"Look who it is. I thought you'd died."

"Shut up, Dev," I muttered, throwing my purse into a corner. She sauntered over to me as I clocked in. When I went to move, she boxed me in.

"What's going on between you and the banger?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Jules," she said, raising her pierced brow. "You've barely spoken to me in days. And now, you come in here all blushy and you're glowing. So, spill."

"Glowing," I scoffed, shoving past her. "You're delusional."

"Whatever, don't tell me." I could all but hear her rolling her eyes at me. "It's fine."

The one thing I always appreciated about Devyn, was that ninety-nine percent of the time, she let things go when I wasn't ready to talk about them. She didn't question my apparent 'glow' for the rest of the night. However, that may have been in part because Vincent had been right. We were absolutely slammed. Devyn and I barely had time to breathe, let alone talk about my love life.

* * * * *

"Jesus Christ," Devyn exclaimed once the final patron had been herded out the front door. "That was insane."

"I'll say," I muttered, grabbing the tip jar and hopping onto the bar. I could feel Dante's glare, and as usual I didn't bother acknowledging it. I upended the jar onto the bar and began to count the money. I kept an eye on Devyn as I did. I knew that since the storm had passed, it was only a matter of time before she descended upon me.

It took about three minutes.

"You in a talking mood yet?"

"No."

She pouted. "Fine. Then since tomorrow is Saturday and we're both off, let's go out. I'll get some liquor in you and then get you to talk."

"Telling me your plan beforehand isn't very smart," I told her, a smile breaking out across my face. She was impossible.

"Pfft, I got this."

My eyes rolled as I refocused on splitting the tips. It was quiet for a time as Devyn continued to break the bar down. I knew that she had a shit-ton of questions bubbling just beneath the surface, but I was glad she kept them to herself. I didn't even know the answers to anything that she was liable to ask. Once the money was split – we had both made more than double what we normally did – I slid Devyn her cut. Dante meandered his way out of the back as I slid off the bar.

"How'd you all do?" he asked, flicking my forehead. I rubbed the point of assault and shot a glare at him.

"Really good," Devyn chimed in as she began to count out her part.

"Good. You all did an amazing job tonight. Thank you," Dante said, pulling both of us in for a hug.

"What do you want?" we chorused. While Dante was always appreciative of all of us, this kind of display always lead to a favor.

He chuckled before releasing us. His eyes slid to me before he began talking. "We have a party reservation for next weekend. I would like to put you two on the schedule for it."

"I'm down," I said, automatically. Party reservations were always big money.

"Count me in, too," Devyn agreed. "Why did you think we wouldn't want it?"

"Well . . ." he trailed off, his eyes cutting to me again. "The reservation is under Lucas Moore."

"And?"

"That's Monroe's right-hand man."

"Ah man, not the bangers," Devyn groaned, slumping against the bar.

"They're not that bad," I found myself saying. They both just raised their eyebrows at me. "What? Think of the money."

"I just wanted to run it by you both first. Especially you, Juliette."

"Oh, she doesn't care," Devyn quipped. I glared at her. "What? Don't think I haven't noticed just how much time you've been spending with him."

I held my hand up as Dante opened his mouth. "I love you both, but that's enough," I said. Shaking my head at them, I grabbed my money and headed into the kitchen. I didn't need to be mothered. I knew how dangerous Vincent was. I knew how dangerous they all were. I also knew with complete certainty – almost – that I was safe with them. Devyn followed me into the back and hovered as I collected my things.

"Can I help you?" I snapped.

"Don't take that tone with me," she responded, rolling her eyes. "I just want to make sure you're not walking."

"I'm not," I said, softening my voice. She arched her brow at me. I waved a hand at the security monitor. Her eyes widened at the picture of the black SUV idling right outside the back door. A familiar dark figure was leaning against the passenger door, ankles and arms crossed as he waited.

"You have some explaining to do."

"I know. I'll talk to you later. And yes, we're still on for tomorrow." Not bothering to wait for her to answer, I clocked out and walked out the back door.

"Took you long enough," Vincent called as I approached him.

"I was getting the third degree. No big deal." He chuckled as he opened the door for me. Once I was in and situated, he still stood with the car door open. We were the same height from where I sat, so I had full access to the depth of his forest eyes. They seemed darker than normal, troubled. Before I knew what I was doing, my fingers brushed across his cheekbone with the same feather-light care he always took with me. "What is it?"

"Nothing for you to worry about, princess," he murmured, catching my hand in his.

"That's not what that face says."

"Let's get you home."

The quiet stretched between us as it usually did, wrapping around me like a soft blanket. My forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, bouncing slightly as the tires moved over jagged streets. I wanted to push him more on whatever was bothering him. I hadn't seen that clouded look in his eyes since the night he stopped at the warehouse to pick up his gun. Could it be something to do with the deal they had brewing?

Did I even want to know?

The answer was no, I didn't. But if there was something that I could do to ease Vincent's mind, I would. He was there for me whenever I needed him, the least I could do was return the favor. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth as the SUV rolled to a stop. Vincent killed the engine. We sat there for a moment before I sighed and shoved my door open. I was halfway up the walk to my building before I heard the other door slam closed. Vincent caught up with me in time to hold the door open for me. I paused in the entryway, meeting his gaze. The wall was still up behind his eyes, so I brushed past him.

