10. Romi

Chapter 10

Romi

The afternoon sun casts a warm, honey-like glow over everything as Sullivan drives me back to my apartment. The memory of our morning in the park with Angus keeps a goofy grin plastered on my face.

As we pull into the driveway, I glimpse the ever-vigilant Ms. Viola positioned on her front porch, a steadfast queen overseeing her suburban kingdom. Her hair is in curlers, adding a touch of 1950s glam to her otherwise mismatched outfit of leisure wear, completed by a long, lazy cigarette drooping precariously from one corner of her mouth. And there's Herman, the old iguana, basking on the banister, looking as if he might issue a decree at any moment about who does or doesn't belong in his sunlit spot.

Sullivan puts the truck in park and turns to me. "Here we are," he announces as though we've trekked through distant lands instead of just down the road. There's a moment where neither of us particularly wants to move.

"I really had a great time today." I lean over and place a soft kiss on his lips. "And last night."

"Me too." Sullivan wraps his hand around the back of my head and draws me closer.

His warms lips close over mine and my mind shuts down. As he devours my mouth, I forget all about my new canine friend in the back seat and my landlady sitting on the front porch.

When he pulls back, I blink several times, trying to clear the fog from my mushy brain. He tells me, "I'll see you later on, little treat."

"I have to work tonight," I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. God, he just has to look at me to turn me into a bubbling airhead. What in the world is happening to me? Oh yeah. Sullivan stole my heart and blew my mind at the same time.

"I know. I'll be there tonight to make sure no asshole decides to take his life into his own hands by touching my girl." His territorial words should raise my hackles, but they do the opposite.

"Okay." I smile at him and give Angus one more scratch under the chin. Sullivan comes around the side of the truck and opens the door for me. Angus grumbles in the backseat about being left in the truck, but Sullivan ignores his disgruntled canine and takes my hand in his.

As we walk up the sidewalk, he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Good afternoon, Ms. Viola."

"Mr. Midnight." I'm not sure how that cigarette stays balanced on her bottom lip while she talks. "You kept my tenant out all night last night," she states, and I groan to myself.

"Yes, ma'am, I did." Sullivan wraps his arm around my shoulders. "And I'm planning to keep her out a lot more in the future."

"Just make sure you put a ring on her finger before you put a bun her the oven." I feel my face heat from her words, and I wonder if the universe would do me a solid and have the ground open up and swallow me on the spot.

"I'm planning on doing that, too," Sullivan reassures her.

"Good." She seems satisfied with his responses, and Herman turns his head, slowly blinking one beady eye in our direction, a slight nod of sage approval. "Just so you know, Herman approves, and he's got a better judge of character than most folks I know," Ms. Viola adds as a puff of her smoke drifts across the front porch.

"I'm glad to have his approval," Sullivan laughs and leans over the banister to give the lounging reptile prince a little pat on the head. He responds with a flick of his tongue, clearly already over our banal human exchanges.

Ms. Viola chuckles, flicking her cigarette ash casually over the railing before glancing over at me. "Don't waste time when you know a good one. Boys like him don't come knocking every week, darling. Trust me. I've had my fair share of door knocks."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on ever letting him go." I've never been more sure about anything in my life.

"Good." She nods, a slow confirmation that carries wisdom, and then she totally throws me under the bus in front of my caveman. "Go clean yourself up, honey. I don't know what you did with that man, but you smell like dog and sunshine."

"Oh my God," I mumble under my breath as Sullivan laughs.

"I'm going to walk Romi up to her door if you don't mind, Ms. Viola?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Mr. Midnight."

Taking that cue, we walk around the back of the house to my apartment. At my door, Sullivan pulls me into his arms and kisses me to within an inch of my life.

When Angus starts barking nonstop from the truck, Sullivan lays his forehead against mine and groans, "I'm going to start buying the cheap treats if he keeps cock blocking me."

"No, you aren't." I laugh and step into my living room before I'm tempted to forget all about his spoiled pooch and my crazy landlady and drag him inside. "I'll see you later, caveman."

"Yes, you will, little treat."

I watch him walk away before shutting the door and leaning against it. Wow.

It's a typical night at Trick or Treat, the bar hopping with the usual mix of quirky costumed locals and wide-eyed tourists trying to capture the perpetual Halloween magic of Midnight Falls.

I'm in full-on bartender mode, hands flying over the array of bottles, trying to keep up with the various orders.

I can feel him. Sullivan is here, and no matter how fast I whip up Witching Hour cocktails or dodge strong opinions about which villain karaoke round we should feature next, there's an electric current pulsing whenever I meet his gaze, even from across the room.

At the far end of the bar, Sullivan sits nursing his beer. His eyes follow me, a mischievous glint in their blue depths that brightens especially when I glance his way.

Over the clinking of glasses and bubbly chatter, Tony, my intimidating boss, sidles up next to Sullivan. They exchange a few words, their interaction soft enough to stay below the radar of my attentive customers but visible enough to twinge my curiosity to unbearable levels.

What are they talking about? I imagine Sullivan's made some sort of gentlemanly vow or Tony rattled out big-boss warnings torn from mobster movie monologues. My shoulders twitch with the effort not to fill margarita pitchers with shaking hands, the concoction as brightly colored as the glow from the ridiculous pumpkin head lamp anchoring the bar's Halloween theme.

I slide another rolled napkin next to a colorful tower of shots in front of the middle-aged witch who's been overly generous with her tipping all night, subtly peering down the bar to gauge what the heck is happening down there.

When Tony walks away and Sullivan doesn't appear to be overly concerned about my boss, I breathe a sigh of relief.