Page 67 of Ruthless Daddy
I glanced down at his boots. “You’re seriously wearing those in the snow?”
He laughed, for real. It was a short, sharp noise, and it landed on his face like he’d forgotten how to do it. “I have not yet been to a shoe shop. I am, as you say, behind the curve.”
I liked the sound of his accent, the way his vowels chewed up the English. “We’ll fix it,” I said. “Or you’ll slip and break your neck.”
He let that ride a few seconds, then said, “If I break my neck, you’ll have to carry me.”
“I don’t remember reading that in the contract.”
“Fine print,” he said. “Extremely small, tiny, fine print.”
“Written in invisible ink?”
“So youdidsee it!”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll carry you. But only if you buy me a sandwich first.”
He raised an eyebrow, the full mafioso effect. “You drive a hard bargain.”
I realized I was smiling, and not just a little. It felt unnatural on my face, like a muscle spasm, but I let it sit. The feeling was so good I almost didn’t recognize it.
We walked in silence for a while. At a footbridge, he stopped and leaned on the rail. The water below was shallow and slow, ice forming at the edges, making a dull skin that cracked with every gust. He stared at it for a long time. I did too.
I wondered if he was thinking about the risk—about the men in the city who would pay to see me dead, or the contract that might have attached itself to his own head for harboring me. Maybe he was just cold. He didn’t say.
I said, “You go on a lot of dates?”
He laughed, again. “Not exactly. Last I remember, Tonio—who is deeply concerned about the lack of my love life—tried to set me up with a girl who ran a goat farm. She had strong opinions.”
I laughed. “About goats?”
“About everything. But yes, a lot of feelings about goats.”
It was my turn to laugh.
“You didn’t hit it off?”
“I think the smell—”
Another snort from me. Then, something like sadness settled in my heart.
I kicked at a clump of ice. “I don’t remember how to do this.”
“Do what?”
I gestured at the sky, the path, the lake. “Dates. Normal life.”
He smiled. “You’re doing fine. Ten out of ten.”
“You don’t even know me,” I said, but the words came out soft.
He met my eyes. “That’s why we’re on a date. So that I can learn. It can’t be spanking all the time.”
“It doesn’t soundsobad,” I said.
He smiled.
We kept walking. A runner passed us, headphones in, face red with the effort of being alive. There was something comforting about being ignored, about not being a target, not even a point of interest.
