He lifts a brow. “But she didn’t steal our cake.”
Shep and I head to the kitchen, and I divide the rest of the cake she left us into two equal slices. Each one is about the size of a dinner plate.
He takes a bite and closes his eyes an inordinate amount of time.
“What just happened?” He moans. “This is incredible.”
“Darn right. We don’t clown around in my family.”
His brows twitch as he nods my way. “Good thing you defected.”
I catch my reflection to the right and jump. “Oh dear God. I forgot all about the demented disguise I’m sporting. The one thing I can say about Carrie is she’s darn good at what she does.”
“She wasn’t always a makeup artist.” Shep shovels in another bite of cake. “She used to work at the Bounce House in another capacity as far back as last summer.”
My mouth falls open. “Did she put the bounce in the house?”
He gives a short-lived nod. “And before you ask, I found it on her record.”
“She has a record? I’m guessing it’s not the kind that can win you a Grammy.”
“Not unless the Grammy was shoplifted from Norman Wallace.”
“Wow, that’s about the ritziest department store this side of Milan. What did she steal—a diamond tennis bracelet?” I waggle my shiny rocks for him to see. The same rocks Stephanie left in my mailbox last month for me in the event I was in need of a spare diamond. She has good instincts.
“A full-length fur. Or at least she tried to. She’s an animal rights activist, and she was doing it to prove a point.”
“Is it strange that I like her more by the minute? I don’t care if she was a pole dancer. She had a bad hand at life. That could be me in a month. Do you think I’ll garner more tips if I wear these lashes?” I bat my metallic butterflies his way.
His cheek glides up one side. “Honey, they won’t be looking at your eyes.”
“They’ll be looking at my—”
“Sweet Cheeks.” He nods.
“I think you need to work harder on your nickname game, Honey Bunch.” I take a step in his direction, and his cologne envelops me fully. “Like say, Hot Lips?”
Okay, fine. I’m gunning for a kiss, but who the heck could blame me?
“I’m not so crazy about Honey Bunch.” His lips twitch as he closes the distance between us.
“How’s Stud Muffin for you? Or maybe I should resort to the old classic, Sexy Wexy?”
I’m about to wrap my arms around him, and stop mid-flight as the room begins to grow strangely dim. A warm, tingling feeling takes over, and a serious case of tunnel vision sets in.
A scene emerges in my mind’s eye. I’m in a dark room—a room I don’t quite recognize. There’s a dress form that a seamstress might use to the right, and a glowing face emerges from the shadow. It’s Hazel Newton! But before she can say a word—not sure that she could have—the room bursts into flames.
“Hot!” I pant, trying to bat the flames away from me. “So hot!”
“Bowie!” Shep riots, and I come back to reality as he holds me tight. “Are you okay? Do you need to step outside?”
“Why would I need to step outside? Are you kicking me out?”
His brows flex. “You said you were hot.”
“Oh, right.” My fingers float to my lips. “Um, I meant you. You are definitely too hot to handle.”
Oh dear Lord, that was the worst vision I’ve ever had in my life.
“Bowie”—he leans in until my eyes meet up with his again—“I’ve seen you zone out like that before. I have a friend who’s a neurologist at—”
“No, no.” I take a full step back. “I’m fine, really.”
Shep stares unblinking into my eyes, the muscles in his jaws flexed.
“I don’t think you’re telling the truth.”
I can’t help but huff. “Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I’m accusing you of withholding information. Am I wrong?”
I swallow hard before shaking my head just enough.
I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him.
Great.
Now what?
“I’m sorry, Shep. I can’t…” I shrug as I try my best to blink away tears with my tinfoil tresses.
His finger lands gently over my lips as he shakes his head just enough. Shep leans in, his eyes penetrating mine with the exact hint of lusty promise I was hoping to find in them tonight.
His phone bleats in his pocket—ruining our momentum, might I add—and he fishes it out. “It’s Nora. There’s something she wants me to look at.” He takes a deep breath. “Rain check on this good time?”
“You picked a fine moment to employ your sarcastic superpowers.”
“I mean it.” His lips twitch with a hint of a smile. “It hurts to see a sad clown.”
“I’ll let you cheer me up the next time we’re together.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
My own phone bleats, and it’s an expletive-laced tirade from Regina with not so thinly veiled threats regarding my whereabouts and my supposed proximity to her man.
I sigh as I hold it up for him to see. “I think I’ll head over to the manor and see if I can’t scare the socks off Ms. Valentine.”
“Wish I were there to witness it. Tomorrow, you and me,” he says as we head out the door. “We’re going to have that discussion.” His lips twitch with wicked intent. “And I bet I figure out a way to put a smile on your face.”
“Only if your face is involved.” More specifically his lips.
We say goodnight, and I watch as Shep takes off in his truck.
That vision comes back to me, hot and hellish, just the way I’m betting it’ll feel.
Now, that’s one vision I hope I’ve badly misconstrued.
Something tells me this might just be one time I get it right.
Chapter 8
Stephanie didn’t come home until I was already asleep last night, so I filled her in on my latest crispy-fried vision, along with Tilly and Opal, at the café after the breakfast rush.
Opal shudders as she squeezes the three cats in her arms so tight they’re yelping for help. She’s got King, an orange tabby named Pumpkin, and Tidbit, a caramel-colored dappled piece of patchwork.
Opal has donned a black metallic dress that both rises to her neck and hits the floor. She’s accessorized the Morticia Addams motif with large hoop earrings that have a row of black metal studs, and a giant choker sits over her neck with the face of a tiger in the center of it. Her faux hair is pink—same short bangs and pageboy style—and I’m really liking this new punk rock version of the sassy socialite.
“A fire? Oh dear”—Opal moans—“good thing you’re not staying at the manor. I suppose we should warn Shep now that his cabin is about to burn to the ground. And, of course, I’ll remind him to up the fire insurance.” She nudges my sister. “I’d get some life insurance on this one if I were you. There could be a cool mil in it for you when the fiery day is done.” She winks as she takes off to mingle with the thicket of customers in the café today.