Page 29 of Killer Notes

“Sing it to me,” I blurt without thought, surprising myself in the process.

Danny turns wide eyes. “No.”

I glance at the bacon and then at Danny. “Why not?”

“Well, for one, it’s not the typical kind of song Warrior Black sings. And I’m not even done with it,” he admits with a sheepish grin.

“And the third?”

“I didn’t say there’s a third.”

“But there is, isn’t there?” I smirk.

He frowns slightly. “Yes. But I let Connor hear it first before anyone else.” He turns away, picking the cooked bacon from the pan.

Fucking Connor.

“Then it’ll be a privilege for me to hear it for the first time. Besides, I won’t be biased. And just to note, I don’t listen to heavy metal. I’m more a country music fan,” I say, reaching for another piece of bacon.

Danny glares at me as he whacks my hand with the greasy tongs. “Keep eating the bacon, and there won’t be anything left for me and Saint. And it’s an atrocity to not like heavy metal.”

I shrug. “It is what it is. I’ve always liked country music,” I say as I watch Danny pick up a piece of bacon.

“You can have one piece.” He tosses the bacon into the air, and Saint snatches it right up. Danny claps at my dog’s feat, then turns back to the stove.

Not wanting to lose the relaxed mood between us, I coax, “Come on, Danny. I want to hear your song.” I snag one more bacon slice without Danny catching me, and shove the piece into my mouth.

“No.” he says as he begins scrambling eggs.

“Just sing it,” I push.

“N and o.” Danny switches off the burner for the bacon, and puts down the tongs.

“Chicken.” I prod a little more, thinking he’ll sing.

There it is again. That spike of ire I saw back at the condo. He’s an enigma to me. On one hand, Danny can be fearful and look broken. But then, on the other, a spark of fire crests his blue eyes and he’s ready to tackle the world.

I like hearing him ramble on about his friends, and his passion for music. Danny’s too damn adorable for his own good. But when he’s mad, there’s no worry about the stalker shading in his eyes.

“I have a process, Tobias, and nothing you can say will change that.” He grabs plates from the cabinet and hands me one. As Danny dishes out the food, he hums the same tune, but a little louder this time.

I keep quiet, letting the crooning melody filter through my brain. The normalcy of it all. Here in Pops’ place—my place now, while this gorgeous singer is humming, as we eat the breakfast he made.

Normal. I inwardly snort. I don’t know what normal is anymore. But if I had to pick, this—right now, I’d take on the daily. Knowing I have a man by my side, making me food, and humming a song he’s composing. I would definitely want to call this normal.

“This is driving me nuts.” Danny drops his fork and the clatter yanks me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“The song. I can’t get past one part of the song.”

“It sounds good to me.” I more than like it, but I don’t say that. “Where do you get your inspiration? Maybe pull from there.”

“Well, Mr. Grant, why didn’t I think of that?” Danny says with a sarcastic smirk.

“Smart ass.”

“That’s me.”