Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

30. Bombed Mission

I hadn't seen him in two weeks. Sadly, I've gone the same amount of time without him pestering me. By pestering, I mean touching me.

After analyzing his grasp, Marcel's eyes trail up to mine. 

"Tomorrow. I'll text you the address." I say.

Marcel's silver rings possess his warmth, but still, I nearly shiver as they pass my fingers. As our hands drift away from one another's, time resumes and Halci rises from a nearby table.

"Angel..." Halci looks back as I catch up with her. "Who is that?"

"Partner in Crime," I tell her with a smile.

"I want one of those." 

When I look back – for my own indulgence – Marcel is nowhere in sight. I'll see you tomorrow.

TOMORROW

After hearing a knock on my door, I set my donut latte on the coffee table. Yes, I know I said I was staying away from the lattes, but I was craving one this morning. Not everyone is as disciplined as you, Karen.

Trotting barefoot, I reach for the knob way before I could grasp it. On my doorstep, stands the short-haired pain in my ass.

"I didn't want to believe it, but you really led me to your place. Aren't you worried?" He checks his surroundings for any familiar witnesses.

"She's gone. I have the day off." I step aside for him to come into the townhouse.

His wondrous eyes take in my domain and sanctuary. I can feel his sense of accomplishment by walking into my home. "Black, white, and wood. Very crisp." 

"Yes, but you didn't come over to talk about interior design." I make my way back to the fluffy, throw-decorated couch.

"What I tell you about rushing me?" 

There's not any smugness in his playful tone today. It shouldn't have been there yesterday. Then again, he probably wouldn't be at my house today. 

Plopping down beside me, he guesses the reason for this invitation. "I'm not apologizing for yesterday."

"I wasn't expecting you to. Just tell me what happened." I pass through the bullshit to get to the core of his recent behavior. 

He stalls as he looks around for an excuse. Saved by the bell, his eyes fall upon the latte on the coffee table. "I haven't had anything to drink this morning. I'm thrown off." His head wavers as his eyes roll. Sir, don't play with me.

"You little shit." I chuckle and head to the kitchen.

"Language."

"You rather I speak Italian?" I open one of the many white cabinets and grab a mug to rinse out.

"Yes, by all means." I listen as his footsteps follow me into the room

"Sciocco."

"No, not that." Marcel breaks out into a hearty laugh.

Timeously, a smile spreads across my once contained face as I pour his donut latte. After refilling the air with the delicious aroma, I hand my company his drink.

"You're really not fair."

"Never said I was." Marcel blows into the steamy cup before taking his first sip. "You always get the good stuff." He heads back into the living room to make a spot for himself. "You caught me slipping yesterday."