I came to New York because I thought I could cook my way into a new life. I thought if I sharpened my knives enough, if I let the kitchen heat blister my hands, I could carve myself into someone unrecognizable from the girl I was. Howard restaurant...
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CHAPTER (...) TWELVE. broken plates.
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The rain drummed softly against the windows like a slow, patient confession. The gray light pressed gently at the edges of the curtains, turning the room into a quiet watercolor; all muted blues and soft blurs, the world outside dissolving into mist.
Gianna woke first.
For a moment, she didn't move. She lay still beneath the weight of the blankets, eyes half-open, letting the rain wrap itself around her like a lullaby that hadn't yet finished. Jake's arm was draped lazily across her waist, fingers curled against her ribcage as though even in sleep he refused to let her drift too far away.
His breathing was deep, steady; that slow rhythm worn only by men who don't yet realize they've been granted peace.
She turned her head, studying him. The dark lashes resting against his cheek. The soft rise and fall of his chest. The faint trace of a smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth, like he was dreaming of something too good to wake from. She could smell the whiskey still faint on his breath, mixed with the warm, clean scent of cedar and soap.
Her heart ached; not in pain, but in recognition.
Outside, a car splashed through a puddle on the street, and the sound echoed faintly through the room. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then fell silent again.
Gianna exhaled slowly and tried to gather herself. Tried to gather her defenses. But each breath seemed to melt a little more of the steel she'd built around her ribs.
Jake stirred.
His brows knit briefly before his eyes opened, still heavy with sleep and settled on her. For a moment, he didn't speak. He just looked at her in the pale morning light, as though the sight alone was something he'd spent his whole life waiting for.
"Morning," He murmured, voice husky, rough around the edges.
"Morning," She echoed, quieter than she meant to.
A slow grin pulled at his lips. "You still charging six hundred?".
She rolled her eyes, but the smile betrayed her. "You're lucky I let you stay for free."
He shifted closer, pressing his forehead gently to hers. "I'll pay you back," he whispered, breath warm against her skin. "In interest."
Gianna scoffed but it came out smaller, softer. "Shut up."
He didn't. Instead, he pressed the lightest kiss to the corner of her mouth; not hungry like last night, but slow and reverent, like a benediction. The rain continued to fall against the window in thin, silver threads. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
