Celestine’s thoughts wandered, her mind spinning out all sorts of theories about Gideon’s marital history.
Gideon narrowed his smoky gray eyes, catching on quickly. “Miss Selwyn, you don’t actually think I’ve been married, do you?”
“What? Oh, no, of course not,” Celestine stammered, flustered. She hesitated, then tried, “But, well, Mr. Prescott–you’re quite the catch. I’d imagine you’ve at least had a serious relationship before?”
“No way! Miss Angel, I’ve watched my uncle stay single his whole life–he’s never been married!” Cynthia, perched on Gideon’s shoulder, shouted anxiously.
Gideon didn’t seem to mind; in fact, Celestine’s casual compliment about his looks left him visibly pleased.
Celestine, though, wasn’t so sure anymore. Cynthia was just a child, after all. How much could a kid really know about grown–up affairs?
Yet Gideon hadn’t outright denied it. Maybe he kept secrets from his family, wanting a quiet life with his wife, away from prying eyes. Maybe they just didn’t want the
world to know.
With that explanation, everything suddenly made sense to Celestine. She decided she’d better keep her distance from Mr. Shield. Once she’d saved up enough for her surgery, their business would be finished.
After all, if someone’s girlfriend found out another woman had taken a hit for her man, it was bound to cause trouble. As a woman herself, Celestine could easily understand that feeling.
Her smile faded as she stepped back, distancing herself and gathering up the ingredients on the floor. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott. If I need anything, I’ll be in
touch.”
Gideon noticed the shift immediately, confusion flickering across his face. What had he done now? Had he come on too strong and scared her off?
Meanwhile, Cynthia gazed up at Celestine, practically drooling. “Miss Angel, chicken soup–chicken soup!”
“I’ll call you over tonight when it’s ready, okay?” Celestine replied, her voice warm and gentle.
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“And what about me?” Gideon asked, half teasing, half hopeful.
“If you want some, Mr. Prescott, I’ll send a portion back with Cynthia when she goes home,” Celestine answered, her tone abruptly cool.
Gideon stared at her, almost incredulous. Not only did he have to ask–now he’d be getting leftovers? Apparently, he wasn’t even worth a fresh meal.
“Understood,” he said icily, then carried Cynthia next door to their apartment.
Once he was gone, Celestine let out a long, relieved breath. At least she’d managed to keep things between herself and Mr. Shield aboveboard.
After dinner, she found herself staring at Gideon’s message window on her phone, torn between sending a text or just knocking on his door to call Cynthia over. If she messaged, it might seem ambiguous to anyone who saw it. But if she knocked, she’d probably run into Gideon, who was likely still at home.
Her indecision lasted until Cynthia, her stomach growling with hunger, took matters
into her own hands and knocked.
“Miss Angel, is dinner ready yet? I can already smell it in the hallway!”
Celestine grinned in relief. Cynthia really was her little lifesaver. She hurried to open the door and ushered Cynthia inside. “Everything’s ready. I was just about to call you.”
The door swung shut with a bang–just as Gideon, a step behind, caught a face full of it. He’d seen the “typing…” message in their chat for ages but never received a text. Now, the soup was probably getting cold.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, he turned and went back to his own place, annoyance trailing after him like a shadow.
“Cynthia, slow down–there’s plenty more in the pot,” Celestine said, brushing the girl’s bangs out of her eyes.
“Oh, right,” she added, “is your uncle staying over here tonight?”
Cynthia, spoon still in her mouth, rolled her big eyes, recalling how her uncle had refused to let her read his messages that afternoon. “Huh? I don’t think so.” She pulled out the spoon. “Uncle said he’s got a meeting at six. His company’s super busy–they have back–to–back meetings every day!”
Celestiné glanced at the clock. It was already half past five. Gideon would probably be leaving soon, which meant she wouldn’t have to bring him any more soup
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“You sure know a lot, Cynthia. Has your uncle been looking after you these days?” Celestine propped her chin in her hand, smiling gently.
