Page 37 of Sweet Sinners
I grab two bottles of sparkling water, busying myself by fetching glasses, ignoring the racing of my pulse.
"Did you hear me, Connor?" Her voice cuts again, sharper now, edged with impatience.
I half-turn, giving her a skeptical look. "Did you poison it, Cali?"
She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I wasn’t sure what you'd like, so I played it safe." She pauses, her expression softening slightly. "There’s a simple roll I usually get, teriyaki ramen, shrimp shumai—and something a little more adventurous if you're feeling brave." She arches a brow, challenging me. "You have options."
She says it like it's nothing. Like it's normal. Like she didn't just throw me completely off-balance with a simple, thoughtful gesture.
Slowly, I step toward her, unloading the takeout bag. Cali accepts the glass of sparkling water I hand her, her fingers brushing mine in a brief, charged moment before she nudges the shrimp shumai closer.
"Try it," she says, her voice dropping to something gentle yet insistent. Her eyes lock onto mine, steady, unwavering. "Trust me."
"I do," I mutter, reaching for the chopsticks, but my fingers betray me. The dull ache flares sharply, an unwanted reminder of just how broken these hands really are. It's not that I don't remember how to use chopsticks, I used to be good. Hell, better than good. But prison changed things. One finger nearly snapped in two, knuckles fractured and battered so many times they never quite healed right. My hands don’t always do what I need them to anymore.
Cali watches me struggle, her expression carefully neutral. Without a word, she quietly sets her chopsticks down and slides a small silver fork toward me. "There are forks, you know," she offers, the words soft enough not to bruise my pride.
But they still cut, deeper than I like. "I used to be good at this," I grind out, irritation and humiliation clashing in my tone as I stubbornly reposition the chopsticks again.
She hesitates, her eyes dropping briefly to my struggling fingers before she uncrosses her legs and slides gracefully off the island, stepping closer without a word. My breath catches as she reaches out, her fingers brushing mine—softly, carefully—adjusting my grip. Every instinctscreams at me to pull away, to insist I've got it handled, but I don’t move. I can’t.
Her touch is gentle but confident, guiding my fingers into place, steadying my grip around the dumpling. We dip it into the sauce together, her hand warm and reassuring against mine, her proximity close enough that her scent fills my lungs.
I bring the dumpling to my lips, the taste exploding across my tongue, rich, savory, heat and flavor blending perfectly. Damn. It’s good. So good I almost let out a groan, but I bite it back, swallowing hard instead.
When I glance at Cali, she’s watching me, a slow, genuine smile curving her lips.
"It doesn't matter how you eat the food," she says softly, a teasing lilt in her voice, eyes sparkling faintly with amusement. "As long as you enjoy it."
My throat tightens, her words settling into something deeper, something I don’t fully understand. I speak without thinking, the question slipping out before I can catch it. "Why are you being nice to me?"
Cali hesitates, eyes searching mine as if deciding how much truth to let slip. Then she exhales slowly, leaning one hip against the counter beside her, close enough I feel the warmth radiating from her skin, sinking into mine.
"I don't have to trust you, Connor," she says, voice layered with a sincerity that slips beneath my defenses. "But I don’t have to punish you, either."
I hold her gaze, feeling something loosen inside my chest.
Fair enough.
“You’ve been helping me,” she adds, eyes narrowing slightly, wary yet honest. “Just because you can. And…I appreciate it.”
“It’s not entirely selfless,” I admit, finally abandoning the chopsticks for the fork. Spearing a roll, I take a bite, nodding slowly. It’s simple, nothing special, but good. “Keeping busy helps me stay sane.”
She smirks, dipping her own sushi roll into a sauce that’s definitely not soy. “Well, maybe you should've been CEO. There's plenty to keep you busy.”
I watch her closely, captivated by how effortlessly she moves, how easily confidence rolls off her even beneath the weariness. Without thinking, I swipe her sauce, dunking my roll generously and popping it into my mouth. Flavor bursts on my tongue, sharp and sweet.
“Damn,” I murmur. “That’s better than soy sauce.”
She grins, her eyes glinting. “They’re best together.”
My gaze drifts over her face, noting the shadows beneath her eyes, the quiet fatigue she tries to mask. Something inside me clenches, the fierce desire to shoulder some of the burden she's carrying.
“You’re gonna handle this CEO thing just fine,” I say quietly, watching her carefully. “Give yourself time. Real progress isn't measured in weeks, it takes years.” I want her to hear me, truly hear me. Trapped within these walls, there’s little I can offer except words, but I can offer those freely. Remind her why she fights, why she can't give up.
She hesitates, eyes darkening with doubt. “People’s lives are in my hands, Connor. Their jobs. Their futures. I don’t get years. I barely get days. Every choice matters. I don’t have room to fuck up.”
I raise an eyebrow, half-teasing to lighten the moment. “I hope you don’t talk like that in the boardroom.”
