Page 19 of The Fox

“Where?”

“How do you feel about farmer’s markets and picnics?”

I spin, a smile toying at my lips.

“I enjoy them.” A dark chuckle comes from him and I want to bottle it, so I’ll never lose the sound.

“You aren’t making it easy, are you, Amelia?”

I pivot on my toes, reaching for a brightly colored mug from the wall. “Nope. You are the one who decided to bang on my door this early on the weekend. This is what you get as a result.”

I hear him move behind me, and while he is close, he is respectful of my space.

A growl comes from him and his voice is rough. “I’ll take this version of you every day of the week. It’s adorable and my view right now is a fucking dream.”

I focus on making the coffee and not what he’s just said. I know what he sees. I know the mess my hair is, my nipples are protruding through the thin satin of my tank top. Bras are not meant for sleeping. I know the way my sleep shorts are rumpled, and how my sweater makes it look as if I have nothing underneath because of how long it is.

“So a picnic, you said?” My voice is a whisper against the sound of the coffee machine percolating.

“Yup. We’ll go to the farmer’s market and grab a few things before heading to the park for a picnic. If we leave now, we could beat the thunderstorms being forecasted later today.”

I add a little sugar to the now brewed coffee before ducking into the fridge, grabbing my favorite creamer. Once the color is perfect, I turn and rest against the counter, crossing my feet and bringing the cup to my lips. I smile, both at the smell of the grounds but also at the way Rhodes has made himself at home. In my home.

“Okay.” One sip, then another. “I’ll go get dressed and we can leave.”

I walk toward him, coffee in hand, and his eyes track me. I feel the way his gaze heats as I near, see the way his hand reaches for me, and I feel his fingers along my shoulder. I stop, turning slightly to meet him. His hand dances up toward my neck, firmly gripping my chin as he leans in for a kiss. It is slow, intentional, and full of promises I can’t put my faith in.

He pulls back, running his tongue on his lips. “Don’t take too long, baby. Throw on whatever makes you comfortable, okay?”

I step back, nodding. I leave him in my kitchen and head to my bedroom. I quickly change, opting for a pair of blue jeans and a simple green striped sweater. I throw a pair of canvas shoes on my feet before fixing my hair into a quick ponytail. I make my way back to him, seeing Lennon on the counter, staring Rhodes down. I wait, curious to what will happen. Lennon stretches, kneading the countertop with his fluffy paws. Rhodes clicks his tongue and Lennon chirps back before curling into his arms, completely on his back like the absolute baby he is.

I see you, Lennon.

I clear my throat and Rhodes spins, cradling Lennon against his chest and rubbing his head.

“Ready?”

“Let’s go.” Lennon leaps from his hold as Rhodes stands and reaches for my hand.

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The farmer’s market was much more enjoyable with Rhodes leading us from stall to stall. It’s nestled in the midst of high-rises and concrete, a contrast to the usual bustle of the city. While I am a regular at this market, I tend to be focused and don't take the time to slowly enjoy the various vendors. The market with Rhodes? Each stall meant a pause, a conversation, a consideration of the goods being sold. While my awareness is heightened, he seems at ease in this environment. Despite the fact I’ve nestled a few of my men within the market, and I have a knife on me, I wouldn’t put it past Medina to ruin this good thing.

We each bought a few things for our picnic, Rhodes insisting on grabbing a bottle of kombucha from a local vendor, before making our way to the small park nearby. There are clouds overhead, and the air is electric with the impending rain. Rhodes has our purchases in one hand and the other is holding mine. Our fingers are interlocked and it makes me feel secure. I’m carrying a large patchwork quilt he’d found in the back of his truck. It is weathered in a way that only time can do.

“What do you think about going down there?” Rhodes points to a spot at the bottom of a small hill, secluded from the walking path, and it gives us some privacy. It is perfect.

“Looks good to me.”

He pulls me gently, the squeeze of his fingers a silent grounding of my senses. The hill isn’t terribly steep and the spot is honestly perfect. I take my hand from his, fluffing the quilt out before letting it fall to the ground. Sitting down, my legs crossed, I stare up at him. Gods, Rhodes is the perfect example of a masterpiece. He places the bags down and plops down beside me, his body brushing mine.

I reach in the bag, immediately going for the bread baked with gouda and spinach. I also grab the plum jam Rhodes had found, planning on eating the two together. I hear the pop of the kombucha bottle and turn to face Rhodes.

He’s holding two plastic cups before me, his eyes sparkling. I don’t feel like Amelia Conte, head of the Mafia. I don’t feel like The Fox. I simply feel like a woman being thoughtfully chased by a man. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do. Ican’tlike it the way I do, but it is what it is. Rhodes makes me feel like a normal person and I am going to bask in his gaze.

I tear a piece off the loaf, dipping it in the jam before I hold it up to him.

“Want some?” I wait, holding my breath.

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