any more of your money.”
Anna blinks, her lips parting around a gentle protest, but he doesn’t give her the opportunity.
“If you pay me, it’s just a job that happens to come with meals and a roof,” he says, voice firm. “I don’t want that. Not anymore. I just—I want to be home for Christmas.” He takes a deep breath, swallowing, before he adds, “Please.”
Anna gives him a trembling smile, her eyes glassy. “Welcome home, then.”
When they’re in the living room, presents in their laps, Jiro hesitates. His eyes flit between Khiran and the red wrapping paper. As Anna predicted, he doesn’t refuse it, though she’s almost certain there would have been a snide remark or two had it not been for their conversation in the kitchen. He rips the gold ribbon, pulls back the paper, and pauses. In his hands is a stack of paper. Anna can make out Khiran’s loopy scrawl from the couch.
“The chef at a patisserie I frequent was kind enough to share some of his recipes,” Khiran explains, his fingers laced in his lap. “I took the liberty of translating them.”
Jiro is silent, removing the rest of the wrapping paper and thumbing through the pages with careful precision. Anna doesn’t miss the subtle tremble of his hand. “It’s French?”
Khiran breathes a laugh. “Yes. Considering the amount of macarons that mysteriously went missing, I took the risk of assuming you might have had a change of heart.”
Flushing, Jiro sets the bound pages on his lap. He glances at Anna, sees the warmth and happiness in her expression and swallows thickly before dropping his gaze to his lap. To his gift. “Thank you,” he mutters, the words thick and awkward but no less genuine. “That’s… really thoughtful.”
Khiran clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Some of the ingredients are harder to come by, but if you’re in need of something, I’ll do what I can to provide it.”
Jiro nods, shifting awkwardly. “I’m… gonna go check on the chicken.”
Once he’s left, Khiran releases a sigh. “At least he didn’t burn it.”
Anna shakes her head, placing a tender kiss in the hollow of his cheek. “It was perfect. I’m not sure I could have thought of something better suited.” She studies his face. “I had assumedyoursweet tooth was responsible for my missing macarons. How’d you know Jiro was the one who ate them?”
The corner of his lips twitch into a smile. “You savor your sweets. That box didn’t make it forty-eight hours. It was fairly easy to deduce.” He nods toward the thin gift in her lap. “Go on, then.”
Anna opens it slowly, peeling the paper with careful hands andgrowing pleasure. “It’s a record!” She beams up at him, the light in her eyes teasing. “Were you getting tired of the same ones?” They already had several they played regularly, but the music collection was vastly outnumbered by books.
He takes the album from her hands, grinning as he stands. “I’m afraid my motives were much more selfish.”
“Oh?” she asks, laughter coloring her voice.
He pulls the record from the sleeve, the black vinyl winking at her in the light. “Do you remember The Cotton Club?”
The club in New York. Where she danced with him in a dress made of silver beads and magic. Sometimes she thinks about that night and swears she can still remember the sound those beads made when scattered across the floor of her old flat. “Of course I do.”
He puts the record on, the empty static from the needle replaced with trilling notes from piano keys followed by a deep, crooning voice. “I’ve been thinking…”
Anna smiles. “Have you?”
“Yes.” He turns to her, taking her hand and coaxing her from the sofa. Anna lets him lead her to the center of the cozy living room. He adjusts his hold on her hand, his long fingers folding over hers while his other splays over her waist. “It’s been far too long since I’ve danced with you.”
Her cheek rests against his shoulder, her smile so wide she’s certain he must feel it. “I think I stepped on your toes at least five times that night.”
“I think I counted seven,” he teases, grinning against her crown. He shifts, giving her hand a squeeze and placing a kiss to her temple before dropping his voice to a murmur only she can hear. “Holding you is still worth every bit of pain.”
She holds him closer, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of their bodies swaying. When she opens them, she catches sight of Jiro hovering in the doorway—an odd expression creasing his brow. Anna pauses, lifting her head from Khiran’s shoulder. Jiro shifts his weight, awkwardly gesturing to the kitchen. “The chicken is done, I think. If you wanna check it?”
Anna lets her hand fall from Khiran’s shoulder, offering him a tender smile. “Save me another dance?”
The scoff that leaves him is warm. “As if I would have anyone else.”
She brightens, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing him. “I’ll go take a look,” she tells Jiro, motioning toward the sofa. “Why don’t you and Khiran set up one of the board games? Maybe Scrabble?”
