“I think we need to find something a bit more comfortable,” he says, trying to ease himself back out of the chair without flipping the whole table over.
I point into the massive warehouse with sample after sample of everything from dining room chairs to lamps and wall art. “I’m sure we can find something great — something more adult-sized. But what do you think about the style of it?”
Jude’s eyebrows furl, and he looks down at the chair as though he may as well be sitting on a thimble. “I don’t like white chairs.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Thank you for that. Noted. I meant the design style. That one is Mission, I think. Do you like that style?”
Gunner tips backward, his head pointed at the ceiling and his chest heaves with a laugh. “I like all the styles, but I don’t know if missionary is Jude’s thing. You like your positions a little more kinky, don’t you, Chief?”
Jude’s eyes narrow, but a smile is playing at the corner of his lips. “We’re in public — put a fucking lid on it.”
Daniel rubs his forehead. “Yes, because that language is so much more appropriate.”
“Boys, focus,” I say. “We need a really good dining room table that can fit all of us.”
“I like a simple, modern look.” Trigg volunteers, trying to be helpful.
“Minimalist,” Jax chimes in. “Kind of like this one, right here.” He walks over to the next suite and puts his hands on a long, wide table made of pale blonde wood. “It’s not fancy, but it has very clean lines.”
Gunner steps forward, crouching to inspect the legs. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. It just has to be to sturdy enough for some moving and shaking. Needs to hold some weight, right, Emma?” He glances up and gives me a wink.
Oh my God, he’s really in a mood today, and it’s pretty clear exactly what kind of mood that is. He’s been ribbing me nonstop, using any excuse to be saucy. I’m tempted to give him a flirty, teasing quip in reply, but as Jude mentioned, we are in public. Instead, I lift my eyebrows at him as a family with small children passes by. “Because of all the food it needs to hold, that’s what you mean, right?”
We watch as the family walks past us, and the cutest toddler in the world looks back at us with a sweet, shy smile as she clutches her dad’s hand. Gunner’s eyes widen as he comes back to earth, realizing we don’t have the whole store to ourselves and there are other people around — small people.
“Obviously, that’s what I meant. What were you thinking?” Gunner shakes his head. “Your mind is always in the gutter, Emma. Geez.”
Daniel opens and closes drawer after drawer back in the kitchen. “These are actually pretty high quality. They all have those self-closing mechanisms.”
I nod. “Yes. I mean, it’s not unique, handmade stuff like we’d find at the high-end stores, but it’s decently well-made for the cost, and the prices aren’t going to break the bank — which makes it right in my wheelhouse.”
He gets a caught grin on his face. “If we had gone to those places I suggested, then it would’ve turned into my apartment, not yours. You’re right. I see you in the designs and styles here — smart, thrifty, and well, pretty pleasant on the eyes,” Daniel says with a charming grin. “I’m glad you brought me here.”
I hang onto his arm and give him a squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll infect me with your class sooner or later.”
Daniel leans in for a whisper. “I hope you don’t change one bit. I like you just as you are.”
I give his arm another squeeze before letting go, moving away into the next space, a modern chic living area. The detail is great. I’d almost like a job setting up these little rooms. It looks like fun, creating each one down to the tiniest details, like the wicker basket between the sofas that holds a throw blanket, and the wine glass on the side table. Moving through the space, I take it all in, wanting to get through all the display rooms and then come back around to make my selections. But that’s when I catch Jax staring at a picture on the wall, his fingertips scratching his stubble.
“What are you looking at?” I ask as I approach him from behind, my palm smoothing the small of his back up to between his shoulders.
He turns his head slowly, a smile passing over his lips as though he’s savoring my touch. “What do you think of this frame?”
I tilt my head to study not the piece of art, but the simple elegance of the frame encasing it. “I think it would be perfect for Saffron.”
Jax’s smile grows lopsided. “You’re really going to call it that? You know, it’s usually the artist who gets to name their paintings.”
I cross my arms, ready to stand my ground as I try to hide my smile. We’ve gone rounds about this over the past few days, and it’s become a game between us. “Hey, I just think it deserves a name that’s cheerier. I want to show it off to everybody, and I don’t want to have to tell them that beautiful painting is called Denial of Joy or Eternity of Hidden Sorrows. And besides, that wouldn’t tell the whole story, would it?”
He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
“I’m on to you. I see the brightness shining through — those rich yellows and sienna shades are there for a reason. And that’s what I love about it,” I tell him. “The beautiful parts you can’t hide, even when you want to.”
He lets out a huff as he shakes his head, and I prepare myself for his rebuttal. But this time, he doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he just stares at me, his expression growing serious. He’s looking at me in that way he does that makes me feel like he’s searching my soul.
“How about Redemption?” he asks after a long, quiet moment.
I nod and release my breath, realizing only now I’ve been holding it the whole time he stared at me. “I like it, a lot. It’s hopeful, which is… very fitting.”
“Is it? Do I get a prize for coming up with a better name?” Those sexy eyes of his wander to my lips, take a quick detour down to my breasts, and then back up to meet my gaze — and that crooked grin of his is back.
