“Is this a trick?” I breathed out in a tiny voice.
He looked inscrutable, but he shook his head, softly replying, “No, Vixen. It’s not.”
I still hesitated, though. I couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth. My instincts said he was. Nixon wouldn’t play around with me in this manner; he wasn’t cruel in that way, but then what the hell did I know these days? If someone was capable of surprising me, it was him.
“Go on,” he insisted.
I didn’t have a choice, and I didn’t want to miss this opportunity, either.
I looked down the street and took my first step. I stared down at my heels on the sidewalk, absorbed in the unfamiliar sound of it clacking on the asphalt.
I looked behind me after my second step and into Nixon’s eyes. He looked stiff. He slowly removed his hands from his pockets and settled them against his sides. Kind of like he was getting ready to chase me. His fingers twitched when I took another step, and his jaw tensed impossibly.
I suddenly realized what was wrong.
He was watching me leave and it was going against his instincts. He could hardly handle it. The distance grew slowly between us. I looked around, eyeing the streets, looking up at the storefront buildings in search of any cameras.
He was being twitchy for a reason. Like he didn’t have the surveillance he did in the hotel.
If I ran from him now, he could chase me down. But if I slowly distanced myself enough to run and have that head start, he might have a harder time finding me.
I wasn’t saying he wouldn’t ultimately find me. Just that it would be harder for him to, especially as the night crept in.
No, getting away from Nixon needed more planning. More work. I needed to have a network – kinda like the underground railroad – and that just wasn’t possible.
But I would take this. The fresh air in my lungs would never be taken for granted again. This was the most pleasing change in my routine.
I kept walking, and after several minutes of being cautious, I finally relaxed and stopped looking back. I didn’t need to. I knew Nixon was watching. I could practically feel the heat of his stare. I wondered how fast his heart was beating. If it killed him to see me grow smaller before his eyes.
I took another deep breath and kept going.
The island was so touristy and pretty. I felt like I was walking down a street in Amsterdam than one in the harsh Gulf Islands. I’d heard Nixon on the phone many times, talking through renovations of local stores. I could see where he spent his money. The place was in extraordinary shape. I passed a few restaurants filled to the brim with diners. I even walked through a throng of guys leaving a café. They’d stopped to stare at me, one whistling lightly under his breath.
It made me smile.
I hadn’t felt this normal in so long.
I followed the scent of dough all the way to the bakery. It was the very last store at the end of the street, a tiny little place with a cute green awning and the golden lettered name “Doughy Delights” on the front. The streetlights ended just above the store, and beyond it bordered an endless dark forest.
I rubbed my arms from the chill in the air as I approached the entrance door. It was just before closing when I entered. I scanned the empty tables before my eyes connected to the front counter where a chair was filled with…
I paused. “Flynn?”
He had a plate on the counter before him, and he was talking to an older lady from across the counter with that suave smile on his face. When he heard his name, he turned his head to me and instantly straightened up. “Vixen,” he said breathlessly.
I approached the counter where he sat. “Hi again.”
His smile was hesitant. He looked kind of out of his depth. “I thought you were at dinner.”
“I needed some fresh air.” Yeah, I made that sound casual. Because I always went out for fresh air, clearly.
“Me too. I got out and followed the smell here. You ever try Robin’s blueberry scones?”
I slowly shook my head as I looked across the counter at who I assumed was Robin. The second my eyes landed on her, she looked away from me and disappeared into the backroom.
She knew who I was.
What local didn’t?
Nixon owned this shop, and all the others on the street. He’d bought them all out from the owners, rescued some of them from huge debt, while others were more of a…forced sell.
I wondered what group Robin was bunched up in.
“Come have a try,” Flynn said, bringing my attention back to him. He slid the plate between us and pulled the next chair out for me to sit down in. I slid in, glancing briefly at the glass display of baked breads and savouries.
“I’ve never been here,” I admitted quietly, more to myself.
“Take a bite,” he urged.
There was an assortment of savouries on the plate. I found the small round scone with a blueberry in the centre and picked it up. I could feel Flynn’s eyes on me, the way they lingered on my new pink nails before settling on my face. From my peripheral, I noticed him let out a long breath as he watched me. When I took a small bite and looked at him, he spread his lips in a soft, reserved smile.
“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”
I hated scones. Robin’s scones were no better, but I lit up and lied. “It’s great.”
“You gotta try her Nanaimo bars.” His excitement was infectious. He called out Robin’s name and she returned, fixing her gaze to him. He pointed to the Nanaimo bars in the glass window and she pulled one out for me to try.
Robin settled it on a new plate and slid it to me, and then she disappeared again. She seriously wanted nothing to do with me. I might as well have been an extension of Nixon.
Now I could guess what group she was bunched in.
Before I reached for the bar, Flynn took it between his long fingers – I noticed how smooth his skin was, no bruises or callouses. He raised it to my face instead, surprising me. My eyes were wide as he pressed the square treat to my lips. He watched my mouth, fascinated.
I wasn’t sure this was appropriate.
If Nixon caught a man feeding me, he’d shoot his kneecaps out.
“Have a try,” Flynn whispered.
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t that simple. This action would never be taken as innocent in Nixon’s eyes.
And the way I saw Flynn stare at me, his gaze trapped to me like I was some form of savoury he wanted to try, I didn’t think he was being innocent either.
But I parted my lips and took a bite anyway, opting not to overthink it. The moment was fleeting and wouldn’t matter after it was over.
The explosion of chocolatey/custardy goodness made me close my eyes. I groaned, nodding, this time for real. “Okay, that’s really good.”
He chuckled, a soft sound, nothing like Nixon’s throaty rumble. “I like this place. It reminds me of being a kid again. My mom owned a bakery once.”
“Better than here?” I wondered.
He nodded. “Oh, yeah, only because I’m so nostalgic about it.”
“Where are you from?”
“San Diego.”
My brows shot up. “Long way from home, Dorothy.”
He laughed. “It was never home.”
“Where is home then?”
His eyes turned soft. “I don’t know yet. I don’t stay in one spot too long. I get itchy feet.”