The Dancer and the Mafia's Chef

Amara used to take ballet. She'd even learned ballroom, salsa, tango, swing. Now she just listened to the beat, bouncing and banging her head and hips to the sounds surrounding her. Clubs were the only places she felt alive, like she could be something, someone. Even if she was just another face in the crowd, another body swaying and skipping, she existed. Language, color, race, clothing, nothing mattered once the lights went out and the neon came up. Everybody grabbed glowsticks and got covered with paint. It didn't matter that she was far from home and living with her cousins, that she was in a different country where she still had problems with the language at times. Everyone was just there to dance and be a mindless mass of music together. She could do that.What she couldn't do was mornings. That was why she always had afternoon or evening shift at her cousins' bakery. She would walk in the house and shower the party off at 4 AM, then sleep while everyone else worked til noon. Th

Amara had been planning on putting off telling Declan where she actually was for at least a day, to give herself time to recoup and actually look more decent when he came. But Milo had changed that. Now she had less than two hours before Declan showed up and—"Bonne après-midi!"The greeting sounded a bit louder than it needed to be. People. Amara continued working and thinking about how she would make things work for her. She could finish decorating this batch of cupcakes and slip over to the bathroom, and make sure her face didn't look too tired. She'd put on foundation upon waking, but that was it, and it had mostly been to hide the dark circles. That had been hours ago now, too. She hadn't even bothered with mascara or eyeliner, considering she was just working in the back anyway. If necessary, she could dash upstairs and grab her purse and put at least those on."Amara!"Her hand slipped and she stabbed the cupcake she was working on. She swore and covered it up with icing. "Wha

"Amara!" a female voice demanded in French over the phone. "You should tell me these things sooner!""Oh my gosh Shay," Amara responded, with a wince from her friend's tone and a small smile anyway, "it just happened!""No, it did not 'just' happen, it was planned and I was not informed."Amara rolled her eyes, leaning back in the seat in the café. "Technically, Milo planned it. I didn't even find out about it until I was working, you know."Shay huffed over the phone. "Well; I guess I'll save my tirade for him then. But still."Amara chuckled. "Why the big deal? You know I usually don't tell you about meeting people until at least the second time, unless craziness happens.""Um, you met outside of the police station, he kissed your hand, and he speaks Arabic. Not only that, but he wasn't a total creep about it. I think that's pretty crazy."Amara giggled. "It was 5 AM! I wasn't going to text you then!""I would have seen it when I got up.""And called me in the middle of work.""Not

Amara grabbed her headset, then closed the door to the room she shared with some of her cousins. She was the only one in there, for now, and it would stay like that for at least an hour. She had her time to Skype Asher, her cousin back in Morocco. Even though they spoke in Arabic, and hardly any of her cousins even had a partial grasp on the language, the closed door made her feel better, more secure in talking.It rang, and before long she saw her cousin's face briefly freeze on the screen before moving again. "Hello!" he said cheerfully, waving.She grinned. "Hey! How are you?" Asher honestly felt more like a brother to her than a cousin; they had grown up together after his parents died. In some ways, they were even closer than she was with her actual brothers, but that may have been an age thing. Asher was just a year older than her, while her brothers were both at least four years younger."Good, great to see you again. Well, in a way." He chuckled."Yeah, sorry about last time,"

A week and a half later, and Declan met up with Amara at the shopping district. They'd been texting, talking, meeting up every couple of days; thankfully he could afford the frequent bus travel. They spent some time window-shopping, laughing, and now eating lunch at a cafe. His choice, of course; and tab. Hhe didn't seem to mind."So what sort of fancy all-night joint do you work at, anyway?" Amara asked.Declan gave her a sheepish grin and swallowed. "It's a cooking job. I cook. But they work odd hours and so I supply food for them when they work their odd hours which gives me odd hours in return."Amara swallowed her food. "Alright. Did you just happen to find it randomly?" She gestured with her utensil."Well… um. Sort of. It's a long story." He looked around, never sure if people around him were going to overhear or not. If they cared. If it mattered. He swallowed and bit his lip. "It wasn't random, not really.""Sooo… what?" she inquired, completely unphased by his shiftiness. "Y