“My agreement should be assumed, and all I care about is the quality of the company.”
“Do you like blueberry muffins?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Then it’s settled.” Connor nods happily.
Happiness emanates from him as he drives, and I can feel it the same way tension makes air feel thick, but this air is better. It’s fluffy like a cloud, like possibilities floating around, and I could pick one from hundreds. Buying that painting was the right thing to do.
“You’re going to love Old Lady Linton.” He grins at me. “She’s something else.”
“Why do you call her that?”
His lips move as he thinks. “I’m not sure. It has always been her name. She’ll bring you homemade lemonade. It tastes awful. Drink it anyway.”
“Got it,” I nod. “Old people are my specialty, remember. I’ll do just fine.”
“Maybe you could get Walt some kind of new smell for his house.” His nose wrinkles. “It’s not awful, but it’s not pleasant.”
“Just be happy he used the nose hair trimmers I gave him.”
Connor barks a laugh as he stops at a red light. He leans over and kisses the breath out of me. He pulls away, laughing again. “I love you.” His eyes open wide. The expression on his face belongs on a guy in a horror movie when he discovers the killer is behind him. “I don’t love you. I mean,” he blows out a loud breath. “I don’tnotlove you, but I don’tlove youlove you.”
“I wish I had popcorn,” I say, straight-faced. “This is really fun to watch.”
The light turns green and Connor starts forward. His jaw flexes every few seconds, and his eyes stay trained on the road.
“Connor, it’s not a big deal. Slip of the tongue, right?”
“Right.” His expression now is lessthe killer is behind me,and morethe killer has murdered everyone else and I’m determined to live.
“You sold a painting today.” My tone is extra cheerful and his jaw relaxes a little. “And you’re about to have delicious lemonade. If you’re lucky, I’ll stick my finger in it and sweeten it up for you.” Finally, his lips part, the teensiest smile moving them.
“Are you saying you’re sweet?”
“Are you saying I’m not?”
He pretends to think. “You’re more sour than sweet. At least you used to be.”
“I hope you enjoy your awful lemonade today.”
Connor slows to stop in front of a medium-sized home. A late-model sedan is parked in the driveway and the garage door is open.
He points out my window. “See that garage?”
I look. Boxes upon boxes are stacked everywhere. A fake Christmas tree stands in the corner, which is really depressing. Nothing kills the magic of Christmas like seeing a fake and undecorated tree lying against a wall.
“That’s our job today. Mrs. Linton needs us to move all that out of the garage and repaint the walls.”
“It’s not my idea of a good time, but okay.” I’m in no position to argue, especially since my bank account took a dip after I woke up today. Maybe I can find another way to make money. I hear inmates pay top dollar for used underwear. I gag on the thought.
Apparently I gagged for real, because Connor eyes me with concern and asks if I’m okay.
“A bug flew into my mouth.” Yep. A bug has been in the car with us this whole time and we didn’t know it until it careened into my mouth. I can tell he’s not buying it, but I said it and now I’m committed.
He makes a face before lowering his mouth to sip coffee from his forest green thermos. When he’s finished, he nods toward the house. “Let’s go. She’s probably waiting for us to get out.”
I slap on a smile and get ready to work. I need the money now more than ever.
