Page 94 of Wicked Little Secret
“It didn’t involve you until you followed me. Are we going to talk about that?”
“No,” he answers succinctly. “Because I saved your life.”
“I had it under control.”
He grabs my face to turn it toward his and then kisses me on the mouth. “You didn’t have it under control,” he says, our faces almost touching. “Jackson Wicker was going to drug you and do as he wished. You couldn’t have fought him off. We will discuss this in more detail soon. And you will be punished for this stunt.”
“More like you’re looking for an excuse to use the yardstick again.”
“I don’t need the yardstick. I now have the lovely wooden paddle Wicker thought he’d get to use on you.”
My cheeks warm as I turn away from him, scooting off the bed. Theron eventually follows, working in tandem with me as we make the bed and then get ready for themorning. He has to go check on Atticus while I have some art projects to work on.
We kiss goodbye as we walk from the bedroom to the rest of the apartment. It’s as I stand back to let Theron step toward the door that I notice something off that I’d missed late last night when we’d come home.
“My sculpture,” I mutter. “It’s been knocked off the shelf.”
Theron stops at the door to glance over. I’ve rushed toward the far corner where my little makeshift art studio is and knelt down to collect the cracked pieces.
“Touch of a Lover. It’s broken…”
“How would that have happened?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I must not’ve noticed last night. It was too dark, and we didn’t turn on the living room light. Was this you, Peaches?”
My ginger girl purrs from where she’s perched on my sofa. I know that haughty sound—she’s telling me she knows better than to ever nudge one of my sculptures off the shelves.
Theron walks over to drop a kiss on top of my head. “I’m sorry it’s shattered. It was a beautiful piece. Will you recreate it?”
“I’m not sure,” I mumble. “I guess I have no choice.”
We say goodbye for real this time, with Theron reminding me we still have a lot to settle about last night.
I spend the rest of the morning cleaning up around my apartment and working on my next art project. Occasionally, I check for updates about Jackson Wicker’s murder, but I’m more distracted by the fact that one of the sculptures I worked so hard on has shattered out of nowhere. Did Peaches really do it, or was it someone else?
Someone with access to my apartment…
I’m still distracted midafternoon when knocks at the door interrupt. Peaches meows and trots toward the door as if about to go investigate.
“Chill, Sherlock Whiskers. I got it.”
Along the way to my door, I stop to wipe my hands on a towel and check my reflection in the gilded wall mirror. I check the peep hole to find two unexpected faces on my doorstep.
“Remember that whole call ahead thing?” I ask, wrenching the door open.
Heather and Macey file inside clutching various gifts. Everything from bottles of wine to freshly made macaroons from a local bakery to a new purple passion plant to add to my collection.
I laugh at the offerings. “What’s all this?”
“Courtesy of Heather. I’m just the help,” Macey says. She sets down the white box of rainbow macaroons and shakes back her fringed hair from her face. “She insisted on making a million stops to pick you up some things.”
I fold my arms and watch in amusement as the duo each set down the gifts on the table I call my dining room table, but what I’ve more often than not used for art and schoolwork.
“That true, Heather?” I ask.
The strawberry blonde seems kind of shy for once in her life, almost blushing. “You’ve been here for us, Nyssie. I figured we’d repay you.”
…you’re going to have to do way better than macaroons and a house plant to repay me, Driscoll.