I slug him on the shoulder. “Hey, that’s not the kind of goods we’re shopping for today.”
“No?” He rubs his shoulder as he gives me another long, sweeping look that makes my pulse quicken. “Then I came to the wrong damn place.”
I feel my cheeks heat up, so I shoot him a glance that says behave and step away from the framed art, moving back to the wide path weaving throughout the store. If I don’t keep moving us along we aren’t even going to get through half of the store, much less actually make it downstairs to get loaded up with our selections.
Trigg’s waiting for me with both hands in his front pockets. He offers me an elbow, and I link my arm through his, letting him guide me over to the next showcase. It’s a kid’s room, with bright primary colors and a set of bunkbeds. We both glance at it a little awkwardly in silence before moving on to the next one.
That’s better. A very modern adult bedroom in white and blue. I squint, trying to imagine all five guys fitting in here. It may have been a joke, but Gunner was right. I’m going to need a king size bed. I need bigger than that, if they make it. Heat flushes through me at the thought.
A king would fit three, maybe four of us if we slept like spoons in a drawer, but not me and all five of the guys. I’m sure Daniel would be able to find someone to make a custom six-person bed, if I asked him. My body warms until I’m sure I’m having a hot flash. Just the thought of all five of them in bed together with me has my temperature rising. I have to physically shake myself to get the image out of my head.
But as spacious as my bedroom in the apartment is, it’s still made for a standard size bed. Any custom beds will have to wait — for what, I’m not sure, but the part of me that’s filled with fresh optimism these days can’t help but hope there might be a time in the future when we have the perfect space for all of us to be together.
Trigg is staring at the bed, looking like he’s having the same racy thoughts I was, so I pull him back to the walkway, and we he
ad away from the bedroom displays. Maybe shopping in the bedroom section isn’t the smartest choice today, not with all the guys around. My mind has already raced ahead to fantasyland, and a series of images are flashing through my mind as I picture the store empty and us testing out all the beds like a very adult version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
I keep moving through the store with Trigg beside me, our arms locked together, and the rest of the guys trickling along behind us at their own speed.
Today has been beautifully simple. As Trigg and I stroll together, I realize that most of my interaction with the guys — in a group, at least — have occurred in a relatively small atmosphere. But this building is expansive, almost as though it is giving us all room to breathe. No walls immediately surrounding us, plenty of room to move, enough variety within the store that there’s something of interest to all of us.
It’s just the six of us wondering about, happily existing amidst the rest of society. Zoey declined to join us, opting to catch some quiet time to pack for her trip. The security team the guys hired is keeping a close eye on things and she felt safe enough to push me out the door, insisting I go without her.
I take a slow, deep breath and drink it all in, feeling contented. There are no sidelong glances, no judgmental harumphs from passerby’s. Everyone is happily absorbed in their own tasks, and no one cares that I move between the guys, a hand on one, a kiss on the cheek of another, flitting from one to another like a honey bee in a patch of spring flowers. My flowers, each of them different but strong and beautiful. I chuckle to myself as I picture the looks on twin’s faces if they knew I’d ever thought of either of them as any kind of flower, even if it was a really tough one with thorns and black petals.
I hear heavy footsteps approaching behind us, and Gunner’s hand reaches around my waist a moment later. “I heard they have amazing meatballs here.”
With a laugh, I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. “You actually waited until after one to ask about lunch. Wow, that’s impressive! I’m proud of you.”
He stops walking, and my arm slips from Trigg’s as Gunner pulls me against him and spins me around. “Hey, do you think they’d let us bring the food in here and test out the dining room table?”
I put my hand on his chest and try to keep a straight face. “Gunner, darling, for some reason, I suspect that the kind of test you have in mind wouldn’t be approved by the security staff, the other shoppers, or even the table designers, themselves.”
“Well, maybe not,” Gunner says with a grin. He lets go of me and rubs his belly. “But my stomach is growling. Do you hear it?” He jerks his head, motioning behind him. “I think it scared a little kid back there.”
Daniel draws near us. “Are we heading to this in-store café I’ve heard so much about? Gunner’s convinced he’s going to wither into nothing if we don’t get lunch soon.”
“Sure, we can go grab some food.” I point up the path. “I think the restaurant is just ahead, around the next turn, maybe.”
I glance back at Daniel, but he’s wandered into the bathroom display next to us and is running a hand across the metal rod of a towel bar.
“Oh, hey, I like this,” he says, dipping his head closer to inspect the finish.
I lean away from Gunner and call out to him. “Daniel, the bathroom in the apartment already has towel holders.”
He pulls off the white hand towel draped over it and waves his hand at the sleek, copper bar adorned with an elegant spiral finial at each end. “Yes, but do you like them as much as these?”
“I’ve never really thought much about them, to be honest,” I admit. “But those look really nice. I like the color, too.”
“The warm glow of the copper would complement the pale blue wallpaper in your bathroom.”
“Dude,” Gunner huffs from behind me. “It’s a towel holder.”
Daniel twists the bath towel in his hands as though he’d like to whip Gunner with it. “Refinement is in the details. I bet you’ve never bought a towel holder in your life. If the penthouses didn’t come with things like these—” he taps the bar “—then all your towels would be laying on the floor, wouldn’t they?”
