Page 20 of Graves

Dominic watches me, nodding to himself, like he’s noting which item I grabbed first before he grabs a container that has some kind of red burrito in it.

“The shop isn’t my only venture.”

“Oh?” I ask. “I was wondering about the nice outfits. Didn’t seem fitting for an auto repair shop owner.”

He nods as he takes a bite of his food, chewing fully before speaking.

“You’re very right. I also own a security company.”

“Like hired muscle men?” I ask.

“More like tech security. We mainly have contracts with the Department of Transportation and various high-profile companies that need to make sure their servers are protected. You wouldn’t believe how many people a day try to hack into the street cameras or a financial institution’s funds.”

“So, you’re basically a hero?” I tease with a wink.

A genuine laugh rips out of him, causing him to lean back in his seat as he shakes his head.

“I can honestly say I’ve never heard that one before.”

“No? Did I never thank you for being my hero in the bar that night?”

A look of irritation flickers across his face at the reminder before it soon passes.

“Don’t remind me about that guy. He got lucky.”

“He almost got dead.” I laugh. “Honestly, how have the cops not come knocking on your door?”

He shrugs. “Guess they have bigger things to focus their attention on.”

“True. Well, I’m glad they haven’t hauled you off in silver bracelets yet. I like having you around.”

I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. Fucking hell,Blake. Desperate much? Instead of looking spooked or turned off, though, he gives me a soft smile before he reaches his hand out across the table, lacing his fingers with mine.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I smile back at him, squeezing his hand but making no attempt to pull away as we begin eating our lunch one-handed.

“What about you?” he asks. “I’m assuming your passion in life isn’t bartending?”

I snort at that. “Yeah, definitely not. But it pays the bills.”

Dom nods at that. “What would you do? If you could do anything?”

I speak before I’m able to remind myself what a terrible idea it is.

“I want to be a social worker, one of the good ones. Place kids in good homes and make sure they’re safe.”

The air instantly thickens, and Dom’s body stills as his eyes focus on me.

Fuck. This is why I try to avoid this topic, because when I do, the question that always follows is?—

“So you were in foster care?” he asks.

Yup, that one.

I give him a short nod.

“Me too.”

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