Jennie

"Oh my God. It's you."

I look to my right where Solar stands at my side, expecting that this is probably a fangirl moment. Solar might be signed with a smaller indie record label, but she still has a significant following and it wouldn't be the first time she was recognized while we were out together.

But when I return my gaze to Meg the Hostess, she's staring straight back at me.

Flame engulfs my cheeks. "Umm … hi …?"

"I'm so sorry. When you came the last time, I totally got sidetracked and forgot to tell Lisa." Meg's pretty blue eyes widen as she shakes her head. "I still feel terrible."

"Well, I hadn't made a reservation, so you have nothing to apologize for."

"But you have a standing reservation at 3 in Coach," Meg says with a sweet, knowing smile. She pulls a thumbtack from her podium and passes me a sheet of paper.

Table 12 is PERMANENTLY RESERVED for:

—any reservation under the name Jennie Kim

—a beautiful, black-haired woman with hazel eyes and freckles, 5'8", probably alone, shy, looks like she wants to run

Inform Lisa immediately of any reservations under this name or any guests fitting this description.

And then, in red text as though it was added at a later date:

IMMEDIATELY. I AM NOT FUCKING AROUND.

The word IMMEDIATELY is underlined six times.

"That's so cute," Solar says as she lays her chin on my shoulder and reads the note, pointing to the red text. "It sounds like she's going to cut people up for you. That's so Keanu-mantic."

I snort a laugh as I pass the paper back to Meg. "First of all, Keanu-mantic is so not a word. Secondly, Keanu doesn't cut people up in a red-flag romantic kind of way."

"He does in John Wick."

"Sure. For a dog. I wouldn't call that romance, Solar."

Solar shrugs before she beams a smile at Meg. "Table for two, please, for Jennie Kim, black-haired, freckled, five-eight beauty who looks like she wants to run."

Meg takes two menus from her podium and grins as she motions us forward. "Follow me. I'll let Chef know you're here as soon as you're seated."

Solar squeaks and grips my wrist as we follow Meg to the booth I sat in the last time I was here over a year ago. She can probably feel my pulse hammering into her hand. I stayed with Lisa for two weeks after extending my time off from work, as Jay had recommended. And those two weeks with Lisa just weren't enough.

My body was still bruised and sore when I left for Raleigh to pack up my things and rent out my furnished house. I made arrangements at work to go fully home-based and spent my evenings and weekends dismantling my storage container kill room that I've barely used since we started this game. It's been three weeks since I saw Lisa, and my heart is nearly ready to burst through my chest as the seconds tick down to the end of our separation.

I don't know if this is going to work—living with her, working from home every day, being in a new city, trying to build this foundation we've made into something more. But I'm going to try.

"You're hella excited," I say to Solar, trying to divert attention from my own blistering anticipation as we weave through the busy restaurant. The lunch rush has passed, but there are still more full tables than empty ones, even if many of the patrons have finished main courses and have moved on to desserts.

"Of course I am. My bestie is in l-o-v-e and I get to meet her love for the first time."

I snort. "I never said anything about love."

"Didn't you sneakily install a security camera in the kitchen?"

"That's stalking, not love."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to. And clearly, she adores you too. She knows my baby," she says, gesturing toward the booth as Meg lays the menus on the table. "A perfect Jennie choice. Sheltered and equidistant between the exits."

Oh my fucking God. She's right.

Solar slides onto the padded seat and Meg disappears to grab Lisa from the kitchen, and I'm still standing off to the side like a dumbass, staring at the table like I've never seen one before.

She permanently reserves the booth she knows you would want at her popular restaurant. She beats the shit out of an emo pervert for watching you masturbate. She has some random neighborhood kid bring you groceries.

Who the fuck are you kidding? You don't just "more than like" this person.

Solar's head tilts and a crease appears between her brows as her gaze travels across my face. "You okay there, Jennie? You look broken."

I'm about to say something. I open my mouth, manage a stuttered start to a sentence that never materializes. It dies on my tongue when I hear the subtle Irish accent rise above the conversations of diners and the clang of cutlery on plates, glasses on tables.

