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We trek to the coffee shop, which is a much quicker walk from the class than it was from the library, in silence. Declan sets my bag down at the same table we’d been at before and holds out a chair for me. I have to physically restrain myself from a smile. “Thank you,” I say quietly, and he nods in return and goes to place our order.
My restraint in emotions would probably seem crazy to any other person, but to me it is a safety mechanism. In my experience, people can use your emotions against you. If theysee that something brings you joy, or makes you happy, they could take it away as punishment or for their own sick pleasure. Alternately, if you show that something scares you, they could use that against you for the same reasons. In my life I have learned that not showing any emotion is the best way to keep myself safe and lessen any repercussions. It is a habit I’m not willing to fix.
Declan returns with our drinks and a slice of the death by chocolate cake that was in the bakery case. He drops the cake right in front of me. I furrow my brow and look at him in silent question.
He returns my look with a minuscule shrug. “I saw you eyeing it the last time we were here.”
I feel a blush creep up my neck, and I drop my gaze to the table.
“If you don’t like it—”
“No, sorry, thank you. I love chocolate cake,” I say, giving him a small polite smile.
Declan nods and sips his drink, his eyes still intent on me. “You ever gonna tell me about that backpack? It’s really heavy.”
I take a sip of my own drink, stalling, and find it the perfect temperature. “I told you, it’s books.”
He gives me a small, humorless smirk. “Still don’t trust me, huh?”
“I don’t know you,” I remind him, picking up a fork and breaking off a bite of cake. As the rich chocolate flavor melts onto my tongue, I close my eyes and groan with pleasure. It is just as good as it looks, so rich and just the right amount of everything. It makes my tongue quiver with enjoyment. I open my eyes and find Declan staring at me, and I realize I just moaned out loud, porn-star style, because of cake.
I set my fork down and take a sip of hot chocolate to wash down my amazing bite of cake, keeping my eyes averted fromhis. I am so embarrassed by what I’ve just done. “Uh, so do you want to talk about the project?” I ask. The project is the reason we are here, to pick up where we left off the other night, right?
“No,” he says flatly. His response causes me to look up in surprise, and when I do I find a fork full of chocolate cake hovering in front of me, millimeters from my mouth. It comes forward and touches my lips and I automatically open. “What do you want to know?” Declan ask as my lips slip around the fork.
“Huh?” I ask around the mouthful of chocolate deliciousness. It comes out all garbled and I don’t even know if he understood what I said, but that just makes us even because I am completely confused about what is happening and what he is asking me.
He smirks at my chocolate-filled question, a rare treasure that I memorize for later. “You say you don’t know me, implying that’s why you don’t trust me. So what do you want to know?”
I blink at him, momentarily stunned. Is he opening up to me? I want to speak but remember I have food in my mouth. So I swallow and gulp down some hot chocolate and look at him, my nerve now nearly lost, but I decide to just pull the trigger at the last minute.
“What do you do?” I finally ask. This question could answer a lot of the follow-up questions that I have.
Without missing a beat, Declan answers, “I work for my family business.”
So vague, I roll my eyes. “And what is the business?”
“We own six bars and about a dozen tenement houses in the area.”
“And what do you dospecifically?”
“My brothers and I have it divided up between us which ones we take care of. I manage the places I manage the properties I'm responsible for, make sure the employees are doing their jobs, contract out what I need to, collect rent, do the banking, complete payroll.”
He answers each of my questions without hesitation, no eye rolls or irritation, but still I’m nervous to ask the next one.
Declan reads my hesitation like a book. “Just ask, Vivian,” he says quietly, the rumble of his voice louder than the actual volume of his words. The sound of his voice has me rubbing my thighs together to try and ease the heat and desire he is creating within me.
“Why do you carry a gun?” I ask softly, afraid to be overheard.
“For personal protection. Some of my bars and houses are not in the best areas. Some of the tenants and clientele also aren’t of the finest caliber. I go to check them out at all hours of the day and night. I want to be able to protect myself. I have all the proper licenses to carry.”
That makes sense, at least I feel like it does. But is that because it actually makes sense or because I want it to? This is why emotions are bad. Because even a small crush like I have for Declan can cloud my better judgment. Wanting to see him the way my heart wants could make me believe he is who I want him to be. And I do not want him to be a bad guy.
“Are you from here then?” I ask him to try and distract myself from spiraling on the what-ifs of things.
“Yes, I grew up in Fall River. My parents grew up here too.”
I nod, taking a bite of my cake to give me a little time to process.