by Celia Crown
Dean doesn’t bother to remember the owner’s name because whoever makes him memorize their names are those who are or will get a beatdown.
Not that he would raise a hand towards Laura. She deserves his gentle touches, he can learn for her. It shouldn’t be too hard since his body is capable of learning many things.
A dull vibration echoes out her coat pocket, she digs around for her phone. With a practiced hand, she answers with a call of her sister’s name.
“What do you mean you ran out of flour? I just saw Mr. Vlad reel in two stacks of them.”
Laura sighs as she listens to the ranting on the other line.
“Just keep your sister’s sticky fingers off the raw batter. She’ll get a tummy ache, again.”
With a click, the phone shuts off without a noise. The owner stood awkwardly, glancing at them and then down on the counter again. She smiles up at him, nostalgia floods his body with liveliness. He’s already getting familiar with her again and they’ve only spoken briefly.
“I have more things on the list that I need to buy. Can you help me?”
“Yes.” it’s out before he realizes, it’s almost like a conditioned response that he learned himself to please her, and the clutch of her words surprisingly doesn’t ignite the typical rage he has.
The store owner takes a loud inhale that can be heard around the small empty shop.
Her smile spreads wider.
She’s beautiful, he repeats in his mind.
Too beautiful, too pure, and too clean for a monster like him to have had a chance with her. A chance to kiss those pink lips, hold those small hands, and a chance to bathe in her love.
His past self is a lucky bastard.
“I’ll take half and you do the other half. It’s getting late and this way it’ll be quicker.”
“Together,” he grunts, he doesn’t want her to be by herself.
It’s not safe to walk around without protection because even going to Brenda’s bar for a drink is already an indication of being associated with Noir, thus painting a target on her back.
“I’ll be fine.” Laura chuckles, eyes gleaming with tenderness. “It’s just a couple of things.”
His throat tightens, his body is not going to argue with her and it locks him with a sealed mouth.
She rips the list in half and slips it between his palm. Their hands touch and a shiver strikes down his toes, heart pounding with the strongest need he’s ever felt to grasp her hand in his and never let go.
“See you later?”
He nods, lifting his fingers to her cheek and just holds her. Softness lingering on his rough palm as his thumb trace a small circular motion on the plumpness.
“Yeah, see you later.”
Her flowing brown hair tumbles loosely behind her as she bounces out the door with one last smile over her shoulder.
Dean takes a step forward, following like a puppy.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Chapter Four
Laura
There’s a reason why Laura is the cook for her family. Her mother can’t cook, Mavis never learned how to turn on the stove, and Honey is too experimental to be left alone in the kitchen.
When she got the phone call about how her sisters want to make the wedding cake, she knew there’s only one outcome that’s probable in a situation like this.
Mom’s bar would get annihilated.
Mr. Kane and Mr. Vlad are two very strict men when it comes to the girls. They have hawk eyes on them, and if one little suggestion that something could lead to them getting a papercut, they’ll put a stop to it.
Within the hours of her being at the bar, she witnessed several occurrences where Kane had to physically restraint Honey on his lap because she just wouldn’t sit still. She squirmed and wiggled while his arm lodges firmly on her upper rib to prevent any harm to the baby bump.
She wanted to build a three-layer cake for the wedding and it is common knowledge within the group that she is to never make it near the kitchen. Not that she ever listens, which is why Kane will make her sit. He’s the best restraint anyone can ask for because Honey gives the wounded puppy look and he doesn’t bat an eye.
Mavis listens and stops whatever she’s doing as long as Vlad says so. Laura has never seen her sister be so obedient, Mavis is known in the science world to do things her way. Her meticulous experiments are under her control, and she will not leave her lab no matter how much direct or subtle threats are thrown at her.
Even security guards can’t get her out because there’s a rule that everyone in the multimillion-dollar lab had to memorize before they get accepted to working there.
They were to never physically touch Mavis.
One time a worker tested that rule and was fired immediately with a lawsuit of emotional distress. Mavis’ boss doesn’t play around when it comes to her smartest biochemist and money-maker.
Laura knows her sisters have good intentions when they said they want to help out with the cake since everyone is doing the heavy liftings, but mom instated a law that they were to never breathe in the direction of kitchenware.
She wants to say something about that law; first of all, it doesn’t exist and second, it should have punishments tacked on if the offense is committed and, third, it needs to be signed by the girls or else they’ll claim they have no knowledge of the law.
Her sisters pick up enough law materials to find loopholes. They’re too smart for their own goods.
Laura thinks they should’ve been lawyers instead of her, but they probably incriminate themselves more often than prosecuting or defending their clients.
They should stick to what they’re good at, which is why Laura is standing in the middle of the grocery store looking at a stack of sugar and thirty different brands of flour.
She’s been to Nevada before, so it wasn’t hard to track down the grocery store. She lifts up a generic brand of flour and sugar into her cart. They’re on the smaller side, but it’s the biggest size the store carries.
