I smile down at her. “Hey, beautiful. Come here often?”
“Why am I in my office?” She rubs her head. I rub my own. I’ve got a pounding headache from her wicked knockout.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, but the cops may be on their way.”
“What?” She leaps off the boxes so fast she nearly topples the whole makeshift desk.
“You passed out, and some people saw us.”
“I can’t have cops showing up here. I’m technically not even open. My dad was right, I shouldn’t have done a soft opening, I should have just waited until everything was ready. I’m going to be in so much trouble.” She paces in a frantic circle around the boxes. “Why are you just standing there? You have to get out. Now. ”
“You want me to leave? What are you going to say if they ask about me?”
“That you were some lunatic, and I got rid of you,” she waves her hand in front of my face.
My lips twitch. “When they see the blood and glass, they might take that literally.”
She gulps on the word blood then shoves me toward the main area. “Go get your evil Santa suit and get out.”
I glance at her hand on my bare chest. She’s got to be able to feel my heart racing. I clear my throat. “Okay, first of all, it’s a warlock costume, not evil Santa. And second, leaving will only be more suspicious. I’ll stay, help you clean up, and explain everything.”
“I don’t need or want your help, Bentley.” When she realizes I’m not going anywhere, she scoots by me and grabs a broom before going to the front. I follow.
“Harsh. But I get it.”
I snatch up my shirt and tug it over my head before she passes out again. A warm stickiness reminds me I should probably take care of my cut before it gets worse, but I have a feeling I’ll need help and London’s not the best person to give it.
London freezes with the broom in her hand. “I changed my mind.” Her body sags, and she turns. “You…” she gags, her dark eyes bulging. “…blood.”
She turns and sprints for the back. I’m about to follow her and tell her about the bloody handprint on her apron, but two seconds later I hear her dry heaving. I think she found it.
This reunion is going well.
I grab a rag and get to work wiping up any traces of blood and then cleaning the glass on the ground. The glass came from a pie shelf. The door must have been open when I jumped over and I destroyed it, the pressure shattering half the trays inside the case as well. I also broke a few cake displays and smashed dozens of cupcakes. A real shame, they looked delicious. By the time London re-emerges I’ve determined I owe her a large sum of money and a few hundred apologies.
And for the first time in my life, I wish I’d listened to my sister more.
“Are the police here?” London asks, rejoining me in the front of the shop, her face pale and her legs still wobbly. Her apron is noticeably missing.
“No. Kind of disappointing.”
“Why?” She shoots me a glare.
“Because if you were in danger, as it appeared, I wish someone would have taken initiative.”
“Well, clearly the situation wasn’t as dire as it seemed.” She squeezes her little arm. “Now if you would please leave, I have baking to do for tomorrow. I think I’ll close up shop today.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I'm sorry. What do you need? I’ll stay and help you. And I’ll order new parts and fix what I broke.” I’m already looking around for a way to prove myself useful.
“No offense, but you’re more of a hazard than help.”
Offense taken. But she’s not wrong. I’ve been making a real mess of things lately. Trent has barely spoken to me since we got back from Vegas last week. My siblings think I’m a joke. And now this.
“Please leave before I call the witches back and let them tie you to a pole in the town square.”
My lips twitch despite her threats. “I think they did away with that tradition.”
“I’ll resurrect it. Now go. Or I’m calling the cops.”
