Page 138 of Dark Love

“Everyone is talking about you.”

Not surprising. The tongues of gossips around here never idle.

“They say you’re seeing someone.” She stares at me with an intensity that tells me she’s pulling all the secrets from my soul. “What’s her name?”

“Dahlia.” Why did I say that? I never tell anyone but Payne and Barb about my personal affairs.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s a beautiful woman.”

“Well then, you’ll be bringing her over so Matthew and I can meet her. Shall we say Sunday at four?”

Sunday? Dinner? Four? Now isn’t the time to introduce her. “Things are too new. We’re just getting to know each other.” Why did I say that? I never make excuses.

With anyone but Louisella.

“Fine, then I’ll see you two in a month.” Louisella pats my shoulder and walks away.

There’s no arguing. It’s set in stone. Almost like the jeweled knife that’s been stuck in a board in the library since Louisella married Matthew all those years ago. The gems alone are probably worth millions, but not one of the street kids has ever touched it. No one messes with her.

How am I going to explain to Dahlia that she needs to be interrogated by a mob widow and a mercenary that I’m not related to?

That’s a problem for tomorrow. It’s bad enough I need to message her now.

Me: Something came up. I’m going to be busy for the rest of the day.

A response comes two seconds later.

Dahlia: Ok.

Dahlia: Did you eat your breakfast?

No anger. No complaints. Just concern.

Me: Sure did. The smoothie was great. Thank you.

Dahlia: I enjoyed my breakfast too.

Now isn’t the time to play games with her. Pull off the bandage.

Me: I might not be back until breakfast tomorrow.

Especially with Payne completely distracted by Imogene. I won’t have backup.

Dahlia: Oh ok.

I can practically feel the long sigh in that pause.

Me: Do you want anything special for breakfast?

Dahlia: You home safe.

How does such a small woman throw the strongest punches?

Me: Don’t worry. Nothing dangerous is happening today.

Which is actually the truth. This guy—I open the folder and look for his name—Eamon Griffon Plant, needs me to tread lightly and figure out just what mess I’m stepping into.

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