There wasn’t anything on the list that the store carries so she walks up to the cashier. It’s been a while since she went grocery shopping; when they all lived together during college years, Mavis’s cleanliness was beneficial to the apartment while Honey does the vacuuming. Laura would not, under any circumstances, allow them near the stove.
Arson isn’t a good addition to their resume.
Those girls will have mysteriously burnt fruits.
Maybe she could get them to decorate the cake with fruits, it’s a lot healthier than chocolate or fondant and sugar crystals. She can hear the whining from their future selves because that’s how well she knows them.
A bag of tightly packed rice catches her attention.
“Don’t do it, Laura.” she digs her nail into the cart handle, squeezing it firmly as friction pulls on her skin when she twists the metal rod.
A risky glance at the bag of rice again takes her control out the window and she extends her hand out.
The temptation of slapping the rice is too strong, so she smacked the package with a satisfying sound and a flood of rewarding completion.
A laugh gets her attention besides her and she freezes. She recognizes the deep rumbles and she drags her eyes to the handsome man. Dean stands with a bag of ribbons and hot glue sticks, his lips spread in an amused grin that show his pearly whites.
He’s done with his list already, Laura wonders how fast his legs can walk.
“This isn’t what it looks like.” she clears her throat.
“So, you didn’t smack a bag of rice.” those weren’t words forming a question, it’s a challenge to have her deny what he witnessed with his own eyes.
Laura can face mass murders, terrorists, and psychopaths with a straight poker face when they threaten to kill her, she has full control of everything that happens in the courtroom and it’s how she makes a big name for herself.
Facing Dean with a red face isn’t easy.
It’s just
that slapping rice bags is a guilty habit that she needs to quit, she doesn’t want to be looped into the same category of disrespectful people who tastes grapes like they’re free samples of grape juice.
She hasn’t been caught in all her twenty-four years of living and of all people that witnesses her embarrassing moment, it’s Dean.
Her gentle yet violent Dean.
“We should go check this out.”
Laura awkwardly pushes the cart further into the cashier line, her cheeks burn in shame as she hears his velvety chuckle again.
“The same grocery clerk at the desk still hasn’t caught me yet.”
“You’ve been here before,” he states as if he already knows the answer.
She pauses, setting the bag of sugar on the conveyer belt. “I have.”
She’s planning on keeping their former relationship tightly guarded in her heart. The only people that know about her and Dean are her sisters, even her mother doesn’t know. Laura had told them when she got back from her internship; she told them about Dean, their fairy tale love story and tragic misunderstanding that tore them apart.
“When?” Dean’s fishing for answers.
It’s a method that’s frequently used by other attorneys, Laura prefers hard cold facts that will never leave space for interpretation. She’s made the mistake of having a too wide of a mindset when she first began her law studies, she gave too much benefit of the doubts to a woman on death row who wrote to her internship office while claiming she’s been framed.
Turned out, the woman was a master of manipulation who killed and sliced other women’s faces because she thought they were more beautiful than her.
Her lawyer side answers with the truth, “Two years ago.”
When we were still together, she shakes her head.
She studied amnesia on patients and their success rates of recovery were low. Each circumstance is different, so she took that into account, and all research leads to more questions than answers. Some experts say memories are a tricky thing, it could come back at any time and certain things can trigger a faster recovery. Others say after two years, it’s most likely his memories are lost forever.
“I was here for an internship,” she adds, turning her back to him and loads the bag of flour onto the moving belt.
“I wasn’t here for long; my mentor was strict so everything I did was by the books. No slacking and no partying, along with a whole bunch of rules that’ll kick me out of the program if he finds out.”
Beeps later, the cashier rings up the total without sparing a glance at Dean. Everyone in town is terrified of the Noir brothers, their faces are scarily attractive that people have trouble deciding to admire them or comedically whirling their heads so far to the side.
Laura pays and takes the bag in her hand; his bigger and stronger fingers yank the plastic easily. Her eyes jump up to him, the poor cashier almost cried at the sudden movement.
“Tell me more,” he ushers her out the door, shooting a glare to the young cashier.
Laura peeks at the shaking boy and opens her mouth, his steady hand on her lower back sets her back months of preparation of giving up on him. She had tried to move on with her life; it’s a constant circle of tears and heartbreak if she’s not willing to let Dean go.
“I want to know about you,” he clarifies as the cold wind hits her face.
She asks, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” he responds quickly without a thought.
Laura’s taken back and almost slips on the slush if it isn’t for his supportive hand on her back. Laying on dirty half-frozen water is worst than Texas’ makeup melting humidity.
“You might have met my sisters—”
“No,” he growls, curling his arm around her waist while the other holds the bags together.
“You. I’m only interested in you.”
Laura’s heart shudders, rocking to a tempo of rolling thunder. His brown eyes draw her in with dominance that swarms her muddled brain. Times have passed, she’s changed and so did he. He’s roughened and deliberately possessive from the grip on her waist, butterflies flopping their chaotic wings in her tummy as her cheeks steam hotly.
