All my collected knick-knacks had a designated spot on shelves or in drawers, while Bale’s chaos made the place look like a tornado had run its course through the living room.
Bale appeared in the entranceway of the kitchen, arms folded casually in front of his chest as he leaned against the frame. His piercing blue eyes observed Harlow’s reaction to our personal living space.
“Glad you could make it, kitten,” he said gruffly.
Setting her purse down on a stool at the breakfast bar, Harlow perched on the seat next to it. Her usual teasing demeanor was conspicuously absent when she replied, “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Bale studied her for a moment, but it was unclear if he picked up on the same shift that I had. He turned and went back to the stove on the other side of the breakfast bar, melting butter in the cast-iron skillet.
I stepped up behind Harlow, rubbing my hands over her upper arms soothingly. Leaning in, I dropped my voice low. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you or keep me guessing all afternoon?”
While Bale feigned disinterest, it was the glance over his shoulder that gave him away.
Harlow shook her head, clearly trying to downplay whatever had transpired between when I left her tangled in the sheets this morning and her arrival here.
“I’m just trying to get a pulse on everyone in town, the trip to the library was… different,” she finally admitted.
Layering several types of cheese between the thick slices of bread, Bale’s shoulders tensed, but his focus remained on what he was doing. “Different, how?”
Contemplative silence radiated from her while she bit her lower lip in thought. I reached over, and my thumb freed it from the clutches of her teeth.
“I ran into Malcolm Dennison while I was down in the archives section?—”
Bale whipped around so fast you could almost hear the air split around him.
“You what?!” He lashed out in a conflicted sense of outrage.
I knew Malcolm’s name would put a sour taste in his mouth, but the Falston Library’s archives were a sensitive topic that was bound to add fuel to the fire.
“Did he say anything to you?” Suspicion hung thicklyon his words.
Credit to our girl, she straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at him while standing her ground. “A few things. Asked me to lunch, but I told him I had other plans. To which he shared his opinions on my choice of company.”
Malcolm asked her to lunch? Fucking hell. I was more than happy to let her indulge in whomever she wished while I dedicated myself solely to her, buthimof all people? The thought of it made me want to drop half-eaten worms into every pathetic meal he touched for the rest of his life.
Meeting Bale’s eyes across the counter, he grumbled something incoherent under his breath before turning back to the grilled cheeses he had been preparing in the crushed cornflakes.
Of course, leave it to the diplomatic one between the two of us to press her to share what was said to her down in the basement.
While the sizzling of butter created a savory aroma tainted by the sweetness of the crushed cornflakes, I swiveled Harlow’s chair sideways so I could get a proper look at her.
“Look, the Dennisons aren’t our greatest fans,” I said, careful to pick the right words.
“Why?” She tilted her head slightly as she looked up at me.
The way she dropped that one word was dangerous. It was paired with a look and tone that said she thought she knew more than she was admitting to.
Dragging a hand over my face, I sighed. “Bad blood, Harlow. Family feuds. Shit that festers throughout generations.”
Bale snorted derisively, then flipped the sandwiches over in the pan.
Not helping, asshole.
“Look, there’s a lot of history, and I wish I could explain it all to you.”
Both her brows lifted questioningly. “The type of history that would explain why there’s a picture of you in the dust-ridden Faust family register from nearly a century ago?”
Shit.
