Page 93 of The Biting Bargain

Polly

"No,Grandma, there’s no way we can take any more…"

"Nonsense." Grandma cuts me off, shoving another stack of plastic containers into my arms. "This’ll be the day where I send my granddaughter and her man home hungry. You can freeze those steaks and eat ‘em later."

"Do you really think any of us could still be hungry?" I mutter, trying to balance the load while Grandma casts us both another suspicious look. As if she still can’t believe that I have an actual boyfriend. And brought him home to dinner.

"Thank you, it was a lovely evening, Mrs. Bukowski," Vincent says, curling his mouth into something that could be a smile.

"You’re welcome, dear." Grandma’s expression warms somewhat, or maybe she just frowns a little less. She practically forced him to eat two very rare steaks, and he took it like a champ.

You can't tell by looking at him either that Dad has poured him at least five whiskeys, and one of his home-brew.

Dad, by the way, has already said goodbye and gone to bed. With a headache, of course. Never drink with a vampire.

All in all, a rather successful first dinner with my family. Everyone is still alive.

"Okay, bye Grandma." I sway through the door, Vincent at my heels.

"You could’ve done a lot worse, granddaughter!" Grandma shouts behind me, before the door shuts.

* * *

"Hey,that’s not the way home," I say when the limousine pulls into the street that leads to my apartment.

"I know." Vincent is lounging next to me in the vast leather seats, typing on his phone.

Home has become a fluent definition. Most of the time I spend at his place. Most of my stuff migrated there over the weeks and months we’ve become a couple.

But I kept my apartment. For the most part because I like having my own space and being close to my girls. But also because I need it as a creative hideout.

My apartment has become the main center for my own business. Because, after a few weeks of not having to work anymore, because thanks to Vincent and my deal I’m kind of filthy rich myself now, I started an online shop to produce homemade lingerie for women in all shapes and sizes.

"Is it a surprise?" I ask and Vincent chuckles.

"Patience, dove." Then he takes my hand and breathes a kiss on my knuckles. "We’re almost there."

* * *

It’s a shop.

I blink, gasping when Vincent leads me through the door and the bells above the door are tingling.

It’s the little store I have passed on my way home so many times in the past. In fact, it’s exactly the little store I threw long, longing side-glances on my way home, dreaming about having my own store.

The interior has been recently renovated and looks like a social media channel for popcorn. The walls and floor are white, bright colors and cozy furniture dominate the room. The store counter is painted in a poppy pink, and when Vincent hits a light switch, a sign above the counter flares to life. I hold my breath.

"Poppy Panties" it reads in white and pink neon letters.

"The sign was your friends’ idea." Vincent smiles, hands in his pockets. I gasp.

"What the hell is this?"

"This is your store." Vincent steps closer. "Your girls and I thought it would be nice for you to have a headquarters for the little empire you’re building."

"But…"

I’m lost for words.

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