Croissants and poor life choices

Chapter 4: Croissants and poor life choices

Gwen

The pounding on my door nearly matched the throbbing in my head.

“I know you're in there, bitch!” Nico's voice sang through the wood. “Open up before I use my key!”

I groaned, pulling the pillow over my face. The memories of last night flooded back in jagged pieces—the club, the stranger, his hands, his mouth and the things it did to me…

Then the door clicked open.

“Rise and shine, my disappearing queen!” Nico announced, kicking the door shut behind him. The scent of coffee and fresh croissants hit me, making my stomach growl.

I peeked one eye out from under the pillow. Nico stood over me holding two iced coffees and a brown paper bag that smelled like butter and heaven. His eyebrow arched as he took in my disheveled state.

“Well, well,” he purred, setting the goods on my nightstand. “Looks like someone had a big night. Girl you disappeared without a trace.”

I grabbed the coffee and downed half in one go. The cold liquid shocked my system awake. “I regret everything.”

Nico gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Gwendolyn Marie Lorne! Are you telling me you actually did…”

“Yes.” I exclaimed.

He wiggled his brows, “And?”

“And what?”

He swatted my leg through the sheets. “Was it at least good?”

The memory of rough hands and hot lips flashed through my mind. My face burned.

Nico's eyes widened. “Oh. Ohhh. That good, huh?”

I threw the pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He dodged, cackling. “I don't believe it! Miss ‘I Need Three Dates Before Holding Hands’ had a one-night stand!”

“It was a moment of weakness! I just wanted to get rid of the heart ache from Anth.” I protested, though the ache between my thighs reminded me just how strong that moment had been.

Nico plopped onto the bed, his expression turning serious. “Okay, details. Now. Start from the very beginning.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I was drunk. He was... intense and sexy. We hooked up. He left a note telling me not to look for him. End of story.”

“Bullshit.” Nico reached for something on my nightstand—the note. His eyes scanned through the note, then widened. “‘Don't look for me’? What is this, a bad mafia movie?”

I laughed, throwing my head back. “Mafia? Oh hell nah! I don't ever want to get involved with those blood suckers. He doesn't look like he's one of them.”

Nico smiled. “Oh no. Don't tell me you like him.”

“I don't even know his name!”

“Yet you're blushing.” He poked my cheek. “Anthony never made you blush talking about sex.”

I shoved him off the bed. “Out. I need to shower off my poor life choices.”

As I got out of the shower, I saw Nico sprawled across my couch like a starfish, his mouth full of my latest experiment. “Holy shit,” he mumbled around the food. “What is this?”

“Truffle mac with pancetta and three cheeses, plus…”

“I don't care. Marry me.” He shoved another forkful in, groaning obscenely. “How are you single again?”

“Because my last boyfriend dumped me on our anniversary, and the only guy who's rocked my world since left a fucking Post-It.” I flopped next to him, stealing a bite.

Nico licked the bowl clean. “His loss. More mac for me.”

He turned on some terrible reality show, and we fell into our usual rhythm—him critiquing outfits, me pretending to care about celebrity drama. But my mind kept wandering to dark eyes and rough hands.

“You're thinking about him again,” Nico observed during a commercial.

I didn't bother denying it. “It's just... I've never felt like that before. Like I'd known him forever, even though we'd just met.”

Nico studied me for a long moment. “You really liked him, huh?”

“I don't even know him.”

“But you want to.”

I didn't answer but I knew he was correct, I wanted to see him again, I wanted to know him, more than I could admit.

“Enough with the sad mood, how's your day going to be?” Nico asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Ummm, nothing, just going to prepare for work tomorrow.” I responded, shaking my head.

“Not on my watch, let's go out.” He shouted, standing up, totally forgetting about his show.

“Hell no! No way am I going to another party.” I exclaimed.

“Dummy, It’s one pm, who parties by this time?” He laughed, bopping his head up and down.

“I don't know? But I do know you can do anything.” I smiled at his reaction.

My phone buzzed, saved by a text, a text from work— it was a coworker asking me to help with the late shift tonight. I sighed, typing out a reply.

Nico was the calm to my storm, he was literally the only family I had in this world and I'd do anything for him to which I'm sure the feeling was mutual but when it came to going out and partying, there wasn't so much I could do.

He gave me a knowing smile and sighed, “I guess I'll have to go out on my own.”

**************

“Chef, the risotto is too sticky!” Marco said, his brow furrowed in concern.

I dipped my spoon into the creamy rice, assessing the texture. “It's overcooked. Let's add a bit more stock and stir it gently.”

With a few swift stirs, the risotto loosened up, regaining its creamy consistency. Marco nodded in understanding, taking over the stirring.

“Don't just nod, I hope you understand how it works now because you'll make it alone next time.” I said, tapping the counter.

“You're scarier than Chef Laurent,” he muttered.

“That's because I actually care if you learn.” I flicked a bit of sauce at him. “Now fix the rest. And for God's sake, keep it moving this time.”

The kitchen was busy around me, pans sizzling, orders being yelled, and plates clattering. Usually, this chaos felt normal, but today my mind kept wandering.

Three weeks. Three weeks since that night, and I still caught myself scanning crowds for a familiar set of broad shoulders and tattooed arms.

“Chef? The duck?”

I blinked back to reality. “Right. Two minutes on that one, it's still rare.”

As I moved through the kitchen, my fingers absently traced the edge of the note I'd tucked into my wallet. A stupid habit, like some lovesick teenager.

After work, I decided to take the longer route home to pass time and have my me-time. I knew Nico would be home when I got back and I needed some time alone. My car stalled as I turned onto my street.

“Not this again! Oh come on, baby,” I murmured, patting the dashboard. “Just a little further.”

The engine coughed, shuddered, then died with a final, pathetic wheeze.

“Perfect.” I slammed my hands against the steering wheel. “Just fucking perfect!”

Rain began pattering against the windshield as I weighed my options. A tow truck would take hours. A cab in this neighborhood at this time? Unlikely.

I grabbed my bags and stepped into the drizzle. I'd have a me-time another day, for now I just needed to get home and thankfully, the shortcut through the alley would shave ten minutes off my walk. Normally I'd avoid it, but tonight, I was too tired and frustrated to care.

Halfway through, a wet thud echoed off the brick walls making me freeze.

Then a deep, familiar voice said, “Clean this up.”

My breath hitched. Where have I heard that voice?

Against every survival instinct, I tiptoed forward, peering around a dumpster…

And there he was.

The stranger. My stranger.

Drenched in blood and immediately I took to my heels.