Page 84 of Entwined

“What is this place?”

“Come, you’ll see.” He takes my hand in his, leading me up the steps. It’s then I read the plaque next to the door. “Central London Shelter for the Needy.”

“Christos?”

He pulls open the door, ushering me through. I follow him down and hall and down a quick flight of steps. “Everyone this is Jessie. Jessie this is well—everyone.” He grabs an apron from a hook putting it on and holds another one out to me. “What, are you afraid of a little work?”

I grab the apron from him, “You don’t know the meaning of real work.”

“Oh?” He cocks an eyebrow, “I’ll bet that I can chop vegetables faster.”

“No. You’d lose a finger and bleed all over the food.”

“You’re so much fun.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“I did. So, what? What are you going to do about it?”

“Oh, it’s so on,” I breathe.

“I hope so,” he smirks.

“I was talking about the cooking, not us.”

“We’ll see.”

Ignoring him, I walk forward asking what I can do to help. My empty stomach growls at the smell of baking bread and freshly chopped vegetables. “What are we making?”

“Chicken pot-pie. Here, you can help roll the dough out and line the pans so we can add the filling.”

“Sure.” I answer with a smile, noticing Christos took a spot on the opposite side of the kitchen’s work table. He smiles, chatting easily as if he’s done this dozens of times.

“Does he come here a lot?” I ask, the cook who hands me a rolling pin coated with flour.

“Weekly. His foundation kept the doors open here. We ran out of funding last year. Then, Mr. Devillo showed up with a check and his bare hands. He was a horrible prep cook at first, almost chopped his finger off…”

My fit of laughter cuts her off. “Inside joke. I swear.”

Christos looks over, wondering what I’m finding so hilarious. I grin, shrugging, then turn away feeling my cheeks heat.

Damn him.

I didn’t want to say anything because then he’d know I noticed. He’s wearing jeans and regular shirt. It makes him approachable; human. He’s no longer the devil who held me captive. He’s the golden one—the man I always thought he could be.

Or is this just the next move in his game? A trick to make me believe he’s not the same man who did such unspeakable things to both my body and my mind?

“Jessie? We can eat now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. We helped make thirty pies. It’s going to be a full crowd, so we should get a plate and sit while we can.”

“No. I couldn’t. I can wait. I won’t take food from someone that has none.”

“Ah, Jessie. My sweet little bird. Theos, I’ve missed you. Come, we’ll eat elsewhere.”

He leads me out of the kitchen and I pass twenty faces waiting in line for a hot meal. Some are old and weary, others young but broken. I stop, opening my backpack digging around for my wallet. “Here.” I hold out what I have to a woman about my age holding a sleeping toddler over her shoulder.

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