Page 103 of Judas (The Lito Duet #2)

Chapter fifty

Babalon

Two weeks later

W hen Kace said that it is quiet here in Pennsylvania, I didn’t believe that it was going to be this quiet.

I can actually hear birds as they flap around and chirp in the trees outside of our home.

There are so many too. I’ve seen cardinals that are said to be visitors from the grave, grackles, sparrows, an enormous owl, and some pretty white birds, too.

They all live harmoniously here, full trees that stretch for as far as I can see, down the too long driveway and then some.

I’m amazed they haven’t gone into hibernation yet but it’s coming.

The first time Kace drove us down the drive, Sadie and I were glued to the windows of his truck.

Both of us having come from neighborhoods that were more concrete than wooded—we were amazed that this was where we would be living.

It’s not the trees that set everything apart, it’s the knowledge that it’s ours and we belong here—that this is home.

Pulling up in front of the house? Not what I expected at all.

Knowing where his family comes from, and the money associated with his father’s name, I pictured a very angular abode with more windows than metal.

Maybe stone too, utilizing the surrounding landscape and materials but was surprised at what I found.

Where I assumed there would be angles, were curves.

A modest amount of windows too. English ivy sprawls up several dark green painted brick walls to the second story.

Window treatments stained deep brown, copper plated accents, a two car garage nestled under the window of an upstairs living space, black stone chimney, and hundreds of other plants bring it all together.

Cozy with the warm incandescent lights that illuminate a rock pathway up to the front door.

Understated and beautiful—a far cry from where I came from.

I’m still not accustomed to being here, it’s so quiet everything else is loud but I’m making due—we’re making do.

Sadie spends a lot of time in the bay window of her new room.

I find her curled up there a lot, reading the thickest books I’ve ever seen while I’m outside on the grounds.

That’s where I prefer to be, barefooted, in clothes that are mine, hair doing whatever it wants, a chilled breeze making chills erupt across my skin.

Sitting amongst the flowers and foliage—my favorite’s being moon flowers.

They grow a lot here, with it being heavily shaded in certain areas.

Adding the perfect amount of white and blue.

The yard is so kept I likely won’t ever see dandelions here but Kace did the next best thing—-they’re not dandelions, but they’re close enough…

Marigolds. Mini sunflowers now are peppered in pots and planters everywhere.

Some more orange than others, reminding me of how different stars truly look at different stages of their lives.

He brought the entire night sky directly to me.

I’m drifting in and out of consciousness, between the birds and random pings and pangs coming from downstairs.

Kace must be in the kitchen doing something making all that racket.

When he isn’t shooting out back or in the garage with his big-boy-toys, he’s in the kitchen.

Suppose seven years of terrible prison food will make you appreciate a plethora of kitchen gadgets and fresh ingredients.

Rolling over, I reach for my phone to check the time and see that it’s getting close to noon.

Can’t really tell with all the tree coverage and winter headed for us.

Deciding to get up, I drag on one of Kace’s t-shirts and pad down to the kitchen.

I round the end of the back stairwell and see his broad back after I finally step into the kitchen.

Joggers hang low on his hips, a sin in itself, and shirtless.

Moving on the opposite of the sink where he’s fucking with the espresso machine.

Grumbling lowly to himself when he gets blasted by some of the steam—trying to perfect my favorite hot coffee.

Breakfast plated on the bar which frames the space to the right of the machine.

Sadie must have come out and grabbed hers already. There’s an empty place setting with a napkin abandoned close by—silly kid never takes it with her. Guess that means it’s just the two of us at breakfast this morning.

“Smells good in here, whatcha making?”

I don’t quite move yet, leaning against the corner of the wall with my arms braced behind my back.

Kace turns around, his hair flopping over his forehead looking like he got up and took a shower for it to dry in messy clumps.

Mismatched colored eyes as bright as ever, if there was more light shining in here, they’d probably glow.

Turning back to what he is doing, he lifts an arm and waves me over.

“Trying to do this fucking cappuccino-chu-frappe-matcha-mocha what the fuck ever you like. Burning the hell out of myself.”

