Page 33 of Lady and the Butcher
“You’re asking me to blow off work all day,” I said. “I have to teach a class tonight.”
“Reschedule,” he said. “Tell them the village is bigger than one day.”
“You really want to test my five-star Yelp reviews?”
“Say yes,” he repeated, patient to the point of cruelty. “Or don’t.”
He would do this on and on, I realized. He would stand there and let me wrestle myself into knots rather than push a finger into the tangle. He was letting me own the choice.
“I’ll have to disappoint people at the shop,” I said, thin.
“You’ll handle it.”
“I’ll handle it,” I echoed, and then the word that scared me and thrilled me in equal measure: “Yes.”
It left my mouth softer than I meant, but I didn’t take it back.
He nodded once, decision accepted, not celebrated.
The logistics steadied my hands. I typed fast—an Instagram story with a leafy background:Closed today—family obligations. Classes moved to Monday, same time. Check your inbox!I sent a group text to tonight’s class, added three heart emojis to soften the blow, and forwarded a curbside pickup list to my part-time cleaner with aDouble pay if you swing by? I owe you big.
“Family obligations,” he repeated, amused.
“It’s not entirely a lie,” I said, thumb hovering over Stephen’s contact. The dots of his avatar pulsed like judgment. “Your existence is very much a family obligation.”
“Don’t tell him,” Atticus said, calm and absolute.
“I wasn’t planning on sending him a selfie with your cleaver tattoo in the frame.”
“Don’t tell him,” he said again. “Not yet.”
Thenot yetthreaded through me like a wire.
“You do realize this is insane,” I said, even as I drafted a note to Alana—Can you cover tomorrow’s breastfeeding circle if I bribe you with cacao?—and hit send. “You are my brother’s friend. You were at his birthday party. You brought me to a penthouse and told me to shower with the city watching.”
He didn’t flinch. “It’s insane,” he said. “It’s also what you wanted.”
“I wanted a stranger,” I said before I could soften it. The admission sounded harsher out loud, and maybe more honest. “No names. No cross-pollination with my real life. Not this.”
“You wanted danger you could laminate,” he said. “Something you could put in a folder and tuck away. Safe. Contained. The universe didn’t cooperate.”
“So the universe is … you?”
“That’s not my religion,” he said lightly. “But for today, I’ll allow it.”
“Are you him?” The question had been stalking me. I let it step into daylight. “Are you the man from Alpha Mail?”
His gaze held. Outside, a tour boat carved a bright line through the water. Inside, I counted three beats of my own heart.
“I read your letter,” he said. “It reached me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one you get.”
Vague and maddening, just like I’d expected. “So not Alpha Mail?”
“I don’t wear their name,” he said. “I don’t take their assignments.”
