Page 74 of Chicago Sin
“And, yes, I like that you’re dangerous. It’s a total turn-on.”
“You’re something, Flowers.” I stroke her cheek with my thumb.
She backs up. “So can you be dangerous to my mice?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, sure. You got traps?”
“Um, yes. I bought some, but I couldn’t bring myself to use them because I can’t face cleaning up dead mice. Same reason I haven’t used poison.”
My lips twitch. Holy shit. I may actually smile. Didn’t know my mouth remembered how. “So you’re just putting up with the mice instead.”
She nods. “Exactly.”
“I’ll take care of it for you, doll. I’m your guy. You won’t have to worry about them again.”
And as I go back to cleaning out the cooler, I notice it again: that lightness around me suddenly.
Like there’s a reason to go on living.
I dare say I’m starting to feel normal again. If that’s even possible.
“Hey, Flowers!” I call out from the cooler, feeling it’s time to face something else I’ve been avoiding since getting out of prison. I thought it would be a long time until I’d be in the mood again for it, but I’m suddenly feeling now’s as good a time as any.
She opens up the cooler and leans against the frame. “You rang?” Her smile is so damn big on her face. I could stare at it all day.
“It’s Sunday.”
She nods. “We’ve established that already.”
“Take the day off.”
“I can’t. I told you?—”
I reach into my wallet, pull out a hundred-dollar bill, and place it into her hand. “Take this as paid time off and come with me to church.”
I need to expunge my sins. To make myself clean to be worthy of this treasure of a woman. I don’t know if that shit is real, but my ma believes in it. She lights a candle for me every time she goes to mass–twice a week.
It may not be real, but it seems like a nod in that direction is warranted. For Hannah.
Her eyes widen. “Church?”
“It’s Sunday. Church.”
“Now?”
I nod. “Mass is already over, but the doors will be open.”
She looks down at her clothing. “I need to go home and change.”
I take her by the hand and lead her away from the cooler. “Trust me. After the secrets and confessions this church has heard, the last thing we’ll be judged over is our clothing. Besides,” I press my lips to her forehead, “you’re beautiful.”
“I didn’t figure you for a church man.”
“I used to be,” I confess. “It’s been a long time. But it’s long overdue. Plus, I promised Father Fantoni I’d come by, and I haven’t yet. I may be a sinner, but I’m a man of my word.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Okay, let me go make sure we’re locked in the front.” She hurries to the front door and freezes with a gasp. I instantly reach for my gun but then realize it’s probably just another mouse.
“Armando,” she whispers, fear lacing her voice.
