At first, I thought I might have to treat her with care. Give her space. Time. But I had an inkling that space and time were my worst enemies with her. They gave intrusive thoughts too much fuel. Room to grow.
Which was why I was going to the bakery. Before work.
Maggie enjoyed it since she got an extra-long walk this morning. I didn’t mind it either since I got to taste Nora’s mouth. Claim it. Claim her.
Yeah, it was the best morning I’d had in a while. A long fucking while.
Yet I needed more.
Hence me walking into the bakery before work, just after seven. Because I needed more. Of her.
I hadn’t been up this early in a long time. Six thirty was closer to when I got up for work. Sometimes seven. I considered that to be early enough.
Nora, though, got up at fucking five in the morning and looked absolutely fucking stunning.
It was hard to believe, before this morning, I’d been sleeping in my bed while this beautiful fucking creature was awake. I vowed to be up with her as often as I could. Even though it would be a fucking effort. I had not been up at five in the morning since I couldn’t sleep at all after I got back, back when the nightmares kept me prowling around the house at night, looking for intruders, looking for ways to silence the screams, the gunfire that echoed in my head.
But it wasn’t her I got.
It was a feisty Australian who grabbed my upper arm the second I walked through the door of the bakery. The bitch moved quick, rounding the counter and making it to me in only a handful of seconds. I guessed because she didn’t want Nora seeing my entrance or her advance on me.
Now, she was a force to be reckoned with. Tall, but not as tall as me. Few were. And though she was stronger than she looked—couldn’t have been more than a buck forty soaking wet—she was not strong enough to drag me from the bakery if I tried to fight her.
But she was close to Nora. That I knew. And she was a woman, one that impressed me. So, I didn’t fight her.
The bakery was busy, even at six thirty in the morning. People in this town tended to get up early, especially when there was a limited amount of those almond croissants Nora made. Those people looked amused by Fiona dragging me outside. And also interested since this was a town that knew everyone’s business.
Fiona did not seem to care about her audience, her sharp gaze focused squarely on me as she shoved me around the corner of the building, away from the entrance and the windows.
Bitch did not fuck around either. She dove right in.
“She’s not soft,” Fiona informed me, folding her arms as she lectured me. “She looks it. She looks kind and good and soft. She’s all of those things. But she’s a lot more. A fuck of a lot more. She’s special.”
I bristled at the hostility in her tone. “I know.”
She shook her head violently. “You don’t know. Because you’re a man. Because you think she’s special because she’s beautiful. Because she has nice tits. And she looks delicate, perfect for big, hulking men like you to protect.”
Her eyes grazed over me… not in appreciation, but in judgment. A fuck of a lot of it.
“Which I know all men want to do,” she hissed. “Even the ones who proclaim to be feminists. Especially the ones who proclaim to be feminists. But then they find that the soft, small, beautiful, shy, dorky girl who owns the bakery can take care of herself. Can tear down and put up drywall. Can change her own tires. Can do about a hundred things that I would have to pay someone to do. She’s impressive as fuck. To women, of course. To men, when she renders them useless or inferior, it fucks with them. And that’s when they decide it’s time to start taking things from her. Small pieces but enough to shrink her down. She’s strong in so many ways, but she’s also fragile. She’s apt to think the worst possible things about herself, if people encourage that. And he encouraged that.”
My blood boiled. It had been boiling. Since the second I saw that fuck with his hands on her in the bakery. Then when I saw his ring on her finger. Again, when I saw that fucking bruise on her face.
But this was different. Because as tough as the Australian chick was trying to be—not trying to be, she was one tough bitch—I knew underneath all of that anger was hurt too. She loved Nora. Fiercely. Enough to come out here, willing to go toe to toe with me. Enough to hurt when she saw her friend being taken apart, and unable to do anything about it.