Page 59 of Cold as Stone
“There’s just so much to do. Devil didn’t exactly have the best filing system. The invoices, the inventory, the staff schedules…” She trails off as my fingers find a particularly stubborn knot. “That feels good.”
“I know.” I keep working through her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle pressure. “What else needs doing?”
“The beer taps are acting up again. The walk-in cooler is making a weird noise. And the front door still sticks. I should probably call a handyman, but?—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She pulls back to look at me. “Lee, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail down her neck. “Let me help you, Kya. Let me take care of some of this stuff so you can focus on the important things.”
“The bar is important?—”
“The bar is important,” I agree. “But so are you. And if you collapse from exhaustion, the bar doesn’t matter.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying my face. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to help? You don’t owe me anything.”
Her question catches me off guard. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because the answer is bigger and more complicated than I’m ready to voice.
“Because I care about you,” I say finally. “And watching you struggle when I can help makes me feel like a dick.”
“Lee—”
“Shh.” I press a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear, and she melts against me. “Let me fix your door. Let me look at the taps. Let me help.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Good.” I press another kiss to her neck, this one with just a hint of teeth. “Good girl.”
The praise makes her breath hitch, and I file that reaction away for later use.
The next two weeks are going to be hard, but fuck if they won’t also be educational.
I spend the next hour fixing everything I can on her list and a few things that aren’t. The door needed the hinges oiled. The kitchen taps required new washers, while the cooler needs a new gasket, which I order online and have expedited.
Kya’s moved out to the bar to watch me work, sipping her coffee and pretending not to glance my way. But I catch her staring more than once, her eyes lingering on my hands, my shoulders. Her gaze feels like a warm touch across my back whenever I reach for something.
“Enjoying the show?” I ask when I catch her staring for the third time.
Pink floods her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” I finish tightening the last connection on the beer tap and test it. Perfect flow, no foam. “Try this.”
I pour a small glass and hand it to her. She takes a sip, her eyes lighting up.
“That’s so much better. How did you?—“
“YouTube,” I admit with a grin. I lean against the bar, watching her face. “What time does Mercy get in?”
“Ten-thirty. Why?”
I check my watch. Two hours. Perfect.
“Because I’m taking you to breakfast. Real breakfast. With actual food groups and everything.”
