Page 142 of Veil of Obsession
I walk past the booths, motioning her to follow, stopping just short of the jukebox. “The diner. I bought it.”
She blinks. “Youwhat?”
I turn to face her, watching it land. “This is ours now. I’ve been setting things up the last few days. Not just this place—a house nearby too. Quiet, off-grid. Clean titles, clean money, clean start.”
She stares at me wide-eyed, like I’ve lost my mind. “You bought a diner.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I bought a diner. I figured you’d like it. Somewhere normal. Somewhere we could just…exist.”
Her jaw tics. She looks away, like if she keeps her eyes on me too long, she’ll believe it. And belief right now? That’s dangerous.
I step closer.
“And I’m sorry,” I add, voice low. “For snapping at you the other night. For being…” I exhale. “All of it.”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just stands there, chest rising and falling, like she’s trying to hold in something that wants to break out.
Then her eyes soften and she exhales. “You’re still an asshole.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But I’m your asshole.”
She lets out a half-laugh, like it catches her off-guard. Setting Frankie’s car seat down on a table nearby, I make sure our precious angel is still sleeping.
I slide a quarter into the jukebox and let the music drift through the room—soft, jazzy, timeless. Then I hold out my hand.
“Dance with me.”
She gives me that look. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Seriously.”
“Why?” she asks, quiet again.
I meet her eyes. “Because I don’t know how much time we’ve got left before the world finds us again. And I don’t want to waste it.”
She hesitates. Then slowly, warily, she steps into my arms.
I pull her close. She fits against me like she always has, like chaos pressed against calm, fire curled around a blade. We start to sway. The diner blurs around us, the rain on the windows catching the light like it’s trying to turn pain into something pretty.
Her head rests against my shoulder. I tighten my hold. Not too much. Just enough.
“I’m still mad at you,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I’m mad at me too.”
She breathes out something like a laugh. Or maybe it’s a sob. Doesn’t matter. I let the music carry us, slow and simple, as if the two of us didn’t leave a war behind in New York, as if I didn’t watch blood pool under Ma’s body, as if loving her didn’t mean burning every bridge I ever built.
We’re just two people. Dancing. Alive. Still here.
She leans up and presses her lips to my jaw, soft and unsure. “I’m scared.”
I kiss her temple. “Me too.”
And then we keep dancing.
Because for now—just for this moment—we still can.
We sitin the quiet booth by the window, the orange-pink haze of dawn casting soft shadows over the blue leather seats and cherrywood. She’s still staring at me wide-eyed, her coffee untouched between her palms.
