Killed Me for Your Precious Angel? Now Pray She Can Save You from Hell - Chapter 67: Chapter 67

New Zealand sunshine was always ridiculously generous.
Brooklyn walked barefoot on the beach, soft white sand spilling between her toes as waves occasionally surged up to kiss her ankles.
She carried a bouquet of fresh daisies, their golden petals shimmering in the afternoon light.
This is what freedom feels like. This is what normal feels like.
"Hey, slow down there, speedster."
Alistar's voice came from behind her, tinged with amused exasperation.
He was juggling two ice cream cones, trying to catch up without dropping them.
The ocean breeze lifted the hem of his white button-down, and Brooklyn found herself appreciating the view.
When did I start noticing things like that?
"Any slower and we'll be eating ice cream soup."
Brooklyn turned around, walking backward and sticking her tongue out at him.
When was the last time I felt playful? Carefree?
Alistar caught up in a few quick strides, handing her the vanilla cone.
"Then maybe don't sprint away next time?"
The ice cream was perfect—creamy and cold, melting sweetly on her tongue.
Brooklyn snuck glances at the man beside her, watching how he gazed thoughtfully at the horizon, his dark lashes catching the light.
Three months now. Three months of this quiet, steady presence. No demands, no expectations, just... him.
And I'm starting to feel things I thought were broken forever.
"Getting your money's worth?"
He suddenly turned, catching her staring with a knowing smirk.
Brooklyn's cheeks flamed as she quickly looked away.
"I wasn't looking at you! I was watching that... uh... seagull!"
"Right."
Alistar drew out the word, eyes twinkling.
"Must be a pretty special seagull to hold your attention like that."
"Shut up!"
She laughed despite herself, trying to steal his ice cream as punishment.
They chased each other across the sand like kids, until Brooklyn's foot hit a patch of soft sand and she tumbled straight into his chest.
Cedar and sea salt filled her senses as strong arms caught her.
This close, she could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes.
"Throwing yourself at me now? Bold move, Sheridan."
His voice was warm with laughter, but there was something deeper underneath.
Something that made her heart skip.
Brooklyn looked up to fire back a sarcastic comment, but the words died in her throat.
The way he was looking at her—like she was precious, like she mattered.
Like she was worth protecting instead of possessing.
The ocean breeze suddenly felt still, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
"Your... your ice cream's dripping."
She whispered, hypnotically aware of how close they were.
How safe she felt in his arms.
Alistar's smile was soft as he steadied her back on her feet.
"Come on, let's head home. I'm making Wellington beef tonight."
"Again?"
Brooklyn wrinkled her nose, grateful for the distraction.
"That's like the third time this week. Are you secretly trying to turn me into a New Zealand local?"
Home. When did I start thinking of that little cottage as home?
"Hey, I'm perfecting my technique."
He bumped her shoulder playfully.
"Besides, you said you liked it."
"I do like it. I just don't want you to think you have to cook for me all the time."
The old Brooklyn would have felt guilty, like a burden. This Brooklyn felt... cherished.
"What if I want to?"
His voice was quiet, sincere.
Their cottage came into view—white walls, blue shutters, daisies everywhere.
When Alistar had first brought her here, he'd said daisies meant "new beginnings." She was starting to believe him.
The kitchen filled with the rich aroma of searing beef and herbs.
Brooklyn perched on a stool at the island, chin in her hands, watching Alistar work.
He'd rolled up his sleeves, and there was something incredibly attractive about his focused concentration.
Stop it. You're being ridiculous.
But was she? For the first time in her life, admiring a man didn't come with fear.
"Taste test time."
He cut off a perfect bite and held it out to her.
Their fingers brushed as she took the fork, and electricity shot up her arm.
The beef was incredible—tender and rich, with just the right amount of seasoning.
"Oh my God, this is amazing!"
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise.
"Seriously, this is restaurant quality."
"Yeah?"
Alistar looked genuinely pleased, like her opinion was the only one that mattered.
"I might have practiced a few times while you were napping."
A few times. Right.
"Define 'a few.'"
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Alistar Roosevelt, how many times did you practice making Wellington beef?"
He had the grace to look sheepish.
"Maybe... fifteen? Twenty?"
Twenty times. He practiced twenty times just to make sure she'd enjoy dinner.
Brooklyn's chest tightened with an emotion she was almost afraid to name.
Who does that? Who cares that much about making someone else happy?
"You didn't have to do that."
Her voice came out softer than intended.
"I know."
He stepped closer, and she could smell his cologne mixed with cooking herbs.
"I wanted to."
The sunset painted everything golden through the windows—the kitchen, his face, this perfect moment.
This is what love looks like, isn't it? Not obsession or possession, but this quiet, steady devotion.
After dinner, they sat on the porch swing, watching stars emerge in the darkening sky.
Brooklyn felt peaceful in a way she'd forgotten was possible.
"So, I found something interesting today."
Alistar's voice was carefully casual.
"There's a bakery for sale downtown. Prime location, great equipment."
Her heart jumped.
"Really? Tell me everything."
"American owner, family emergency back home. She needs to sell fast."
He handed her a folder he'd apparently been hiding.
"All the commercial-grade equipment, established customer base, even comes with the apartment upstairs."
Brooklyn flipped through the papers, excitement building.
A bakery. Her own bakery. A dream she'd given up on.
"You've been researching this for weeks, haven't you?"
She looked up to find him watching her with that soft expression again.
"Maybe."
The swing creaked gently as she scooted closer to him.
When had that become natural? When had she stopped flinching away from closeness?
"Alistar."
"Hmm?"
"I don't know how to thank you."
Her voice was thick with emotion.
"For the cottage, for the research, for... for giving me my life back."
For showing me what healthy love looks like.
His arm came around her shoulders, and she leaned into his warmth.
"You don't need to thank me, Brooklyn. This is what people do when they care about each other."
Care about each other. Such simple words for such a complex feeling.
"Is it?"
She tilted her head to look at him.
"Because I'm pretty sure most people don't uproot their entire lives to help someone heal."
Most people don't practice recipes twenty times or research business opportunities or create safe spaces for broken people to become whole again.
"Most people aren't you."
The words hung in the air between them, weighted with everything they weren't quite ready to say.
Brooklyn closed her eyes, feeling something she'd thought was destroyed forever slowly unfurling in her chest.
Hope.
Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to love again. Learn to trust again.
Maybe she already was.