knowing he’d make sure everything went well. I only had to do what he said, and it’d all work out.
The feeling of security was not unlike the security I’d felt when he’d covered my body with his against my bedroom door. And I couldn’t help but wonder… would he be like this in bed, too?
I moved the sponge distractedly around the oversized bowl that’d once been filled with chopped apples.
Would he maneuver me gently like he had earlier, with his hand on my lower back, or both hands wrapped around my hips? Murmur in that low voice, right in my ear, telling me exactly how he wanted me?
Would he call me good again?
I turned the bowl, and the water from the faucet caught the outside rim and sprayed up into my face. The sudden sensation brought me back into reality, thankfully; I shoved all thoughts of Dante and his body and his words away as I dried off and tried to ignore the low heat burning in my gut.
Dante had already said we should be friends, and nothing more. Any thoughts—or worse, desires—I had would just make this harder. Would just make the entire process hurt more. I scrubbed the bowl a little harder.
“I always kind of liked this part,” Dante said. “The aftermath. At least, I enjoy it when I’m in a home kitchen, instead of being stuck cleaning up Stella’s myself.”
I huffed a laugh. Conversation—I could do this. It was easier than letting my fantasies take me for a ride, at least. That was for sure. “You’re not sick of it?”
“Not at all,” Dante said with a grin. He slipped behind me, running his hand along my back again as he dropped a few utensils into the dishwasher. The touch made me shiver, but I must’ve done a good job covering it up with a look of surprise at Dante’s answer, because he laughed. “I know, I thought I’d be at least a little tired of it by now. But doing things like this is why I started to bake in the first place, you know? It’s a way to connect with people.”
“I never thought about it like that,” I said. But he was right, wasn’t he? Everyone in Hell’s Ankhor was interested in learning to bake, sure, but really we were more interested in just… spending time together. Especially now that the dark cloud of the Viper’s Nest had finally passed.
“I grew up in the Liberty Crew,” Dante said as he continued to fill the dishwasher. “Dad was already in the Crew when I was born, and Mom ran out when I was little, so he, my grandmother, and the club all kind of raised me together. I basically learned to ride a bike before I learned to drive a car.” He grinned fondly at the memory. “But I had to work up to the vice presidency, same as any other member would. I think Dad made it harder on me, honestly, so I wouldn't get accused of favoritism. I was an enforcer forever.”
“How is it, working with your dad?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine having a relationship with my father like theirs, honestly. I was a little jealous of their closeness, but mostly I was curious.
“Not gonna lie, it can be frustrating at times.” He leaned against the counter and toweled his hands dry. “But we have a good relationship. He listens to me, I listen to him… most of the time, anyway. It’s easier now that I’m older, too.”
I nodded. “Seems nice, being so close.”
“It’s good for the club,” Dante said. “Proof of our longevity, you know? And it’s important for me to uphold that. So what about you—how’d you end up in Hell’s Ankhor?”
Dante was looking at me a little expectantly, and I suddenly felt like I was about to swallow my tongue. How was I supposed to follow that charming narrative with my own story? It wasn’t that I was ashamed, it was just—it was a fucking downer. And I didn’t want Dante to look at me with any more pity than he already did.
His expression fell a little, into something like resignation. “Ah, sorry, I’m not trying to pry—”
“You’re not prying,” I said hurriedly. “It’s just, uh, not as. Not as nice of a story.”
Dante grimaced. “I really didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine, really.” I waved my hand like I could wave his concern away. “I only joined Hell’s Ankhor a few years ago. I had to cut ties with my family—my brothers,