Gunner moves from behind me, striding toward Daniel with his chest puffed out defensively. “Hey, I’d put a hook on the back of the door.”
“Mmhmm.” Daniel raises an eyebrow. “The plastic kind held on by sticky putty?”
“What? It works, doesn’t it?” Gunner retorts.
I slide my hand into Trigg’s, and we walk past the bickering duo, both of us laughing. The next area is an office suite. Trigg lights up and guides me into the space, pulling out the luxurious desk chair and waving a hand at it like Vanna White.
Jude and Jax appear beside me and start poking around, too, wiggling the desk and pulling on the wall shelves as though the furniture needs to pass military-grade inspection before it can be deemed suitable.
I shake my head at the sight, but a joyous smile breaks free from deep inside me as I slip my rear end into the chair. The soft leather wraps around me, and I absolutely melt into it as I watch the three gorgeous men move around the space.
Dear Lord, this is heaven. I tilt back and put my feet up on the desk. Yeah, I could get used to this.
21
Trigg
It’s a big space, and I know it shouldn’t make me uncomfortable, but it sure as hell does.
I haven’t been this anxious in public since that first year I was discharged from the Marines. Except this time, it’s real. Back then, I knew that it was all in my head. I knew that when I noticed some shady fuck with his baseball cap pulled way down low and those mirrored sunglasses on, it was probably just a college kid trying to hide a hangover. Now, I’m acutely aware that any one of the people here could be a tail on Emma or Zoey.
And it’s a very different thing to be worried about who might be lying in wait for the two women walking beside me versus watching my own back or keeping an eye out for the men in my unit. In the Marines, all of us were highly trained. We prepared, mentally and physically, for the worst. And Jude, Gunner, and I continue to carry that training with us now in our civilian lives. Even Daniel and Jax have mastered similar skills on their own, Daniel through disciplined training with revered senseis in martial arts and Jax... well, Jax honed his skills the hard way.
We’ve passed through the security screening from the TSA – Jude pulling strings through his government pals to ensure we could accompany the girls all the way to their gate. I hope BHC isn’t so stupid as to make a move here, not in public like this, but I just hate the feeling of being watched. Worse, I hate the feeling that someone might be watching Emma or Zoey. Besides me, that is, and Daniel, who is following behind us at a distance as we walk through the airport. And Zoey’s incognito security team, who arrived well ahead of us and has already taken up position at the gate.
Jude wanted to send the cavalry with the girls today, but eventually he conceded that it would draw too much attention, and having Zoey escorted through the airport by a crowd of guards was antithesis to the general plan of keeping her trip out of state under wraps. So, it’s just the two of us accompanying Zoey and Emma to the airport today.
We’ve taken as many precautions as possible, including routing the last leg of Zoey’s flight through a private aviation company. And this afternoon, Daniel and I drove the girls ninety minutes outside of the city to this smaller airport, using a car we borrowed from Mack, one of the security guards at our building.
But smaller is a relative term, and one I’m not feeling too keen on as a descriptor of this place at the moment. There’s still too many people here to keep an eye on.
I was more relaxed at the furniture store, even though the size of the space and the crowd of people were similar. Maybe it was because all five of us guys were there. Or maybe it’s the fact that now we aren’t just casually browsing for home furnishings — instead, we’re basically trying to smuggle Zoey out of town, and if B
HC has caught wind of it somehow, they might be feeling desperate to grab a last chance at using her as leverage against Emma.
As we walk, I take everything in. Whole sloughs of people wait their turn in the seating outside of each terminal, with a moderate stream of passersby flowing through the broad aisles. Families, couples, business travelers. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is jumping out at me as concerning, but I don’t trust any of it.
We halt at gate six, and I go for an immediate visual check-in with Anne-Marie. It’s casual — as though I’m just browsing the throng of fellow travelers — but Anne-Marie catches my eye for just the slightest of seconds before returning to her cell phone.
She looks the part of a young professional — dressed in stylish business attire, one hand resting impatiently on the extended handle of her small pull-along bag, her attention seemingly absorbed in reading emails or playing games on her device. But she’s damn good at her job, and I know she isn’t missing a thing. If I were to question her right now, she’d be able to give me a run-down of every person within twenty yards, from their attire to what they’re reading and even their accents and a word-for-word replay of their conversations if they came within earshot.
Zoey steps back, positioning herself beside me. “How many did you say?”
“Three are traveling with you today,” I reply. “And two more will be joining the team after you arrive at your hometown. They’ll keep an eye on everything, just like you asked — including a private detail for your brother and his family.”
“Are they even here, though? I feel like I’ve pointed at everyone in this airport already.” Zoey is nowhere near as nonchalant about her perusal of fellow passengers as she tries to pick out her security detail. “Oh—” she leans in and tugs at the arm of my shirt “—right there, green plaid shirt.”
I do my best to indulge Zoey by pretending to give the big guy across the terminal a serious appraisal, but she’s been playing this guessing game for days, and she’s not even come close to figuring out any of them yet. She was sure she’d be able to spot them today though. But no such luck.
Broken Process Page 14
