Chapter 5
709 Words
ALLY
The sun was warm on my face—warm enough to make me forget I was still in my uniform, sitting on a stone bench with a half-eaten apple in one hand and my legs tucked under me like a child who didn't know better. Gabriella had snuck two pastries from the kitchen, both still warm. She offered me one like she was passing me a secret.
"You ever think about running away?" she asked between bites.
I looked at her, amused. "From here?"
She shrugged. "From life. From responsibility. From bills and men and... dusting the same shelf every damn day."
I bit into the pastry, chewing thoughtfully. "Only every other Tuesday."
She laughed, her whole body moving with it. Gabriella was a sunbeam in a place that didn't get much light. Older than me by maybe two or three years, sharp-tongued and soft-hearted. We'd bonded over burnt bread and shared silence.
I didn't like admitting but I was grateful I had her here.
"So?" she pressed. "What would you do if you weren't here?"
I blinked toward the far wall, pretending to think. "I don't know. I'd open a bookstore. Something small. Coffee, old paperbacks, a cat named Marcel who sleeps on the counter and scares away rude customers."
"Marcel," she echoed, mock-serious. "That's oddly specific."
"I've had time to think." I chuckled.
She gave me a sly look. "Would Dante visit this bookstore of yours?"
I blinked. "What?"
"You know," she said, drawing out the words, "Dante. Tall. Silent. Hot. Cold. Broody. Did I say Hot? The one who mysteriously appears when you're fainting or reading or just breathing too loud."
I nearly choked on my pastry. "That's not—he doesn't—Gabriella." This girl.
"Oh, come on," she grinned. "You have a thing for him."
"I do not."
"You do. You look at him like he's the last page of a really good book you don't want to end."
I covered my face with one hand. "You're insufferable."
"And you're in denial." Maybe I am. But it's just a crush. It would die down. Eventually.
And besides who doesn't have a crush on Dante? Everyone does.
"I work for him. That's it." I muttered.
"That didn't stop you from defending him last week when Clara said he was heartless."
"I didn't defend him. I just said he paid us on time." In my defense, Clara was being an ungrateful brat. Probably because she tried severally to seduce the poor man and when he didn't pay her any attention. She calls him heartless.
"With a weirdly passionate tone, yes."
I was halfway through rolling my eyes when I heard footsteps—sharp, even. Gabriella's eyebrows shot up just as I turned my head.
And there he was.
Dante, in a dark charcoal coat, his hair slicked but still looks like it's been ruffled, his cologne already in our space, hands in his pockets, his gaze unreadable but definitely flicking between the two of us. He had beautiful orbs by the way.
Gabriella's grin stretched wider.
"Speak of the devil," she murmured under her breath. Only I could hear her.
I sat up straighter. "Sir." Only then did I notice Marco by his side. I also nodded at him.
Dante gave a faint nod. "Ally."
Gabriella chimed in, far too brightly. "We were just talking about books. And bookstores. And cats named Marcel."
I shot her a warning glare that could've cracked marble. But Ella is Ella.
Dante's mouth twitched. Barely. "Sounds... enlightening."
"I was on my break," I said quickly. "We were just—"
"You're free to speak," he interrupted calmly. "Just don't name any more cats after dead French writers."
Gabriella choked on laughter. Marcus smirked and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. And for just a second, I could've sworn I saw something strange in his eyes.
Something amused. Something soft.
Then it was gone.
He gave a curt nod and walked off, his coat catching in the breeze.
As soon as he rounded the corner, Gabriella turned to me, smug as a cat with cream.
"I think he wants to visit the bookstore too."
I groaned. Loudly.
Why did I even tell her that in the first place.
- Writer