"Blackbird," she says loud enough to carry across the noise. When I look over, she's striding past tables of patrons, looking much like she did the last time I came to 3 in Coach, her chef coat rolled to her elbows and a white apron tied around her waist. But this time, there's no look of shock, only a warm smile and her arms spread wide. "Get over here."

I glance at Solar and her grin is electric, her eyes dancing. She jerks her head in her direction, and even though I know I probably look like some lovesick teenager, I can't help it. My heart is pounding its way up my throat. If it had its way, I'd already be running in her direction.

I might not run, but I still walk. Fast.

When we meet in the middle of the restaurant, Lisa grasps my face between her palms and takes a moment to just absorb the details of my expression, as though she's savoring every nuance. She's radiant, clearly in her element in this space, her eyes bright and crinkled at the corners with the width of her smile and the depth of her relief.

The kiss we share doesn't linger. But its heat does, infusing every cell with both comfort and the need for more than we can take in this moment.

"You look so much better," she says when she pulls away.

I shrug. "A little sore still, but getting there."

"Trip was okay?"

"Winston hated every moment of the drive from Raleigh. I think I'm going to hear him growl in my sleep for a week, but he's settled down now that he's in your place. He seems a bit weirded out, but I'm sure he'll adjust in a day or two. I left my stuff on the floor in the living room, so I'm ninety percent certain my cat will have all the luggage shredded in retribution by the time we get back."

"Our place," Lisa corrects, and loops an arm over my shoulder to guide our way back to the booth. "Our cat. I can't wait to be kitty litter influencers together; what a great side hustle. We're gonna be rich."

I bark a laugh and roll my eyes. "You're the worst.

"You'll love me someday."

One of my steps falters.

Today is that day.

Maybe yesterday too. And the day before that. Maybe for a while, in fact.

I can't tell exactly when it started, but I don't think it will ever stop.

I take Lisa's hand where it lies over my recovering shoulder, the joint still a little tender but getting better every day. When I look up at her, I try to repress a smile but fail. "Yeah. Maybe."

Lisa doesn't call me out, doesn't prod for more, but I know she can see it in me as though it's written in the constellation of dots on my skin, even when I try to force my gaze away.

"Told you so," she whispers as she presses a kiss to my temple.

Solar slides out of the booth and gives Lisa a hug as though she's known her for years, and the two fall into easy conversation from the moment we're seated. And though I pretend to be immersed in my menu, I'm not. I'm watching Solar and Lisa with a heart fuller than I ever thought it could be. The only two people I love in this world are sitting right next to one another, forging the first moments in a friendship, a foundation that will hopefully only grow with time.

I might not have a lot of people, but I have Solar and Lisa, and that's enough.

We share a meal together. A bottle of wine. We split the fig phyllo Napoleon for dessert and sit with our coffees until the last guests have departed and the restaurant shuts down to prepare for the dinner shift. There's no lull in conversation. There's no shortage of laughter. And when it's time to leave, we make plans to get together again over the next few days while Solar is in town—live music, dinners out, maybe a sailing trip around the harbor. As we make our way to the exit, Lisa gives me a wink, like this is all part of her grand plan to lure Solar here.

We hug her goodbye at the door and Lisa winds up with a gold star sticker on her cheek before Solar dances away.

"Come on, need your help," she says, taking my hand when Solar turns a corner two blocks down, heading for her hotel. Lisa tows me along in the opposite direction. "Very important job, Blackbird."

"What job?"

"You'll see."

"Are you going to leave that sticker on your face?"

Lisa scoffs. "Of course. Makes me prettier."

Four blocks and one turn later, Lisa pulls me to a stop. Though I ask her what she's doing and where we are, she evades my questions. Instead of answering, she maneuvers behind me to fold her palms over my eyes before she nudges me forward. I'm about to give her some little jab about how I'm not going to walk across the entire city of Boston blindfolded when she guides us to a stop and we turn to the left.

