"Alright," Arty said, shrugging, unbothered. That seemed to be his natural state when he wasn't in the sort of manic phase of working on a job—unbothered. And hungry.
Which was why I had water boiling in the stove to make him a giant bowl of spaghetti. From what the guys said, Arty was in pretty high demand in the area. So now that he was done with my job, he was going to start in on another. I was trying to shove as much food in him as possible before then.
I was also going to make it a point to take a trip back to his office/home at least once a week until I left to take out the trash, do a little straightening up, maybe shove some food in his face if possible. And burn those sheets that he probably still hadn't washed.
"I have to put the pasta in," I told Che when I tried to pull away again, only to get dragged closer.
"Oh, in that case," he said, releasing me. But not before pressing a kiss to my temple.
I liked to think of myself as a strong, independent woman who didn't need a man, one who didn't really even want one since I was convinced it would drive me nuts to have someone in my business all the time. But Che had become surprisingly possessive, and seemed to always be touching me. And, well, I didn't hate it. In fact, I liked it a lot more than I felt I should. I found myself leaning into it. Which I needed to stop. I couldn't get too used to it. Because I had a sinking feeling that it would hurt to lose it. Better to start carefully pulling that band-aid off now.
"So, anyway, the entrance to that room seems to be here. It is the first doorway right before the bathrooms. It says 'employees only' on it, but while I waited on line, no one in a uniform went in or out, just other people in normal, street clothes."
"You did good, Arty," Che said, giving his shoulder a slap that made the much lighter man jolt forward a step.
"So, how are you guys going to handle it?" he asked as I mixed the pasta into the pot.
"Sass and I are going to go in under the pretense of eating. Remy will show up to do the same within ten minutes. Then we will make our way from our table toward the bathrooms, and go in. McCoy and Seeley will be outside the building if things go south. And Huck will be a block away with a car if we all need to get out of there fast."
It felt strange not to be the one in the car waiting.
It felt stranger to be the one going into a sticky situation.
But this was my problem, I had to be part of the solution to it.
"When are you doing this? I can keep an eye on the street cameras, make sure Jia is around when you plan to move in," Arty offered.
"The day after tomorrow," Che said, tone grumbly.
He wanted to wait, take a couple more days, iron out any kinks. Huck had been the one to push to "get it over with." The closer Harmon got to the end of her pregnancy, the more Huck wanted everything to calm down.
It was sweet.
Every woman should be so lucky to have a man—and his entire friend group—only want the best for you and your baby.
"I will make sure I have nothing else going on. I can even watch from now until then to let you know the most likely time he will be there," Arty offered.
"I'd appreciate that," Che said, trying to grab me as I walked past.
"I need to grab a jar of sauce," I objected, dancing away from him.
"Why do you keep touching her so much?" Arty asked, making me freeze in reaching on the shelf for the sauce, curious to see what Che might say.
"I like touching her," Che said, brushing it off.
That was it.
He liked touching me.
I mean, of course, that was it.
What was I expecting him to say?
Or, more accurately, hoping he might say?
Nothing the least bit rational, that was for sure.
So I went ahead and pushed all those hopes down, and focused on making the pasta, serving it, cleaning up after it.
"You've been quiet all day," Che said, watching my reflection in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.
I offered him a shrug, leaning down to rinse.
When I stood up again, there was something hard in his eyes.
"Don't shrug shit off," he demanded, voice both soft and steely at the same time.
"I had nothing to say to that. Sometimes I'm quiet." Especially when I was lost in my own thoughts, and none of them were particularly good.
"Sass..."
"I'm tired," I told him, moving to make my way out of the bathroom, feeling him snag my arm, stopping my forward motion. "Che, I don't want to talk about it," I told him, not turning around.