It’s just a crush. It’s just a crush.
I’d believed keeping Brody at arm’s length would be the best thing for me. He had gotten past my defenses, and I liked talking to him. That was friendship, I told myself. Nothing more. I could no longer convince myself of that lie after the previous evening.
When I climbed out of bed, I felt as if I was struggling from the hangover to end all hangovers. I went through the motions in the shower, pulled my hair back in a loose bun when it was still wet, and then made my way into the kitchen. I pulled up short when I found Paisley unpacking groceries in the refrigerator.
“I didn’t realize you were coming out here today,” I said dumbly.
Paisley smiled, but there was something off in her eyes. “I texted.”
I fumbled with my phone. I’d shoved it in my pocket without looking at it when leaving the bedroom. I had nothing scheduled for that day, so I hadn’t bothered looking for messages when I woke up. My mind was elsewhere after all.
On a pair of the softest lips on God’s green earth.
I brutally muzzled my inner voice. It had been nothing but horny since the previous evening. Actually, it had been pretty horny ever since the croquet excursion. Before we’d kissed, I’d been able to pretend I wasn’t hearing the voice. Apparently, that was no longer an option.
When I looked at the screen, I found a message from Paisley waiting for me:I got the list. On my way.
I frowned. “What list?”
“The shopping list you emailed me.” Her expression was flatter than I’d ever seen it.
“I didn’t send you a shopping list.”
The words were barely out of my mouth before I shifted to look at my laptop. It was open on my kitchen table. I never left it open. A sick feeling wormed through my stomach.
“She was on it when I came in,” Paisley said softly. “I was pretty bitter in the grocery store when I thought you sent me a shopping list.”
I didn’t have to ask whoshewas. A sigh escaped me. “Mom.”
“I was cursing your name,” Paisley admitted. “I mean, being an assistant is one thing. Being your slave is another.”
I pinned her with a dark look. “You should have known it wasn’t me.”
“The list should have been a tipoff,” she agreed. “You don’t tend to eat that many processed foods.”
I was afraid to look, but I couldn’t stop myself. My mother was a creature of habit, so I looked in the pantry first. Peanut butter. Lucky Charms. Little Debbie Birthday Cakes. SpaghettiOs. Mrs. Grass soup.
I walked to the freezer and looked inside. Banquet chicken dinners. Totino’s Pizza Rolls. Ice cream. El Monterey burritos. In the refrigerator, I found whole milk, full-fat butter, and a whole cake.
I wasn’t a nut when it came to food. Growing up on frozen meals and peanut butter sandwiches had made me conscious of what I didn’t want to eat, however. When I was old enough, I taught myself about nutrition. I kept to the outside of the grocery store when I shopped, opting for fresh produce and dairy alternatives.
“How did she expect you to pay for all this?” I asked.
“She told me to put it on the card. I only have one card.”
“The one you use for my book stuff.” I blew out a sigh and made a mental note to send my accountant an email. The card I’d provided Paisley with was strictly for business expenses. He should know there would be an errant charge.
“I’m sorry,” Paisley said. “The tone in the email was off, but I was so irritated that you would send me a shopping list that I didn’t think about it until I got here and saw her on your laptop.”
I nodded again. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d gone this route. My mother never asked when she wanted something. She just took.
I shuffled to the laptop and sat down, checking my email first. I was logged out, suggesting that she’d gone into her own email on my computer. She’d logged herself out again but had forgotten to log me back in. I handled that, checked my sent emails, and was grateful to find only the one to Paisley.
Then I checked all the internet windows I had open. Most were for research for my book. Fortunately, there hadn’t beenany banking apps up. My book looked intact—nothing missing there. Just to be sure, I pulled my banking app up on my phone so I could scrutinize all the activity in my accounts. Nothing looked out of place.
“Did she act guilty when you caught her?” I asked, immediately going in to set up a password on my laptop. She wouldn’t be getting in again. It was possible she wouldn’t have to, though. Knowing her, she’d already gotten all the information she’d come for.
“She seemed surprised,” Paisley replied. “But if she was worried, she covered well.”
