Page 115 of The Weight Of Falling
Aaron and Gideon return to the living room. Aaron hands me my mug of chamomile tea and Gideon returns to his quiet post in the armchair closest to the entrance.
“You’re not a piece on his board,” Joel says, his voice low. “He doesn’t get to write the ending.”
Gideon gives a small nod. “We keep Kenzie safe,” he says. “Until he runs out of moves.”
49
Tess is bent over the light table with a mechanical pencil tucked behind her ear, lining up a run of wedding anniversary cards. Sofia is at the foiling press, fingers steady on the lever, laying a kiss of gold over a line that reads,thank you for being my person. The studio smells like warm paper and coffee.
It’s been a week since the white queen showed up in my mailbox. The security measures the men put in place haven’t felt overwhelming or restrictive. There’s a new camera above the studio’s front door and a coded keypad on the back. If I leave for lunch, Tess or Sofia comes with me, along with the bodyguard Gideon hired, currently parked out front.
My friends are worried and hovering more than usual, but they trust their husbands to look out for me. They also think it’s cool (then feel guilty for thinking it) that I have my own bodyguard. I haven’t said anything to my parents. If my dad found out, he’d be tempted to put me in a nuclear bunker and slide dinner under the door. For now, it’s enough that only my close circle knows.
The buzzer goes off in the backroom. It’s our usual Wednesday delivery of envelope stock and mailers.
Sofia glances up from the press. “Want me to go?”
“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” I call over my shoulder, moving past our card racks.
The back entrance is ours alone, a steel door with a push bar that opens into a narrow corridor where we keep shipping supplies and a pegboard full of scissors.
“I’ll help,” Tess says, still writing. “Give me thirty seconds to finish this line.”
“No problem.”
My phone rings just before I reach the back hall. Joel. I smile before I even pick up. “Hey.”
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his voice deep and warm enough to send goosebumps prickling my skin. “I’m calling about dinner tonight.”
“What are you thinking. And if you say steak, I’m going to throw my phone against the wall.”
“I can’t imagine you throwing anything,” Joel says, laughing on the other end of the line. “Not even a temper tantrum.”
“Ha ha. How about a nice salad?”
“What? Why?” he chokes out.
“Because it’s healthy. And your heart wants healthy.”
“Would there be strips of steak in the salad?” Joel asks hopefully.
“How about tofu marinated in soy sauce so it looks like steak?”
There’s a suspicious pause. “But will it taste like steak?”
“If you use your imagination, it will.”
He groans. “Why do you do this to me?”
“Because, Joel Adams, I’m concerned about your heart,” I say pertly. “I’ve got a whole lifetime planned out for us.”
“If you’re so worried about my heart, then stop wearing those jeans that look like they’re painted on your legs.”
“Hey, I’m about to sign for a delivery. I better go.”
“Put me in your pocket while you do it,” he says. “This conversation has to be continued.”
“Bossy,” I murmur, chuckling.
