Page 20 of Cipher's Baby Girl
The image of Rash trying to "kick the ass" of someone like Cipher—a man who radiates lethal capability—almost makes me laugh despite my melancholy. “Thanks, Rash. I’ll keep that in mind."
Rash looks like he wants to say more, but Abuela returns, shooing him away from the workstation. "No distracting my assistant! Go, go. Come back when the food is ready."
He rises, giving me a look that clearly says this conversation isn't over. "I'll hold you to those empanadas, little sis." At the door, he pauses. "Oh, almost forgot why I came in. Angel and Sophie are looking for you. Something about coffee in the courtyard?"
My stomach flips nervously. I like Angel and Sophie, but social interactions still feel like navigating a minefield. Years of isolation left me with limited skills for casual conversation.
"Go," Abuela says, noticing my hesitation. "The empanadas can wait. Young women should talk with other young women, not old ladies in kitchens."
"But I like talking with you," I protest honestly.
She smiles, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. "And I like talking with you. But you need friends your age too. Go, go." She makes shooing motions with her hands. "But first, wash the flour off your face."
Five minutes later, I step into the small courtyard behind the kitchen. Angel and Sophie sit at the wrought iron table cradling coffee mugs. A third steaming mug waits for me at an empty chair.
"There she is!" Angel exclaims. "We were starting to think you were avoiding us."
"Sorry," I say, sliding into the empty seat. "I was helping Abuela with empanadas."
Sophie smiles. “I think she's adopted you."
"She's teaching me a lot," I say, wrapping my hands around the warm mug.
"You feeling okay?" Angel asks, her sharp eyes noting my moodiness.
“Fine," I reply, taking a small sip of coffee.
The women exchange a look I can't quite interpret. “So,” Angel asks with studied casualness, “how are things going with a certain intelligence officer?"
“You know, the brooding hottie who can't seem to take his eyes off you?" Sophie leans forward, eyes wide and focused, expression one of extreme nosiness.
My heart rate kicks up at the mention of Cipher, my fingers tightening around the mug. "He doesn't look at me," I protest. "He actively avoids me."
Angel laughs, the sound sharp and disbelieving. "Oh, honey. Just because you don't catch him looking doesn't mean it's not happening."
"I've seen the surveillance room," Sophie adds. "Those cameras see everything, and he watches those feeds all day long. Blade says there are more cameras now than there were a month ago, especially in areas where you spend time."
The thought of Cipher watching me through cameras sends a confusing mix of emotions through me—mostly excitement and longing. My skin prickles with awareness, imagining his eyes on me even now. "If he's interested in me, he has a funny way of showing it," I mutter, remembering the disgust on his face after our kiss.
Angel bites her bottom lip, her expression softening. "Cipher is... complicated. Even by Shadow Reapers' standards, which is saying something."
"What do you mean? Complicated how?” The question slips out before I can stop it, my curiosity overriding my usual caution.
The women exchange another pointed look. "Not our story to tell," Angel says finally. "But I will say this—he's been through things that would break most people. Things that did break people."
"He's not good in social situations,” Sophie adds. "Never has been, according to Blade. But that doesn't mean he doesn't feel things. He just...processes differently."
I trace the rim of my mug, considering their words. “Last night at Luna's wedding reception,” I begin hesitantly, "we…um, talked." I can't bring myself to tell them about the kiss, about the way his hands felt in my hair, his lips against my skin. The memory alone makes my body temperature rise, a flush spreading across my chest. "For a minute, I thought...but then he just shut down. He looks at me like I disgust him."
“It’s not disgust," Angel says confidently. “It’s fear."
I blink, confused. "Fear?”
I can’t imagine a huge, dangerous man like Cipher being afraid of anything.
“Of what?” I question. “Me?" The idea is absurd. I'm five-foot-nothing and have never thrown a punch in my life. Cipher could break me in half with his pinky fingers.
"Of feeling something," Sophie explains. "Of caring. Of letting someone in."
