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The mahogany floors of their home in the Quarter were polished to a mirror shine—a detail Kol insisted upon because he liked the way the light caught the grain. Bonnie, however, was currently considering using a locator spell to find his common sense. She was carrying a stack of fresh linens, the scent of lavender filling the air, when her toe hooked into something solid and expensive.
She stumbled, her hip hitting the console table with a sharp thud that made the silver vases rattle. The towels stayed in her arms, but her patience hit the floor.
There they were. Again.
Kol’s loafers—oxblood leather, custom-fitted, and currently positioned like a roadblock in the narrowest part of the hall. He had a habit of shedding them the moment he walked through the door, as if the five extra steps to the closet were an insurmountable journey for a man who had once run across entire continents.
"Kol! If you are not dead, you had better be dying!" Bonnie yelled, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.
She heard the tell-tale whoosh of air—the sound of a vampire moving much faster than a human ever should. Kol appeared at the end of the hallway, leaning against the doorframe of the library. He was holding a crystal tumbler of amber liquid, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking entirely too relaxed for a man whose life was in imminent danger.
"I heard my name called with such passion," Kol remarked, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Are we celebrating something, darling? Or am I about to be lectured?"
"The shoes, Kol," Bonnie said, gesturing wildly at the floor. "We have lived in this house for two years. We have a mudroom. We have a walk-in closet that is literally bigger than the apartment I had in college. Why are they here? Why are they always here?"
Kol looked down at the loafers as if he were seeing them for the first time.
He took a slow, thoughtful sip of his drink. "They’re aesthetic, Bonnie. Think of them as a floor installation. A bit of modern art to break up the monotony of the hallway."
"I almost broke my hip on your 'modern art,'" she snapped, stepping over them and marching toward him. "You have super speed. You could put these away in the time it takes you to blink. Instead, you leave them here like a trap for your wife."
Kol straightened up as she reached him, his expression shifting from playful to that low, simmering gaze that usually made her forget what she was angry about. He didn't reach for the shoes; instead, he reached for her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.
"I was in a rush to see you," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. "I walked through the door, heard you humming in the kitchen, and suddenly the logistics of footwear seemed entirely unimportant. Can you blame a man for wanting to get to his wife?
"
Bonnie pressed her palms against his chest, trying to maintain her scowl. "That line worked yesterday when you left your coat on the dining table. It’s not working today."
"Is that so?" Kol chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on the small of her back. "Because your heartbeat says you’re at least considering forgiving me."
"My heartbeat says I'm wondering if a protection spell can be modified to keep shoes inside a closet," Bonnie countered, though she was already leaning into his touch.
Kol leaned down, nipping affectionately at her earlobe. "Tell you what. I’ll go put them away—by hand, like a commoner—if you agree to stop being a domestic goddess for twenty minutes and come tell me what you think of the new vintage I picked up today. It’s from a vineyard in Bordeaux I used to frequent in the twenties. Very bold. Almost as bold as you when you’re cross with me."
Bonnie sighed, her head falling onto his shoulder. She could
smell the expensive bourbon and the faint scent of the outdoors on him. "You’re lucky you’re pretty, Kol Mikaelson."
"I'm lucky I'm yours," he corrected, finally turning to pick up the shoes with a dramatic, exaggerated groan of effort. "See? I’m laboring. I’m a man of the people."
Bonnie rolled her eyes, but as she watched him saunter down the hall—shoes in hand—she couldn't help the small, private smile that tugged at her lips.