Laughing, I close the distance. Beside him, my hand slides along his lower back, feeling him tense slightly but he doesn’t move away.

We’re still acclimating, it’s going to take some more time but for the most part we’re good.

He hurts too, ribs healing well enough for not being braced or supported because the stubborn asshole refuses to worry about small things like that.

So he says. Leaning into him, mindful of the steam jet, I press a kiss to his bare shoulder.

“It’s just a latte with a pump of chocolate. So dramatic.”

“I’m sorry, Miss I don’t drink black coffee.”

He grins, not looking at me, yet I see it anyway. More focused on the way his hands move—knowing what they can do.

“I’ve been tortured enough, there’s no need to drink it black.”

“Valid point. Go ahead and sit down to eat, I’ll be there in a second.”

I give his shoulder a little bite and pat his ass playfully, moving over to one of the barstools next.

Checking out the plate of food, my stomach growls, it all looks so simple and delicious.

Thick slices of French toast, bacon, some fried potatoes with what looks like a red pepper and onions—trying to fatten me up.

Not waiting to dig in, I scoop up my fork and take a bite of the French toast and groan.

Kace has impeccable cooking skills. Between jobs and spying on me and Sadie, I suppose cooking is all he had left to do.

I remember the days where he would criticize the food in the prison, a little too tasteless and lacking the correct texture for mister fancified-palette here.

No complaints though, I’m reaping the benefits of his boredom and distaste.

Sliding onto the barstool next to me, I don’t give him a bit of attention when he places my drink down.

I find it rather endearing that he has made it a point to learn how I like my coffee.

Out of the few times we have gone out he took the lead and ordered things that I preferred—makes me wonder how he knew these things about me.

We eat in a comfortable silence. No need to look over our backs for other inmates gunning for us. No concerns of potential crooked guards, just peace. Well earned, quiet-peace. The sounds of our cutlery gets lost in an ebb and flow of the sound of home.

Seeing Kace out of the corner of my eye, he’s leaning his elbows on the bar, holding up his own mug of coffee.

Back straight, feet flat on the bottom rung of the barstool he’s sitting on—good posture.

While I’m over here with one leg folded under me and the other swinging right where my toes graze the cobblestone style floor.

A bitch to clean, honestly. I hate them.

The moment I am done eating, I push the plate away and grab my cappuccino.

Sipping on it a few times before placing it back down and looking out the enormous spread of windows.

They run the length of the dining room before stopping at an archway separating the dining from the living area.

It’s a nice open concept design, only the rooms and few other spaces closed off but where we are at now, everything can be viewed from all angles.

“Do you like it here?” His voice interrupts my ogling.

“I do. It’s nothing I thought it would be, instead it’s so much more. Assumed it would be one of those sterile and stuffy rich-people type homes but the only thing rich about this place is the fact that it feels lived in. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, when I was growing up my mom and dad would have certain rooms blocked off where my sister and I couldn’t go in.

The only time those rooms were open were during the holidays or whatever prissy-ass event they were hosting.

Even had plastic on the furniture to keep it clean the rest of the time. Felt clinical.”

“That sounds shitty.”

“Definitely. When I got around to looking for a place, I had things in mind I wanted all of us to enjoy. Something a lot less stuck up for me, more welcoming and accepting for Sadie. Needed it to feel like home for you. Walked in during my tour and fell in love with it. So, I’m happy you are satisfied. ”

Swiveling on my seat, I lean to the side and prop my head up with my hand—elbow pressed onto the countertop like both of his are.

Looking him over. Fucker thought of everything, I’m impressed.

Don’t think this was ever in the cards for him, even before prison.

Yet here he is, domestic as hell. It’s been a long ass life but I’m glad we finally made it here.

Kace arches a brow, noticing me staring at him.

“What is it, baby?

Snagging one more quick sip of my coffee I finally push off my seat and lean in, speaking right in front of his ear.

“I love you, Kace.”

I walk away as he freezes, hand swinging out to snatch my elbow and drag me back. His free one slides to the nape of my neck and into my hair, tilting my head back as he looks into my very soul.

“Say that again.” He demands.