"Ready?" she asks.

I nod.

She lifts her hands from my eyes.

Before me is the front of a brick building where a new black awning with globe lights stretches over an outdoor seating area that doesn't yet have chairs on the freshly painted deck. The interior is finished, the luxurious details of the furnishings and dark wood tables mixed with the exposed brick and unexpected pops of teal-blue decorations. Massive ferns wave gently in the breeze of the air-conditioning system hidden among the industrial network of black steel beams and ductwork on the ceiling. It's beautiful and elegant, yet comfortable.

And across the full front of the restaurant, stretching over the door and the awning, a massive sign in block letters.

B and B

"Lisa …" I take a step closer, staring up at the sign and the stylized wrought iron raven and meat cleaver incorporated behind the first few letters. "Are you for real?"

"You like it?"

"It's incredible. I love it."

"Well, that's a relief, considering we're two weeks away from opening. Reservations are booked up past Christmas. Would have been awkward to cancel." With a flash of a grin, she takes my hand and tows me toward the door where a large poster details the upcoming grand opening and the contact details. She unlocks it and holds the door for me to step inside, the scent of fresh paint and new furniture greeting us. "Still need your help, though."

As we head toward the kitchen, Lisa points out details, decorations that reflect her brothers' influence, like the selection of Weller's bourbon behind the bar for when Jay comes for the opening, or the branded leather coasters that Sehun made. But I am everywhere too. In the huge black leather wing, the intricate feathers spread across a wall above the booths, the exact spot where I would want to sit. In black-and-white paintings of ravens by local artists, a butcher's knife or meat cleaver incorporated into every one.

It's not just me. It's us.

I pull Lisa to a stop in the center of the room. Her eyes dart across my face and down to my neck as a burning swallow shifts in my throat.

"You …" is all I manage to squeak out. I gesture between us and then to the room. "This …?"

Lisa tries to bite down on a laugh as a knowing smirk sneaks across her lips. "Eloquent. Is this another 'someone' situation? Can't wait to hear what you come up with, Blackb—"

"I love you, Lisa," I blurt out. I take only a moment to register the shock in Lisa's expression before I barrel into her, wrapping her solid body in my embrace. Her heart hammers beneath my ear as I press my face to her chest.

Her arms fold around me, one hand threading into my hair as she lays a kiss to the crown of my head. "I love you too, Jennie. So fucking much. But the restaurant was probably a giant clue."

I laugh into her chest and shimmy a hand between us to catch a tear before it falls. "I kinda got that vibe. Not sure what tipped me off. Might have been the sign out front."

Lisa pulls away, her hands warm around my shoulders. When she stares down at me, I see everything I feel reflected back at me in her faint smile and soft eyes. There's relief knowing I can love and be loved, after years wondering if I was so broken that there was room only for vengeance and loneliness in my heart. And I think I see the release of that burden reflected in Lisa's eyes too.

"Come on," she says after pressing a quick kiss to my lips. "I still need your help."

Lisa leads the way to the kitchen where brand-new commercial appliances and stainless steel counters gleam beneath the recessed lights in the freshly painted ceiling. She heads first to a row of hooks where aprons are hanging and tosses one to me before she disappears into a walk-in fridge.

"What are we doing?" I ask as she returns with ingredients stacked on a tray that she sets on the counter next to me.

"Building a spaceship." She grins when I give her a flat glare. "Cooking, clearly. I'm still fine-tuning the lunch menu for opening week. I need your help tweaking it."

"I thought we'd already established that cooking is not my strong suit."

"No, we established that you cook perfectly well, we just need to do it together."

And we do.

We start with simpler things, like making a red wine vinaigrette for one of the salads and prepping vegetables for a soup. Then we move on to harder things—pork loin with shallot rings, a salmon fillet with cream sauce. And watching Lisa share her art with such passion and confidence is like injecting an aphrodisiac directly into my veins. My desire for her grows more powerful with every moment that passes, and she's so immersed in what she's doing thatshe doesn't seem to notice any of the signs.

