Page 104 of Beautiful Lies
“Accept the damn cookies,” Lars said quietly enough that Marie wouldn’t hear.
Obviously, I hadn’t gotten the hang of this yet. She was extending an olive branch and I was rejecting it. I wandered back into the kitchen. “I’d love some Christmas cookies.”
“Well, who wouldn’t?” She filled up a Christmas tin with an assortment of cookies, separating the layers with sheets of wax paper. I remembered her cookies from years ago when Ava used to bring them into school and share them with me at lunch. “Everyone loves my cookies. I use all butter and all good ingredients. Not like my sister’s cookies. You can’t use margarine and expect them to taste good.” She pulled a face as she fitted the lid on the container and pressed it into my hands.
“Thank you,” I said, taking it from her.
She nodded once. “You’re welcome.”
I turned to go, once again thinking we were done here. “Connor?”
“Yes?”
“Ava told me your father used to hit you and Killian. Is that true?”
I nodded, my back still turned to her. “It’s true.”
“Well… I guess he did get what he deserved, after all. Now make sure you keep the lid on the tin so the cookies don’t get stale. They should last you until Christmas.”
“Thank you.”
She followed me out to the door. “You don’t have a warmer coat?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Well, it’s freezing out there. And you’re still riding that motorcycle,” she said, eying the helmet in my hand. “The wind’s gonna cut right through that thin leather. Where are your gloves?”
“Stop fussing, Marie. The boy’s fine.”
I knew this was the kind of thing that drove Ava nuts, the way her mom was constantly nagging her about little things. But me? I loved it that she cared enough to nag me. I’d take this any day of the week over being ignored or treated like I was dirt under her shoe.
As I drove back to Williamsburg, the cold wind cutting through my leather jacket just like she said it would, I had a smile on my face. Maybe there was hope for us yet. Maybe Ava and I had a shot at something real and something good. I’d learned a lot over the past three weeks. I’d learned that telling the truth was easier than hiding behind secrets and lies. As it turned out, Ronan Shaughnessy had been a person of interest. When I turned over that information, the Feds acted like I’d given them an early Christmas present, and I readily agreed to testify against him. The only person I worried about was Keira, but Killian and I agreed that we’d do whatever it took to support her. We’d be the brothers she never had. We were her family now.
30
Ava
Iwatched Connor through the art gallery window. Was this how he used to feel when he watched my dance classes? On the outside looking in but seeing so much. There he was in a dark blue button-down shirt cuffed at the elbows, exposing the ink on his forearms and dark wash jeans, talking to Mr. Santos. I smiled, happy that my trip to our old high school had been worth it. I’d braved the metal detectors and security guard at the door, the hallway that still smelled like hormones and bleach, and the dingy beige walls to deliver a message to Connor’s Art teacher.
They shook hands, Connor nodding in agreement, a genuine smile on his face—God, I loved his smile—before Mr. Santos walked toward the door to leave. Connor’s gaze swung to the window and our eyes met through the glass. I lifted my hand, giving him a little wave. For a few moments, we just watched each other, frozen in time, the people milling around the gallery fading away.
I miss you. So much. My stomach swarmed with butterflies and I took deep breaths of menthol-cold air, trying to calm myself. It had only been three weeks. In the past, we’d gone weeks, months, years without being together. This should have been easy, but it wasn’t. Connor strode to the door and then he was outside, standing in front of me.
“Are you planning to come in?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I kind of like the view from out here.”
“I kind of like the view from out here too,” he said, his eyes raking over me, down my fishnet stocking-clad legs to the fuck-me stilettos on my feet. Overdressed for the occasion but underdressed for the weather. “What’s under this coat?” he asked, fingering the lapel of my black wool dress coat, a gift from my mom that had lived in my closet until tonight’s appearance.
“My birthday suit,” I said with a smile.
He blew out a breath and carved his hand through his hair before he guided me inside, into the warmth and chatter of the gallery, his hand on my lower back. I cursed the layers of clothing that prevented me from feeling the warmth of his hand on my skin. He led me through the gallery to a small room in the back.
I unbuttoned my coat and he helped me out of it and draped it over his leather jacket hanging on the back of a chair. His eyes darkened as I smoothed my hands over the red off-the-shoulder dress that hugged every curve of my body, the hemline hitting just above the knee.
“Ava…” He stopped and took a breath and let it out. “Fucking hell. This dress…” He scrubbed a hand over his face and stifled a groan. My lips, painted red, curved into a smile. “Did you wear this for me?”
“Maybe.” Of course, I wore it for him. I gripped my bottom lip between my teeth. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and carved a hand through his hair. Too bad. I wasn’t playing fair and I had no intention of making it easy on him. “Why don’t you show me the art now.”
