Tilly lets outs a yelp, and I make a face at her.
“I get it.” I hold up a hand. “I’m what nightmares are made of.”
“It’s not that,” she flatlines. “Hey there.” She waves at someone behind me, and I turn to see Shepherd Wexler’s eyes double in size.
“Geez,” he hisses at the sight of me.
Not exactly the response you want from someone you’ve got the hots for.
Shep’s wearing a dark inky suit, gray silk tie that brings out the pure look of shock and horror in his eyes, and he looks so cutthroat handsome, every scantily clad woman has bounced her way over in hopes to nab his attention.
Stephanie snaps Tilly up by the wrist. “Let’s make a break for it.”
They’re out of the club before I can bat one of the blue butterflies sitting on my eyelids.
“I hope you’re up for giving me a ride home.” I shrug.
Shep takes a breath and his cheek flickers. He doesn’t say a word.
“You’re not afraid of clowns, are you?” I’m only partially teasing.
“I’ve got a Glock on me, Kitten. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Does that mean you’re about to pull your weapon on me?”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
About four different women sigh our way.
“We’d better get out of here,” I say, turning him around. “If they linger too long, we’re required to tip. Are you up for taking me out to an early dinner?”
“Only if you promise not to put a big red ball on your nose.”
“What if that was my next move?”
“Then I’d be forced to use the handcuffs.”
Sounds like maybe it should be my next move.
We head out into the crisp autumn air on our way to our first unofficial official date.
Chapter 7
Shep and I were kicked out of three different restaurants.
Okay, so we were actually asked to leave somewhat politely, but it felt like a boot in the patoot.
It turns out, all of Vermont has a strong aversion to pasty-faced jesters with a smile that stretches ear to demented ear.
We opted to pick up a pizza on the way back to Starry Falls instead of going four for four.
Pixie greets us on the porch, and I scoop up the itty-bitty pink kitty.
“Who let you out?” I ask, kissing her on the ear. “I bet it was mean ol’ Aunt Stephanie.”
“Lola,” Shep corrects.
“Coincidently, Lola is just as big a pain as Stephanie is,” I say as he lets us into his place.
Shep puts down the pizza and gets straight to starting a fire.
“See that, Pixie?” I whisper as I pull her close. “I think things are about to take a turn for the romantic.”
“What’s that?” Shep calls out.
“Just looking for a drink,” I shout back.
“Feel free to take whatever you like out of the fridge.”
“Sure thing,” I say as Pixie and I migrate that way. No sooner do I open the door than I have a serious case of déjà vu. “Shep? Why does the inside of your fridge look like the inside of mine?”
“My guess is we have the same personal shopper.”
I shut the door and straighten, but before I can get a salty word out about my sister, a knock erupts at the door and Shep opens it to find the bride of Frankenstein herself holding a white frosted cake with chocolate chips around the rim.
I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of it. “Is that Nana Rose’s cannoli cake?”
“You bet your sweet pink kitty.” She barrels on past me and sets the cake on the counter.
“Stephanie”—I follow her back, my eyes never leaving that luscious stack of mascarpone and sugar—“why are you buying Shep’s groceries? And don’t give me that a-way-to-a-man’s-bedroom-is-through-his-grocery-list malarkey. Even though we both know it’s true.”
“Relax, Bowie.” She makes a face. “I was simply testing him for you.” She winks his way. “How’d you like the capicola?”
Shep moans. “So good. Took my sandwich to the next level.”
“I am not amused,” I say to my baby sis. “You’re lucky you brought cake.”
“A clown who doles out threats?” She looks to Shep. “And you put up with this?”
“It’s hard, but I try.” He doesn’t miss a beat.
A low growl emits from my throat as we attack the pizza in front of the fire. Stephanie opts to sit between Shep and me, and I’m left thinking of creative ways to dispose of her after I kill her.
I rock my shoulder into my sister’s. “So exactly how long will it be before you head back to Hastings?”
“I don’t know. I might never go back.”
“Never?” I press Pixie tightly against my chest in horror.
She lets a hand rise and fall. “But then I talked to Uncle Vinnie today and he says Eddie has been moping. He’s not even eating his mother’s lasagna.”
“You talked to Uncle Vinnie?” I balk. “You do realize I’m in the mob-slash-witness protection program, don’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I told Uncle Vinnie that Bowie Binx says meow.”
“You said my name?” I swat her knee. “You do realize the Morettis probably have your phone bugged. My God, you’re a walking, talking trail of breadcrumbs that will eventually lead all the way to the slammer—for me.”
Stephanie kicks my foot. “So what do you think about Carrie?”
I glare at her a moment. My sister has always been a master of changing the subject.
“She has issues.” I look to Shep as Pixie snuggles up against my chest. “Mom kicked her out of the house while she was still in high school because she didn’t want to drop her life to babysit her baby brother. She met Miggy at a party they were both working at, and the rest was book club history. And then, there’s that whole thing about Hazel telling Carrie she could have her leftovers—then flipping out and running to Carrie’s mother’s garden club and telling the world she was a man snatcher.”
Steph grunts while swallowing down a bite, “I heard her say she could have killed her.”
“Yup. But she says she didn’t do it.” I elbow Stephanie in the ribs. “I can’t wait to deny killing you one day.”
Pixie stretches her pink little paws over my legs and belts out a hair-raising rawr.
“And on that note”—she scoops Pixie right out of my lap—“I think this ball of cotton candy fluff is ready to eat. I’m taking half the cake.” She does just that and heads for the door. “Have fun, kids. Rumor has it, if you kiss by the fire, you’ll be hotter all the way around. You can thank me later.”
The door slams shut, and I wince as I look back over at Shep.
I shrug. “Rumor has it, if you smother your sister in her sleep, you’ll be safer all the way around. She stole our cat.” I toss in the last tidbit in hopes to enlist Stephanie’s favorite line of defense—changing the subject. Right about now, I’d throw Stephanie at him to keep from dying of embarrassment.