It only makes me want her that much more.

We sample the dishes we create together and Lisa presses the gold star from her cheek to the top of a fresh page in a stained, dog-eared notebook where she jots down ideas and feedback on everything we make. And then she declares that it's time for dessert, the course where she needs the most help. When I try to protest that I'm full, she laughs me off.

"I know you can take more," she says with a smirk, then strides off in the direction of the fridge.

She returns with another tray of ingredients, but this time the pavlova and crème brûlée and chocolate cake have already been made. They just need to be assembled with their presentation and sauces, which Lisa does with speed and precision before she sets them in front of me on the counter. She then takes a step back and lets her gaze flow down the length of me. I feel it in the center of my body, as though she pulls an invisible string that tightens my core until it aches.

"Face the counter and pull your dress up, Jennie."

My panties instantly dampen, even before my brain has fully processed her words, as though my body knows what's about to happen before my mind does. I suck in an unsteady breath and my mouth pops open, but I don't know what to say.

Lisa raises her brows and flicks her gaze toward the counter. "You think I didn't notice the way you tugged your dress down before you leaned over to show me your tits when we were making that white wine sauce? I always notice you, Jennie. Now do as you're told."

I shudder out my held breath, grasp the hem of my dress, and drag it up my thighs as I turn and face the stainless steel counter, its polished edge cold against my heated skin. Lisa's warmth envelops my back as she steps behind me to run a calloused palm up my leg and across the globe of my ass.

She pulls my panties to the side and notches her cock to my entrance, then slides into me with a single stroke to the sound of my gasp.

And then she just stays there, unmoving, lodged to the hilt in my pussy.

A whimper catches in the back of my throat. My clit throbs, begging for friction, my cunt desperate for motion. I try to move forward and back again, but there's nowhere to go between Lisa's unyielding strength and the sharp edge of the counter against my hips.

"No,"she commands when I try again. "Relax, Jennie."

A strangled moan passes my lips. "How the fuck am I supposed to do that?"

Lisa chuckles, nonplussed by the fact that desire is burning me up, every cell torched with the need for more than she's going to give. "Just try. See where it takes you."

My pulse drums a galloping rhythm, my breaths are shaky and uneven. When I stop trying to move, Lisa lays her chin on my shoulder and takes up a dessert spoon.

"Such a good girl you are, Blackbird," she coos into my ear as she slides the spoon through the crème brûlée and brings it to my parted lips. "And good girls get rewards."

The creamy dessert and tart berry topping land on my tongue with a burst of flavor. Lisa remains still as I savor the taste.

"Did you like it?"she asks.

"Y-yes."

"Missing anything?"

"I …" Fuck, I don't know. I can't think clearly with her cock thick and hard in my pussy, my arousal slick at my entrance, my clit demanding relief. When I shake my head, she seems to understand that I don't mean "no," but that I can't be sure.

"Close your eyes. Try again."

I do as Lisa asks and close my eyes. The scents of sugar and fresh berries flood my nostrils, aromas I didn't truly notice the last time. Lisa traces the edge of the spoon across my lips to paint my pink skin in flavor before I open for her.

"What do you taste?" Lisa whispers against my neck.

"Cream. Vanilla. Caramelized sugar. Strawberries and raspberries," I reply, my eyes still closed. It feels like I'm floating, not outside of my body but in places within it that I've never seen or felt before. There's another realm inside that I didn't even know existed. It's as though I'm disconnected from the rest of the world, yet more present in it than I've ever been. Every sensation becomes clearer in the absence of extraneous noise.

"What's missing?" Lisa tries again.

"Nothing. But …" I shake my head. Lisa's hand glides down my arm in reassurance, that this place and my words are safe with her. "But it's not unique."

"You're right," she replies. An indulgent kiss lingers on my neck as her cock twitches within me. I notice every motion she makes, from the way her lips lift from my skin to the rise and fall of her chest against my back. "It's not unique. It's like every other crème brûlée in the city. It needs something different. Something new."

