Page 34 of Saint

Written clearly on her angelic-like face.

She liked what I said.

No, she liked it in a way that it meant a lot to her.

Good.

Because I meant every fucking word I said to her.

‘Let’s flip a coin. Heads, you're mine. Tails, I’m yours.’

– Saint’s Secret Thoughts.

Chapter 11

Saint

It took us another ten minutes to reach my house.

And by the time we pulled into the driveway, I saw her mouth drop open.

I chuckled, which had her eyes come directly to me, when she asked, “Where are we?”

I winked, “My house.”

She gasped, “Your house? You mean to tell me that you live in an old Victorian-style home?”

I laughed, “Hey, that ain’t fair, mon coeur.”

She smiled, “That was pretty. What was it?”

I winked at her, “Tell you later.”

And with that, I climbed out of my truck, walked around to her side, and helped her down.

Hand in hand, we walked up the front steps.

Once I had the door open, I said, “Go explore. Nothing is off limits to you. I’ll be in the kitchen or out on the back deck.”

Following my gut, I did just that, I leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

It was almost an hour later when the French doors to the back deck opened, and she said, “Now I feel bad. I fell in love with your house and made you wait.”

I winked at her, then pulled a fresh beer for her out of the cooler and handed it to her after I popped the top off, “It’s fine. Had an inkling that would be the case, dinner kept.”

And with that, I moved to the grill and took the steaks, baked potatoes, and grilled asparagus, then I asked, “Any allergies?”

She shook her head, “No. Thank goodness.”

I nodded, “How about Soraya?”

“She’s allergic to peanuts.” She told me.

Tucking that bit of information away, I set our plates on the table.

“I’m being a bad guest. I should have asked if there was anything I could do to help.” She said as she took in her plate.

I shook my head, “Baby, you’re a single mother. When’s the last time someone took care of you?”