“I’m a lawyer, I guess that sets us on the opposite spectrum. The only books I’ve ever read were law books, I never had the time in school to read anything else.”
Part of her wants to trigger a familiar sense in him that brings back the missing piece of him, but she also doesn’t know how she’ll explain the current situation to him if he were to remember.
Steering her self-introduction to another direction, she hopes for too many things and gets nothing in return.
“I like wearing socks to sleep, my feet are always too cold.”
He directs her down the road with his hand moving from her waist to her hand, his ears wide open to take in every sound from her. His eyes looking at her and glance back to the front for a split second, he didn’t want to take his attention off of her for too long.
Her eyes sting, tightening her grip just shy of desperation. She hasn’t touched him in years and the familiarity brings hidden emotions out. His hands are a product of his life experiences; they were callous and rough, broad knuckles scarring over old injuries, and thick fingers safely tugs hers under his to shield her from the harsh coldness.
“I’ve always dreamed of living in Hawaii, it’s always warm there. My cold feet are a contributing factor as to why I want to move. But, I don’t want to leave my family and—”
Laura bites the inside of her cheek, halting the next word that wants to escape. It’s best if she stops trying to fool herself with their past love and hopes that when he remembers, he’ll love her again.
That’s not possible.
In his eyes, she’s a liar and the trust between them had been broken for too long to mend the pieces that were kicked and swiped to some corner of her bleeding soul.
She had never lied about who she was, it just never came up. After he was summoned to court for his bail hearing, she was there too. Following every step that her mentor made to get the most accurate experience of how the court system worked.
It was after bail was made that they began to see each other. He was Dean and she was Laura. Not a Noir member, not an aspiring lawyer, and they never once questioned each other. Love happened at unexpected places, theirs started in a courtroom. The thought of her internship hadn’t once crossed her mind when she spent every minute with Dean, and in hindsight, she should have seen that an intern shadowing a powerful attorney in a relationship with the criminal they are prosecuting was a scandal waiting to happen.
She often wonders would things be different today if she just told him but blinded by love is a weak excuse to comfort herself for something that’s entirely her fault.
Their love was genuine and pure, but fate poisoned that red string.
The bar comes to view quicker than she expected, but it was better than wallowing in her self-pity.
Her hand slips out of his, his touch burns her with neediness as he’s a second too late to take her hand. Laura fears that if she’s in his presence any longer, she’ll cry and beg him to remember her, remember them.
Taking the doorknob in her warmed palm with his residual heat, he asks the question that breaks her heart all over again.
“Did I know you?”
She turns, a storm breaking through the calm ambers—and smiles.
“No.”
Chapter Five
Dean
He keeps his eyes open for trouble, it’s a habit he’s developed young when he had to protect himself. Perceptive and observant, those skills have helped him prevent situations that are too dangerous. People assume because he’s a hothead, he has no ability to think three steps ahead.
They underestimate him too much, which is why when he strikes, it’s strategic. He’s unpredictable; no one really knows if he’s in a self-defense mode or raging bloodlust.
Dean can feel an ambush coming before
it happens through the hairs standing on his arms. They are clear indicators that someone is watching him, he discreetly sweeps the bustling bar with keen eyes and walks half a step behind Laura as she maneuvers through the cramped bar.
His eyes land on the pair of girls surveying him with calculating eyes; electric blue hues gauging his reaction while unblinking eyes follow his steps like a pair of stealthy cats.
Laura’s little sisters. Overprotective and brilliant, he has no doubts they can interrogate him in the most efficient way to extract information.
They circle around him, reeling in pieces of information his body emits as he follows Laura to the kitchen. It’s a mess; whiteness from flours splattering all over the counters, pans and pots everywhere with colorful batters dripping on the floor. Some got flung into the ceiling and Laura had to do a double-take because she can’t believe it was once a kitchen.
“You better clean this up before mom comes back from her house,” Laura says without turning to look at the girls who are guiltily shifting their feet.
Mavis laughs with eyes darting around for excuses, “It’s so dirty, I might catch something.”
“Your germaphobia will have to wait because the longer it stays like this, the more upset mom will be.”
The pair of twin wizzes pass her and Dean and pushes them back out the kitchen while they frantically search for towels and cleaning supplies. Laura steps aside when her sisters’ lovers sigh adoringly at the two troublemakers. The love between them is so blatant that she’s slightly jealous.
“Be strict,” Laura tells the men who had their hands on the door, “It’ll take them five hours to clean this mess if they’re distracted.”
They nod, hair tipping their mesmerizing eyes and looks back at the girls. Dean’s acute attention finds Laura taking a second to admire the absurd sharpness of their jaws, another attractive trait that makes her wonder if it’s the water in the town that’s keeping them so handsome.
He clears his throat, a spark of frenzied jealousy burning under his skin. Her eyes flash up to his and she looks away from his brothers immediately.