My keys rattled against the sideboard when I tossed them on it, the only sound in the quiet apartment. Dexter didn't even stir from his place on the couch. The incessant flashing of the alarm panel reminded me that I needed to disengage it before moving on. Vincent slipped past me as I did so, and I briefly wondered what he was doing. Shaking my head, I did what I needed with the – totally unnecessary – security system before passing him on the way to my room. After stripping out of my uniform, and all but moaning once my hose were off, I went to find Vincent. He had stopped at the same picture of my mom that Lucas had commented on what seemed like forever ago.

I stepped up beside him to truly take the picture in as well. Mom's eyes looked tired. She looked tired. Her arms were draped lazily around me as we smiled at the camera. The picture had been taken only two weeks before she died.

"You look like her," he said, his voice breaking the silence that had blanketed the room.

"Thank you," I breathed. It was one of the best compliments I had ever received. Before the cancer had drained her to the point she could barely move, I had thought my mother was one of the most beautiful people I had ever known. I always thought I looked more like my father, even though there was no mistaking the fact that I had my mother's doe eyes.

"Do you mind telling me what she was sick with?"

"It was ovarian cancer. She hated doctors, so by the time she actually went, and they found it, it was way too late."

"I'm sorry, Juliette."

My eyes watered at the tenderness in his voice. I hadn't talked about my mom in years. I hadn't expected to be hit with such a visceral longing for the warmth of her hugs when I finally did talk about her again. My chest hurt, and I had to take a deep breath to stop myself from breaking down into sobs. Without a word, Vincent pulled me into him and wrapped me in his arms. He was warmer than I had anticipated, and I buried my face in his chest. He made me feel so small, but safe, nonetheless.

We stood like that for a while, neither of us saying anything as I got my breathing under control. Eventually, I was able to pull away from him with dry eyes.

"Thank you," I said again, swiping at my eyes to make sure my makeup hadn't decided to migrate down my cheeks.

"You don't have to thank me. I know what it's like to lose family." His eyes had gone cold again, so I decided against asking about it. If he wanted to tell me, he would.

"Are you hungry?" I asked instead. I needed an excuse to move – to do something. I still wasn't sure why he had followed me in, but it didn't seem like he had any intention in leaving.

Not that I wanted him to.

"A little. Did you want to order something?"

"No. I need to stay busy. I'll cook."

"You can cook?"

"Shut up," I said, laughing as I shoved him away from me and headed into the kitchen.

"Can I help?"

"Sure, but I wasn't thinking anything too fancy. I think I can manage spaghetti on my own."

"Never know. You might overcook the noodles."

My eyes about touched the back of my skull as I began getting everything out of the cabinets. Vincent didn't enter the kitchen, he just leaned one shoulder against the wall and watched my every move. I could feel his eyes on me like a second skin. A smile played with the edges of his mouth, and I had to restrain a smile as well. I liked having him there. Dexter came in and pressed himself against Vincent's leg, temporarily taking his attention off of me. While those two bonded, even though Dexter already seemed overly fond of the male, I continued with what I was doing. Cooking – however small – had always been something I would do to calm myself. I had grown up watching my mother do it, which was probably where I got it from. My mother had been the stereotypical stress baker. I knew that if I got home from school and smelled something sweet, Mom probably had bad news.

She had been baking the day she told me my father had been murdered.

I shook my head, forcibly trying to steer my mind in another direction. That was the last path I needed to venture down at that point in time. I couldn't face that darkness again. Not then. Not with Vincent there. As if they could sense the shift in my mood, both Vincent and Dexter turned to look at me. It must have been written all over my face because Vincent stood and came to stand behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and bent to set his chin on my shoulder.

"Walk me through what you're doing."

"You've never made spaghetti before?" I asked, my voice sounding tight even to my own ears.

"Of course, I have. But indulge me."

So, I did. I talked through every single, tiny step I was taking. And as I did, the knot began to unravel inside my stomach. The more I explained the simple meat sauce recipe and the cooking of the pasta to Vincent, the better I felt. Cooking and speaking took all my focus, so before I knew it, thoughts of my parents and their deaths had completely left my mind. When I set both steaming plates of pasta on my small dining room table, I felt at ease. When our gazes met across the table, the wall behind Vincent's eyes was down once again. This time when the silence stretched between us, it was as calm and comforting as I remembered.

"Would you like to tell me why you're here?" I finally asked as we were placing the dishes in the sink.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Don't play coy, Vinnie," I said. "You're trying to tell me that there is absolutely no reason you came in tonight uninvited?"

"You didn't exactly tell me to leave."

"Vincent."

"Fine," he blew out a breath and slumped against the counter. "I had a shit day. Negotiations with this deal are a complete pain in the ass."

"Still not seeing where I come in."

His eyes cut to me, and I had to stifle a gasp at the intensity in his forest gaze. He reached for me, and I let him pull my body flush against his. His fingers traveled up the column of my throat before tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. He used that grip to angle my face up towards his, then leaned down until his lips brushed against mine as he spoke.

"I wanted to see you, to give a good end to my shit day."

And then his lips met mine with a ferocity that shocked me. The gasp that I had suppressed earlier escaped me, giving Vincent the chance to sweep his tongue into my mouth. I moaned before I completely gave into him. My body molded to his as if it were meant to be there, and somehow, he managed to pull me impossibly closer. His hold on my hair released, but his hands didn't leave me. Instead, they moved to grip the back of my thighs and hoist me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, assuring myself that this time I wouldn't be the one to stop.

_________________________________________________

It's short and I'm sorry, but you know the deal!

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