"Thorsten Harris probably would suggest—"

"Blackbird," Lisa says, punctuating her warning with a bite to my earlobe. "Do not even think about finishing that sentence, or there'll be hell to pay."

My eyes remain closed as I grin. "I like your version of hell."

"You say that now. But I could stay in this tight little cunt of yours for hours, and I think you'd feel differently if I spent all that time not letting you come." Lisa shifts her hips, just a hint of movement that ignites my desperation for more. "Now be my good little bird and name me the most random fruit you can think of. The first thing that springs to mind."

I don't even really think about it. I just speak. "Persimmon."

There's a beat of silence. Lisa relaxes behind me, as though the pent-up tension in her chest has spirited away.

"Yes. Persimmon. That's an excellent idea, love."

And then she slides out of me.

I open my eyes and turn around as she takes a step back, tucking her erection back into her briefs before she tugs her pants up. My breaths come in shallow pants as I take her in. There's heat and desire in her eyes, but she keeps it banked. Not like me. I know my desperate need for more is written all over my face.

"I thought you said good girls get rewards," I say, my voice low and husky.

A slow smile tips up the corner of Lisa's lips where her scar brightens in a straight line through her skin. "You're right. I did say that. Go out into the restaurant and sit on your table."

"Which one is mine?"

"You'll know."

She tosses me a wink and starts to gather the unused ingredients onto the tray. I watch for a moment before she nods toward the door and tells me she'll be there as soon as she's done.

I head out into the dimly lit space and toward the booths beneath the black wing mounted on the wall. When I glance between the front entrance and the sign for the emergency exit by the bathrooms and the door to the kitchen, it's obvious which one I'd choose—the booth that sits just beneath the vertex of the spread wing.

When I slide onto the seat, there's a line of text in a simple cursive script, branded into the surface of the wood. Blackbird's Booth, it says.

My finger traces each letter as I look out at the space and take in every detail from this vantage point. I'm still absorbing the warmth spreading through my veins when I hear the swoosh of the kitchen door.

"I thought I said for you to get on the table," Lisa says as she stalks in my direction. I glance from her to the windows lining the front of the restaurant and back again. Anticipation rushes through my veins on a flood of adrenaline.

"But—"

"On, Jennie. Now."

Fire crawls beneath my skin as I gesture toward the front of the restaurant. Lisa stops next to the booth with a stern expression that states she's clearly unwilling to entertain any protest I'm about to make, not that it will stop me from arguing. "I just saw a woman walk by with her groceries," I say. "She does not want to see that. No one does."

"Of course they do. And even if they didn't, there's an important detail that you might be missing: I don't. Fucking. Care. So are you using your safe word?"

"No."

Lisa's hands press flat to the surface as she leans closer, pinning me with an unwavering stare. "Then get on the fucking table, Jennie."

I climb onto the surface with my back facing the row of windows as heartbeats hum beneath my skin, keeping my eyes on her the whole time. When I'm settled, Lisa slides onto the padded bench until she's directly in front of me. My gaze is trapped in her, our connection unbroken, neither of us moving. She seems to enjoy that I'm waiting for her instructions as much as I enjoy obeying them.

"Pull your dress up to your waist," she says, her eyes dark and brimming with lust. I do as she says, but I take my time, dragging the hem across my skin. "Spread your legs wide."

Lisa's gaze stays riveted to my damp panties and the outline of my piercings beneath the fabric as I spread my thighs as wide as my hips will allow. She grasps my knees and prompts me back a little closer to the center of the table.

"Remember what I told you?" she asks, not taking her eyes from the apex of my thighs.

I nod. "That you were going to devour me on a table in the restaurant."

"Damn straight, Blackbird. And this is a meal I've been fucking dying for."

Lisa stretches my panties to one side, lowers her head, and feasts.

She wasn't lying. There could be people walking by. They could be staring in the window. They could be at the table next to us and she doesn't fucking care. She ravages my pussy like it's the last meal she'll ever have. She lavishes every piercing with attention and sucks on my clit. She plunges her tongue into my cunt and moans. She tightens her fingers on my thighs in a bruising grip that only ratchets up my desire.

