“Okay.” I wasn’t feeling up to an argument. “But being in love with him, or thinking I might be, doesn’t mean I know how or what we’re doing, you know?”
“It’s called ‘dating.’ Part of the adventure is sort of figuring it out as you go.”
Something else was on my mind. Rossi’s warning. “Old Rossi—”
Her phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Whatever was there made her smile. She tapped the screen and quickly typed.
“Hogan?” I asked.
She glanced over at me. “No.”
“Liar.”
She grinned. “Maybe.”
The phone rang again. She scanned the message and texted back. “Old Rossi? I heard he was baked at the judging.”
Was he? I seemed to recall feeling like I’d gotten a contact high off him. Maybe all his warnings and doom were fueled by drugs. Jean was still texting, still smiling.
“Why don’t to take some time off from hovering over me?”
“You sure?” she asked.
“Yeah. Myra’s going to be back with my sandwich soon, and then I’ll probably fall asleep.”
She studied my face for a minute, then bent and kissed me on my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her face was still against my forehead.
“Me too,” I whispered.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Promise.”
She petted my head as she tipped her eyes down to give me a strong look. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“No problem. I’m good for it.”
“Okay.” She planted a quick kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m going to step out for a minute. Get some coffee. I’ll be right back.”
“Say hi to Hogan for me.”
“I will.”
She left the room, and I closed my eyes in the silence that filled it. I really was a little hungry. But there was no way I was going to stay in this room overnight. I had a festival to take care of, a killer on the loose. And I wanted to have a little chat with Dan Perkin.
I was hovering on the edge of sleep when I heard the door click open. I jerked, my hand sliding to my hip where my gun should be and hitting the bar of the bed. I stared at the door, waiting for another gun pointed at me.
“Just me.” Myra had a tray in her hands. “And food.”
My heart pounded hard and fast, but I tried to wave at her. “Hey.” The pink balloon bobbed and swayed. “Just caught me almost asleep.”
She raised her eyebrows until they brushed her dark, straight bangs. “Sorry about that. How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
I smiled. “That’s what they’re calling dinner in this joint? No wonder nobody stays.”
“That’s what I asked them to make for you. Because it’s what you always ask for when you’re feeling bad.”
“With strawberry jam?”
