"They are here for me."
Dragon reached up and used one finger to move a piece of hair away from her forehead, tracing it down the side of her face and along the curve of her jaw.
"Then you should be there with them," she said.
He smiled as she turned to slide off her stool.
She reached into the black satin clutch held in one hand and took out several folded bills. He rested his hand over hers, stopping her.
"That was mine," he said to the bartender.
Ariella smiled and set the money down on the bar. "No. It was mine." She walked around the stool, and he reached for her hand, but she just kept walking toward the door. Partway there, she turned to look over her shoulder at him. "Goodnight."
He stood stunned for a few moments, not really believing what he was seeing. She was walking away from him. No hesitation. No second thought. She wasn't moving slowly in the dramatic hope he would chase her. She was simply walking away.
Everywhere he went, people noticed him.
Now they noticed her, too.
Chapter Thirteen Now
I'm feeling apologetic towards my body for just how much cake I ate last night. So, the morning finds me standing in front of the stove, cooking omelets overflowing with peppers, onions, and mushrooms. I have to admit, they smell pretty good. Especially when I sprinkle garlic over the top.
Sam comes in and wraps his arms around my waist from behind, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek.
"Good morning," he says.
I turn my head to kiss him, giving a little sigh of happiness.
"You can keep those coming all morning," I say. And I know he will. Sam can’t get enough of me.
“You know, you’re really lucky I’m willing to kiss you still after all this onion garlic morning breath you’re about to have.”
“And you’re lucky that your wonderful partner makes breakfast for you instead of making you eat stale cereal when you comment on her breath,” I smile, fluttering my eyelashes prettily. “Now shut up and give me another kiss.” He chuckles and leans in for another.
"What are you up to today?" he asks as he crosses to the breadbox.
Over the last couple of years, Sam and I have gotten into a rhythm in many aspects of life. One of them is breakfast. If he comes into the kitchen in the morning and finds me making eggs, his job is to start cranking out the toast.
"Are you going to be ready in about an hour?" Dean asks, coming down the hallway. "I think it will be better if we get to the bank earlier rather than later."
"I guess that answers my question," Sam says. "In a confusing way, that makes me have even more questions but answers it nonetheless."
"Oh, hey. Morning, Sam," Dean says. "You coming with us today?"
Sam looks at me. I flip the omelet onto the plate off to the side, drop a little more butter into the hot pan, and add some of the vegetables I already cooked. Spreading them out, I pour in some beaten eggs.
"Are you going down to the courthouse to deal with all the people who want to be difficult and contest traffic tickets?" Sam asks.
Dean stares at him blankly for a few seconds. "No."
"Then, I guess not."
He snatches two pieces of toast that pop out of the toaster and puts them on a plate to be buttered.
"Dean and I were up late last night after you went home. We talked about Mason's case again. I've decided to be open-minded and go into it with a fresh perspective. I don't have anything to do for the Bureau until later in the week, so I have time to help him with his investigation," I explain.
"We're going to go up to the bank and start from scratch," Dean adds.
I shift the last of the eggs onto the plate and carry it over to the table. Sam has another round of toast getting golden, and Dean is completely out of rhythm, but I'll forgive him because this is his first morning here with us.
"Dean, can you get some coffee going?" I ask.
"Sure."
While he does that, I pull out sausage patties and put them in the still-hot pan to cook. It's turkey sausage, so I'm still being good. Granted, there are few breakfasts that would actually be as bad as the three slabs of birthday cake I ate last night, so I'm ahead of the game no matter what. I reassure myself with the acknowledgment that I probably won't eat until much later in the day. This has to fuel me through.
"The bank is about an hour and a half from here," I tell Sam. "Depending on what we find out there, we might have other stops to make."
"And other people to bother," Sam says, grinning at me and leaning around to give me another quick kiss.
"You say ‘bother’, I say… ‘encourage to provide needed information’," I offer.
"Relentlessly," Dean adds as the coffee starts bubbling into the carafe.
"If need be," I shrug. "Either way, I'm not sure when we're going to make it back here. I'll let you know later."
"Sounds good. I might go grab dinner with some of the guys tonight. They want to catch the game up at Kelsey's bar," Sam says.
"Perfect."
We sit down for breakfast and talk about nothing. These are some of my favorite conversations. I'm fully invested in our nothingness when Sam jumps slightly in response to his phone vibrating in his pocket. He looks at it and forces down the bite of eggs and sausage piled on buttered toast he just took.
"Johnson," he answers. "Everything okay?" He listens for a few seconds, and his face darkens. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
He's already standing as he hangs up, and I follow him out of the kitchen.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"That was Frank. There was a domestic violence call this morning, and it looks like it's getting really nasty. They need me to intervene," Sam frowns. "Sorry to