And if anyone is watching, I don't care either.

I grasp Lisa's hair in a tight fist and hold her against me to grind my pussy into her face. I'm rewarded with a throaty growl and two fingers plunged into my cunt, the immediate rhythm and her expert touch pushing me closer to coming undone. My ass squeaks against the wood as she surges forward and consumes me, body and soul.

I come apart with a cry of Lisa's name, soaking her fingers, coating her face. And she leaves me no time to recover from the intense orgasm before she drags my panties down my legs and tosses them to the floor. The moment they're gone, she's tugging her pants and briefs down and sliding into me.

"Fuck, Jennie," she grits out with the first full thrust. I can already tell it won't be long before I'm coming apart for a second time. "I've missed you so fucking much. It's been hell here without you."

"I'm right here," I whisper. I rake my fingers through her hair with one hand and glide my touch beneath her chef's coat to trace the muscles of her back with the other. She leans away enough to pull the thick fabric over her head and I press my touch to every taut muscle and jagged scar.

Lisa bands an arm across my back and yanks me off the table, never breaking our connection as she pulls me down to straddle her on the bench. "You're going to take my cock as deep as you can. You're going to ride it the way you want until you come all over it. And these tits," she says as she unzips the back of my dress and pulls the low neckline down along with the cups of my bra, "you're going to bounce these glorious fucking tits in my face."

I grip the top of the booth with one hand and lean closer to guide my breast to her waiting mouth with the other. She sucks on my nipple and rolls her tongue across the piercing, her moan a vibration in my flesh ass she pinches the other one to a firm peak.

I glide on her erection, filling myself with her length. I want to make this pleasure last. I want to savor every long stroke of her cock, every grind of my clit against her flesh as I take her deep, every touch of my piercings against sensitive nerves. But she drives me right to the edge with her kisses on my breasts and the filthy demands she makes every time she surfaces from my skin. That's right, baby, take me deeper in that tight little cunt. You're going to be dripping my cum down those pretty thighs all the way home.

My orgasm shatters my vision with a burst of stars as I press my eyes closed and scream. I break apart as Lisa thrusts up, hitting even deeper as she spills into me, her hands gripped tight to my hips as she holds me down on her pulsing cock. Our foreheads are pressed together, our breath shared, our gazes fused. When we finally come down from the euphoric fog, I smile and trace Lisa's cheeks with my fingertips.

"I missed you too."

Lisa sighs, and I realize this is the first time I've seen her truly relaxed since I got back. She lays a kiss to the tip of my nose. "Let's go home and do this again. And again, and again, and again." She guides my hips up until she slides free, her cum leaking from my entrance.

"Napkin?" I ask as I dart a glance down to my legs.

Lisa traces a line up my inner thigh. Two fingers gather the milky rivulet and slide up to my pussy, her eyes already dark with desire as she watches my reaction.

"Fuck no," she rasps as she finger-fucks the cum back into me with slow thrusts. I shudder and moan, my sensitive flesh already desperate for more. "I meant what I said. You'll be walking home with that mess on your thighs, little bird."

After a final, deep thrust and a roll of her thumb over my clit that has me gasping and clutching her shoulder, she withdraws her fingers and raises them to my lips to suck them clean. When she's satisfied, she gently guides me to the end of the booth and pulls her clothes back into place before following.

We stand for a moment, hand in hand, looking at the space and the windows where thankfully no one has stopped to watch us in our sanctuary, the one that always seems to surround us when I'm alone with Lisa. I let my eyes travel over the space, and when my attention flows in her direction, I feel Lisa's gaze pressing against my face like a gentle caress.

"I'm so happy you're back, Blackbird," she says asvshe pulls me into her chest and wraps her arms across my back.

I close my eyes. We shift in our embrace, moving together like two dark creatures intertwined, flowing with the current of the world around us.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper. "Just home with you."