Cruz:
Taking a bullet was easier than this s**t.
Standing in a grocery store aisle, second-guessing the shape of f*****g pasta noodles.
Spaghetti was safe, right? Easy enough not to screw up, familiar enough to count as comfort food. Add garlic bread, a bottle of that wine she always reached for after long shifts, and a dozen red roses—because apparently, that’s what you’re supposed to do when you want a woman to know she matters. You buy f*****g flowers.
And Avery did matter. More than I’d let myself admit, even now.
It was all uncharted territory. Every bit of it. I’d never cooked for anyone outside the club unless it was meat over a fire and a bottle passed between hands. I’d never bought flowers, not once in my whole god damn life. And the wine—Jesus—I felt like a jackass trying t
