Page 3 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail
When I pull into Cyrus’s driveway, I have to park behind two other cars. A frown tugs at my lips. The little red Jeep is Poppy’s, but I don’t recognize the black SUV, and Cyrus isn’t one to entertain visitors, even on a Saturday. If he could move up into the mountains and be a camping hermit for the rest of his life, I think he might do it.
I peek through the windows of the SUV as I walk past, but there aren’t any clues inside—just a pair of sunglasses tossed carelessly on the passenger seat and a little collapsible trash container hanging from the glove compartment. I shake my head and continue up the driveway and then the sidewalk that leads to the front door, two large Tupperwares full of cupcakes in my arms.
Cyrus’s house is surprisingly cute, considering his personality. I don’t think he plans to live here forever, so he hasn’t bothered with changing the exterior; the light-blue siding and white shutters give the place a charming feel, similar to the rest of the homes in his neighborhood. There’s even a cheerful, cherry-red front door.
I cannot emphasize howlittleCyrus cares about the color of his front door.
I tap briefly on this door with my foot when I get to the porch, but I don’t wait for Cyrus to answer; I just let myself in, maneuvering awkwardly with my baked goods.
“Cy,” I call. “It’s me. I brought you cupcakes.”
So many cupcakes.
“We’re in here,” comes Poppy’s voice from the living room, so I toe my shoes off and then head through the entryway, past the stairs and into the next room, where I find three people.
Cyrus is sitting in his favorite chair, a squashy old recliner, with his laptop on his lap, his eyes down. His glasses reflect the light of the computer screen, and there’s a furrow in his brow that tells me it’s something for work. A few strands of his hair—blond, but darker than Juliet’s and Aurora’s—have fallen down over his forehead, which usually would annoy him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Poppy is seated on the couch. She and Cyrus became friends in elementary school, which means she’s been an honorary big sister to me and Aurora and Juliet for that long too. Her wild, dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and her attention is on the plate of cupcakes already on the coffee table; she clearly brought over the ones I gave her earlier. Next to her, I see, is?—
“Oh,” I say when my eyes fall on the blond-haired, brown-eyed Adonis reaching for a cupcake. “It’s you.”
“Hey, Sunshine,” Felix Caine says, shooting me the famous grin that’s broken more hearts over the years than the number of cupcakes now in this room. “It’s been a while. How’s it going?”
I ignore the question. “What are you doing here?” I say. “Don’t you live in Idaho?”
“He moved,” Poppy says.
“To this tiny town?”
“It’s not tiny if there’s a Panda Express,” Felix says.
“There’s not a Panda Express,” I say.
Felix looks blankly at me. “Is there not? I thought I saw one. Off of Center?”
I shake my head. “Nope. That’s Panda X-pres”—I spell it for him,X-P-R-E-S—“our blatantly derivative small town version. It’s an easy mistake to make,” I say with a shrug. “The logo is as close to the real Panda logo as it’s legally possible to be. The signature dish is citrus chicken.”
Citrus chicken,Felix mouths wordlessly. Then he shakes his head. “Well, to answer your question—I’m here for the cupcakes,” he says with an irritated look at Poppy. “And to request help from my dear friend who nonetheless refuses to come to my aid.”
“Probably a smart choice,” I say to Poppy, who nods. Then I hold up my containers apologetically. “I have more cupcakes,” I add.
“Never too many,” she says with a smile. “I couldn’t eat all mine myself, so I brought them over too.”
Felix turns his attention to the Tupperwares in my arms. “Is there anything besides vanilla?” he says.
“Sadly, no. Some of these have sprinkles, though.” I set the containers down on the coffee table and pry the lids off. “Everybody dig in. Cy,” I say, grabbing one with rainbow sprinkles and moving over to his chair, waving the cupcake under his nose. “Eat. Cupcakes. Come on.”
He swats my hand vaguely away. “Is she still baking?”
“Yes.” I tap the cupcake against his mouth. “Aurora says she’s starting eclairs. Come on—eat.”
“I’ve already had three,” he says. Then he sighs and shuts his laptop, finally turning his gaze to me. “Eclairs?”
“Yep.” I nudge the cupcake I’m holding into his hand, and he takes it grudgingly.
From the couch, Felix speaks again. “Look, Poppy?—”
“I said no,” she cuts him off with a laugh. “There’s no way.”
