Page 15 of Reaper & Ruin
I rolled my eyes each time they muttered sweet words or doled out affection, but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto my face. For the first time in days, I felt…okay. Not fixed, not whole, but okay. And maybe, just for now, that was enough.
As was the thought of real revenge.
Chapter Five, Precious
The second Heather shut the door behind her and headed out with Malivore, my heart kicked into overdrive. I had maybe fifteen minutes before she’d be back—twenty if Malivore decided to sniff every single patch of grass like it held the secrets of the universe. Either way, I needed to move fast.
This wasn’t just about making the room cozy or setting the mood. No, this was my chance to show Heather how I’d always wanted to treat her, the way she deserved to be treated. The fact that I had zero experience in this kind of thing?Irrelevant. I’d figure it out. I’d seen enough romantic movies to know the basics: fire, candles, blankets. Easy. Right?
I just needed to use her hours old reintroduction to society to make sure she knew how serious I was about her.
I had to show her that she wasmine, not just Atlas’. And I would be there for my woman until death. Even then, if I could claw my way out of hell, I would do it forher. I would do anything she neededwhenshe needed it.
First step this evening, the fire. It was already burning low, but that wasn’t good enough. I grabbed a few extra logs, nearly tripped over a stray pink shoe in the process, and fed them into the flames like my life depended on it. The fire roared back to life, casting flickering shadows across the room.
“Alright,” I muttered to myself, brushing off my hands. “Fire. Romantic. Check.”
Next, candles. I scoured the cabin like a man possessed, tearing open drawers and cabinets. Because Heather had stored them, there was no rhyme or reason to where they were kept—one was stuffed in a drawer with old receipts, another tucked behind a box of stale crackers. It didn’t matter. I found them all: lavender, vanilla, something citrusy that smelled faintly like cleaning spray. I lit them without hesitation and arranged them around the room. Did the scents clash? Absolutely. Did I care? Not at all. The warm glow was what mattered.
I was here to make the vibe good and eat pussy like it was sport. The rest were just schematics.
Blankets and cushions came next. I sprinted into the bedroom, yanked everything soft off the bed, and carried it all back to the couch. Hurrying, I dumped the pile onto the cushions and started arranging. I folded, fluffed, and piled until the couch looked like it had been swallowed by a mountain of fabric. If Heather didn’t find this romantic, at least she couldn’t complain about being uncomfortable.
I looked around to see what I needed next.
Flowers. I needed flowers. There was a vase of wildflowers in the bedroom, and I swiped the vase, carried it back to the living room, and set it on the coffee table. The pop of color was exactly what the room needed.
Next step; music. The atmosphere wasn’t complete without it. So I grabbed my phone, connected it to the TV, and scrolled through playlists until I found something soft and jazzy. The firstnotes played, and I exhaled in relief. It wasn’t too much—just enough to fill the space.
I stepped back, taking in the scene. The fire crackled warmly. Candles glowed softly. Blankets and cushions turned the couch into a cozy oasis. Flowers added a touch of elegance. Music tied it all together. It was almost perfect.
Almost.
We needed wine. I hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of white I’d been saving, and poured two glasses. I set them on the coffee table, adjusting them until they were just right.
Everything was ready.
Well, almost everything. I glanced down at my outfit—jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt. Not exactly the look I was going for. If I was doing this, I was doing it right.
I bolted to the bedroom, yanking off my shirt as I went. The closet wasn’t exactly stocked with romantic evening attire, but I found a crisp white button-down and a pair of dark suit pants that would do the job. I tugged them on, straightened my watch, and ran a hand through my dark hair, trying to tame it into something presentable.
I caught my reflection in the window and paused. My shirt was neat, my pants perfectly tailored, and my hair—surprisingly—looked good. I adjusted my collar, giving myself a final once-over.
“Alright,” I said softly, a nervous smile creeping onto my face. “You’ve got this.”
Atlas had gone to the store to stock up for us and grab the Chinese food Heather wanted for dinner. That meant I had at least an hour before his return to woo my girl the way I’d wanted to for years.
This was our first date. Even if she didn’t know it for the next fifteen minutes as she took her sweet time playing fetch with the dog.
The second Heather walked through the door, Malivore trotting in beside her, I felt my stomach twist into a knot. Her boots scuffed the floor as she stopped, her eyes scanning the room with the kind of look that could disarm a bomb—or blow it up entirely. It depended on the day with my girl, really.
“Did I die out there?” she asked, tilting her head. “Did I slip on some ice, crack my skull, and now I’m in some kind of weird afterlife where you’re… whatever this is? Romantic?”
“This is romance.” I nodded. “Our first date.”
“Or is it the setup for a girl next door porn?” She kicked off her boots. “Dibs on being the seedy landlord who offers to rail you instead of giving me rent money.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she held up a finger. “No, wait. You’d be too well-dressed for a porn star. You’re not wearing a slutty little number or just a pair of tight ass jeans.”
