Chapter 59: author likes steak and pancakes

"I'll be back by tomorrow, baby. Just gotta run a few errands." Carla's voice was soft, almost a murmur, as she cupped my face with both hands. 

Her thumbs brushed lightly over my cheekbones before she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine—slow, warm, lingering just long enough to make my chest tighten. 

When she pulled back, her dark eyes searched mine for a second, like she was memorizing me all over again. I let out a quiet, shaky sigh. 

I hated this part. Every time she walked out the door, it felt like someone had carved a little hollow under my ribs.

She turned toward the living room, her heeled boots clicking faintly on the polished marble. 

"Lela," she called, her tone shifting to something firmer, more businesslike. "I want you to do your job, same as always. I trust you."

Lela was already seated on the far end of the long leather couch, posture straight despite how relaxed she looked. Her rifle rested across her lap like an extension of her body—matte black, meticulously maintained, the faint scent of gun oil hanging in the air around her. 

She gave a single, crisp nod without looking up from the weapon. "Always, ma'am." 

Carla gave her a small, approving smile, then glanced back at me. The late-afternoon light coming through the tall windows caught the gold watch on her wrist and turned her skin to warm honey. 

For a heartbeat she just stood there, coat draped over one arm, keys already in her hand, looking like she belonged to every beautiful, dangerous thing in this house at once.

I sank onto the couch, close enough that my knee brushed Lela's. The leather was cool against the backs of my thighs. We both watched in silence as Carla crossed the foyer. 

Her silhouette grew smaller, framed by the enormous double doors. When she finally stepped outside, the heavy door closed behind her with a deep, final-sounding thud that echoed through the high ceilings. The mansion suddenly felt too big, too quiet.

My heart was already aching, a dull, familiar bruise.

"She'll be back soon," Lela said quietly, almost gently. She lifted the rifle just enough to blow a faint puff of dust off the rail, then set it back across her knees. 

Her fingers moved over the weapon with absent, practiced care—checking the safety, tracing the edge of the magazine—like it was something that soothed her the way Carla's touch soothed me. "Don't worry. She always comes back."

I nodded, even though the hollow under my ribs didn't believe her yet. 

Outside, the low rumble of Carla's car engine faded down the long driveway, leaving only the soft tick of the grandfather clock and the steady, calm breathing of the woman beside me who never once let her guard down.

——

"Wow, Miguel," Lela said, her voice carrying that rare note of genuine surprise as she cut another piece of the steak and slid it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, eyes half-closing for a second like she was savoring something precious.

 "Carla was right—you're like the greatest cook ever."

The kitchen still smelled of seared meat, garlic, rosemary, and the faint buttery richness of the pan sauce I'd reduced earlier. 

Steam lingered above the stove, and the overhead lights gleamed off the marble island where her plate sat.

I laughed under my breath, rinsing a skillet under the hot tap. Suds bubbled up around my wrists. "I'm good, I don't know about the best though."

Lela leaned back on the barstool, fork poised. "Nah. This is next-level. Carla's one lucky woman."

I kept my eyes on the dishes, scrubbing a stubborn spot on the cast-iron pan, but a small, private smile tugged at my lips. 

The water rushed steady and warm, drowning out the quiet hum of the fridge. "I should be saying that about her," I replied, voice low but sure. "It's like nothing bad can happen to me at all."

And I meant it. With Carla gone for the night, the mansion felt vast and echoing, but Lela's steady presence at the counter—rifle propped against the wall now, out of sight but never out of mind—and the simple rhythm of cooking, eating, cleaning... it all wrapped around me like armor. Nothing could touch me here. Not really.

I glanced over my shoulder. Lela was watching me with that calm, unreadable look she always wore, the one that said she'd seen worse nights than this and still came out standing. She speared another bite, then nodded toward the plate like it was evidence.

"Seriously, though. Save me some leftovers. I might need to bribe someone with this tomorrow."

I chuckled again, shaking water from my hands before reaching for a towel. The kitchen lights caught the droplets scattering across the sink, tiny sparks in the quiet luxury of the room.

"I wonder," I said, pushing back from the counter and walking over to the island where Lela sat, "what's the possibility of this compound being attacked?"

I slid onto the stool beside her, close enough to catch the faint, clean scent of gun oil still clinging to her clothes mixed with the savory remnants of dinner. The kitchen lights had dimmed 

automatically as the sun dropped lower, casting long shadows across the marble and turning the space into something quieter, more intimate—and somehow more exposed.

Lela chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed before answering. "Really low," she said, her voice steady, almost casual. "But you never know." She set her fork down for a moment, dark eyes flicking toward the towering windows that framed the deepening twilight outside. 

Beyond the glass, the estate's grounds were fading into inky blue, the distant tree line swallowed by dusk. "Don't worry about that, though. With me here, you'll be well protected."

She lifted her fork again like a small salute, the tines catching the warm overhead glow. 

"I was trained by special forces, after all."

I nodded slowly, the words sinking in deeper than before. There was nothing boastful in her tone—just quiet fact. Suddenly I was acutely aware of how dangerous she really was: the precise way she held herself, the effortless confidence, the rifle leaning against the wall like a silent sentinel. 

She could end a threat before most people even registered it. And right now, that made the whole mansion feel like the safest place on earth.

A yawn escaped me, unbidden. I glanced toward those massive floor-to-ceiling windows again. The sky had gone from bruised purple to full black, stars just starting to prick through the haze. The reflection of the kitchen lights stared back at me like pale ghosts.

"I think I'll go make my bed now," I said, sliding off the stool. "Not gonna sleep, though."

I walked away with that same unshakeable calm, shoulders loose, steps easy. 

Nothing could touch me here—not tonight, not with Carla coming back tomorrow and Lela watching my back like it was her only mission. The house wrapped around me, vast and silent, but for once the silence felt like safety instead of absence.

Behind me, I heard the soft clink of Lela's fork against the plate, then her low voice carrying just enough to reach me.

"Sleep if you want, Miguel. I've got the watch."

——

Thanks to whoever donated! :)