[Camden]
"That's it," Kendall says. "It's official."
I look up from my coffee, the warm, nutty aroma filling the kitchen. She's standing in front of the open refrigerator, light spilling around her, wearing one of my T-shirts that just barely covers her thighs. The curve of her ass peeks out from under the fabric, and I stare, unabashedly, at the perfect view.
After all, we're kind of playing house right now, so I'm allowed, right?
This whole setup will change when we're back home, but for now, it feels dangerously like a life we could almost call our own.
"Stop looking at my ass and listen to me," she says, frustration in her voice as she shoots me a scolding look over her shoulder. I laugh, the sound echoing softly through the quiet, secluded house.
"Okay, principessa. What's wrong?"
"We're officially out of all food products," she says with a huff, crossing her arms as she looks into the empty shelves. Her bare feet tap lightly against the cool tile, her brows furrowed.
"You've got to make a supply run."
"Really? We're out of everything?" I say, a teasing note in my voice as I lean forward. The warm comfort of the kitchen contrasts with the chill of the outdoors, making it feel like our own secret hideaway.
"It wasn't as well stocked as the other place," she argues, and I stand up, moving in behind her and feeling the small shiver she tries to hide as I get close. Her sweet, faintly floral scent mixes with the crisp morning air filtering in.
She's right; there's nothing in there but condiments and some sad-looking greens that have seen better days.
"We can't eat ketchup for dinner," I say, reaching over her to inspect the nearly empty shelves myself. "I guess we used the last of the eggs this morning?"
"Your fault, you make the best eggs," she mutters, the smallest smile tugging at her lips as she tries to stay annoyed. I lean down and press a light kiss to the crown of her head, feeling her sigh soften.
"I'll go out and get more supplies before dinner. Don't worry."
Kendall looks up at me, her eyes unexpectedly soft, almost vulnerable. "You take such good care of me."
The sight catches me off guard, a warmth seeping into my chest that feels too close, too dangerous. She's cute like this, hair messy, face open and trusting, freckles marching boldly across her nose as though daring me to notice them. My heart clenches so hard it feels like it might stop, and I have to look away to keep from giving myself away.
It's been four days since we got to the new safehouse, four days since that brutal car chase, and yet I still find myself tense, looking over my shoulder. I know Marco doesn't know where we are, but I can't shake the feeling of danger creeping around the edges.
"Everything is going to be fine," I murmur, squeezing her waist as she bites her lip, studying the sad remains in the fridge. I hope she can hear the reassurance I'm trying to pour into my voice, but part of me isn't sure if I'm trying to convince her or myself.
She smiles, a small, peaceful expression that feels like it could undo me if I stare too long. She turns to face me, and I place my hands firmly on her hips, needing to ground myself in her presence. "I know it is," she replies softly, and the trust in her gaze is a weight and a balm all at once.
"You just hunker down, and I'll be back in a bit," I tell her, forcing a casual tone to keep the moment light. "Any special requests?"
"Bread and peanut butter," she says, her eyes lighting up with a rare gleam of excitement. "I miss peanut butter sandwiches."
I laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in my chest. "Fair enough. What about chocolate?"
"Nutella," she says, not missing a beat, and I can't help but chuckle at her quick reply.
"A fair point," I muse, grabbing a nearby notepad and scribbling down a list. I add beer, other essentials, and anything else that might make this place feel like a bit more of a home, even if just for now.
She waves to me from the doorway, the sunlight catching her face, and my heart seizes up in my chest. A hollow pang rings through me, a fear I can't shake: What if this is the last time I see her? What if Marco or one of his men is out there, lurking, waiting for me to leave her vulnerable?
I pause just outside the door, the frigid air snapping against my skin. "Get dressed," I bark, almost without thinking. "You're coming with me."
She blinks, surprised. "I'm what?"
"You're coming with me," I repeat, striding back inside with a determination that feels as wild as the feeling beating in my chest. "We'll get you some real clothes, too, but for now, wear these sweats and a hoodie. Put all your hair under a cap."
She smirks a little, gathering her curls and eyeing me skeptically. "That's a lot of hair," she says, trying to lighten the moment, but there's a hint of seriousness in her tone, an understanding of the fear I'm not fully expressing. She doesn't argue further, slipping into the sweats and tugging the hoodie over her head without complaint.
Once her hair is hidden beneath the cap, I step closer, leaning down to press a kiss to her nose, unable to resist the way she looks up at me, all undercover and yet unmistakably Kendall.
Taking her hand, I lead her outside, feeling the chill of the morning air as we walk to the car.
The quiet feels heavy, too unnatural-like the calm before a storm. I scan the area, senses on high alert. Every shadow seems darker, every noise sharper.
Something isn't right.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I open the passenger door for her. Kendall hesitates, her eyes searching mine. She must see the tension there, the silent warning I'm trying to hide.
"Camden…," she murmurs, voice barely a whisper, as if she senses the same invisible threat. My heart pounds as I pull her closer, scanning the deserted road one last time.
"Get in," I say, the urgency clear in my voice.
Because somewhere, someone might be watching us.