Page 53 of Mafioso's Muse
The scent of lemon hit him as she passed by. ‘You mean to tell me there’s something better than your walk-in?’
Willow’s laughter filled the living room, which was easily done with such a small space. She opened the sliding glass door and led him out onto a balcony. There was a cosy lounge, far more potted plants than were practical for such a tiny space, a table that looked like it had been rescued from hard rubbish, and a spectacular view of the city skyline.
She crossed her arms and looked out. ‘Not bad, huh?’
‘You definitely get bonus points for location and view.’ He frowned down at the table. ‘And for your sustainability efforts.’
She looked at him with a knowing smile. ‘My brother, Liam, made that. And the coffee table inside.’
‘I thought you said he was an electrician.’
‘He is. The furniture is just a hobby.’
‘A new hobby?’
‘Be nice.’ She bent down and swept a hand over the wood. ‘He gets most of the materials from hard rubbish, you know.’
‘I thought that might be the case.’
Willow straightened and looked at him. ‘Let me guess. Your apartment is full of expensive leather in beige and muted tones.’
‘What’s wrong with muted tones?’
She raised her hands. ‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with them.’
‘Let’s just say I have a few less sequins around the place and no monster fish.’
She suppressed a smile before looking away. ‘Should we eat out here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Drink?’ The subtle wringing of her hands suggested she was nervous.
‘What do you have?’
‘I’m fresh out of the good scotch, but I do have kombucha.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Which I made myself,’ she added.
Normally, he was fussy about homemade products, especially ones involving bacteria, but he had already criticised her brother’s workmanship, and the thought of hurting her feelings further was worse than the prospect of being accidentally poisoned. ‘I’ll take mine neat.’
She smirked at the ground before heading inside.
‘Want a hand?’ he called through the open door.
‘No, I’m good. You sit.’
He lowered himself onto the lounge, praying it would take his weight. It was surprisingly comfortable. Everything with Willow was comfortable—maybe too much so.
She returned a few minutes later with a large tray. On it was a plate of food and two mismatched glasses of kombucha. He took it from her and set it on the table, and she took a seat beside him.
‘I’ll be honest with you,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have a lot of time. I made the hummus and kombucha, and the rest is from my local deli and the supermarket.’
He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘What do we have?’
She pointed to each of the items. ‘Sourdough crackers, cranberry and pumpkin seed crispbread, camembert, vegetable sticks, baked figs, smoked salmon pâté, and apple slices.’ She picked up the drinks and handed one to him.