Page 52 of Siren's Heart

"Nothing to thank me for," I insist. "Ignore the idiots."

"I'll try my best." Her promise hangs heavy in the small metal cabin. She snuggles even deeper into my side as the elevator descends, her arms tight around me as we walk through the underground garage. It’s a bit difficult to walk in a two-arm hug, though, so she relents, and we walk over arm-in-arm to Asher's car. Asher's starting to get annoyed for having to be driven around by Kayla or having to call taxis, but well, that's his fault in my book, and I enjoy being able to remind him of that. He should have convinced Van to rent me a car as well.

As always, I open the car door for her, and she climbs into the passenger seat, her dress riding up her thigh dangerously high. Well, dangerous for me; the thoughts and memories running through my head are a bit… distracting.

I round the car and jump into the driver's seat, forcing myself to look anywhere but her thighs. But in a moment of weakness, I can’t help but glance over.

"You know, you could just look," she says with a giggle, lifting her skirt only a few more centimeters to reveal her panties. Fuck. They're pastel pink with lace and sexy as fuck.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my cock already half-hard. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" I say, but ‘Holy shit, I need to marry this woman’ is what runs through my head.

And I do. Preferably immediately, but I'll settle for 'someday.’

"You mentioned as much," she answers with a happy chuckle. I clear my throat and lean my forehead against the steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths until my cock calms down, then point at the cotton bag in front of her feet.

"Snacks," I croak out and try to think of anything besides folding down her seat and fucking her right here in the car.

Puppies. Our next training session. Asher. It takes me a minute until I'm completely clear in the head again, and I finally flip the key to start the car.

Throughout the car ride, Millie shares the snacks with me. She feeds me grapes, cheese, and crackers so I can eat while driving, the earlier tension completely at the back of her mind as we joke about the headlines our best friends currently make.

"Did you see that one post where they claimed that Asher's a submissive and Kayla his dominatrix?" Millie asks, the question almost drowning in her giggle. I perk up.

"No, I haven’t. But please, please send it to me because I promise you, Asher will not hear the end of it." I need to send that article to Summer. Then again, knowing her, she’s already found it and is currently thinking of the best ways to rub it under his nose.

Millie promises to forward it, and immediately, I feel my phone buzz with her message as I park the car. She doesn't know it, but she's the only one besides my family whose message will come through with a buzz, no matter what.

I adore that we’ve turned to the little routine of Millie waiting patiently as I round the car and open her door. Her legs bounce happily when I open the door and her dress rides up her thighs as she turns in the seat to climb out of the car, granting me another flash of her underwear. The groan that comes from my throat is completely involuntary, but it makes her laugh coyly as she pulls it down again.

"Such a tease," I mumble, kissing her temple as she slides her hand into mine. Instead of walking, she all but skips beside me for the short distance to the alley that leads to Mary's pottery shop. Both of our eyes find the spot we made out at last week, then to each other, grins threatening to break our faces into two.

"Hi there, you two lovebirds," Mary greets us warmly when her front door chimes, alerting her to our presence. "Go on ahead," she points towards an empty table to our right. "I'll be right with you."

We do as she says, sitting opposite each other. Just like all the other times we did, her foot immediately finds my calf, a warm presence as we wait for Mary to come over. I watch her as she lets her eyes wander over all the shelves with Mary’s creations, curiosity shining in her eyes.

I still can’t believe that I get to call her mine. Whenever I remember, it absolutely blows my mind that I’m this lucky.

"Look at that one." Millie points, and when I follow her eyes, I see a cup formed like a frog. When I look back at her, I see her eyes sparkling with excitement. "That's so cute. Or that one! Oh my God, I could buy the whole shelf."

I would buy it for her in a heartbeat. Just the image: Millie waking up in the morning, walking to the kitchen disheveled, her face breaking into a smile when she sees the damn frog mug? I’m sold. Give me all of them.

But before I can put the offer on the table, Mary rounds the corner with a tray holding our creations and a bunch of little jars and brushes.

"So," she declares and heaves it on the table, motioning for me to sit back down when I jump up to help. "Do you two have any ideas on your colors already?"

She looks at Millie, who has a very precise idea of how she wants her mug to look once it’s finished. She pulls out her phone and shows Mary a few pictures, and Mary takes the time to explain what will and what will not work. After a bit of back and forth, she places a few shades of pinks, peaches, and gold in front of her, explaining in detail what each one does.

When she looks at me, I ask for blue, turquoise, and purple. I have no vision yet, but I’m sure it’ll come to me soon enough. Once the colors are out of the way, she sets down a bunch of brushes and some other funny-looking tools.

"You can use those to carve into your clay," Mary says, reaching for a bleak mug behind her to show us how she shaves off a small path. Millie hangs on her every word, leaning her head on her hands, her eyes intent, showing that she’s listening intently.

"Well, that is it,” Mary announces and gets up. “Holler if you have questions. I need to go on and get some work done. My bills aren’t paying themselves," Mary says and shoots us a warm grin before returning to her workshop.

"Does she sell those mugs online?" Millie asks, taking out her phone to look it up. After a few swipes and taps, she starts nodding slightly. Then she frowns.

I lean forward, careful not to tip my mug over, lifting my hand to smooth out the wrinkle between her eyebrows with my finger, worry gripping my heart like an ice fist. "What is it?"

"I just checked her social media," she mumbles, tilting her head. "And I found a campaign to gather funds to keep her workshop running." She bites her lip and scrolls further, a glossy layer over her pupils. "Apparently, she started this studio with her husband, who died of cancer five years ago." She sniffs, closes her phone, and puts it away before her sad eyes meet mine. "Luca, that's so sad."

---