Page 29 of Shadow Of Sin

“Your social skills are evolving. I’m almost proud.” I smirk at him.

“Don’t be. I’m still going to eat Cheerios when I get home.” Deadpan. As always.

I roll my eyes and follow him to the door. “That is the saddest sentence you’ve ever said. And the bar was already super low.”

A surge of pride rushes over me as we walk into the restaurant. Rosario’s is packed for a Thursday night. Sal is behind the bar in his element, moving between customers like he’s been doing this his whole life, which he basically has.

He’s so happy. It makes all of this Dmitri bullshit worth it to keep that smile on his face after everything we’ve been through together.

Sal spots us coming through the door and his whole face lights up.

“There they are!” he calls out. “The nerd and the nerdette.” He’s already pouring a ginger ale without being asked, because Sal learns people’s orders by the second visit and Wolfe’s a no-alcohol guy. Always.

“I’m not a nerd,” I say, sliding onto my usual stool.

“That’s right,” Sal says. “That’s reserved for him.” He nods in Wolfe’s direction. “You’re the nerdette.”

I shake my head and sit down. God, if he only knew.

Sal turns to Wolfe. “Wolfe, my man. Ready for the taste test?”

“Ready.”

“He takes promises very seriously,” I say to Sal. “It’s one of his few redeeming qualities.”

“Few?” Wolfe says.

“I’m being generous.”

Sal grins and looks between me and Wolfe like he’s mentally picking out centerpieces for our wedding. Same expression he had when I brought Tommy Lucero home in tenth grade.

“Don’t,” I say, pointing at him.

He pretends to look surprised because he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever’s happening behind your eyes right now. Shut it down.”

“My eyes are my own business.” He disappears into the kitchen, still grinning.

Wolfe and I sit at the bar and the silence between us feels heavy, more so than usual. The parking garage encounter is still fresh in my mind. Dmitri’s cologne is still stuck in my nose, the ghost of his fingertips on my shoulder pressing against me.

Jesus, I really have made such a fucking mess out of things. All because I was too damn smart for my own good. Too principled. Too naïve.

Never again.

“You okay?” Wolfe asks. But he doesn’t look at me. He stares at his glass instead.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’ve been clenching your jaw since we sat down.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He doesn’t push. Just sits there with his ginger ale and lets me get away with my non-response. Somehow that’s worse than pushing, because it gives me room to feel the thing I’ve been shoving down since the garage, and I don’t want room for it. I want to stay numb.

Sal comes back with plates of braised short ribs over polenta. “New recipe. Marco’s been at it all week. Be honest.”

I take a bite, the delicious flavors dancing on my tongue. I damn near swoon “Oh my God.”