I had never had the pleasure of meeting Nyx in the flesh, but I had heard more than plenty of stories that spoke to her aura of intimidation. Even in this moment, looking at the chiseled stone, I could feel the weight of her lifelike gaze settling on me.
My truck slowed to a stop in front of the residence. The sheer scalescreamedmoney or connections. The pale gold exterior spanned eleven windows wide and three levels tall. The top floor, with its significantly smaller windows, suggested the existence of a finished loft or supremely creepy attic space.
Thereweren’ttoo many deliveries toa placeof that caliber. But the day’s particular love connection involved a woman who was employed asa housemaidby the owner of the grand piece of architecture. For a flicker of a moment, I considered the opportunity to befriend herso thatI had a reason to come back. I envisioned daily teatime with towers of macarons in every color, dusted with gold flakes.
Intel was spotty on the details surrounding that particular match.However, one thing was clear. Delivering chocolate-covered strawberries was bound to do the trick to seal the deal with her cross-country lover, Dale.
Killing the engine, I grabbed the white box wrapped with a bright red bow from the passenger seat and hopped out of the pickup.
The water fountain to my left seemed to cease all flow before bursting to life again with significantly more pressure. I should have taken that as my sign to turn and take my leave.
But I didn’t.
Stalking straight up to the oversized double doors of the home, I jabbed the doorbell with my finger. The sound was something magical out of a dream, high-pitched tones that reminded me of lyre strings and a chorus of flutes. Music of the gods themselves.
I pressed the button again, and a slightly different set of notes played.
Smilingtomyself, I pressed the button again, and different tunes played. It was proving to be quite a catchy compilation of sounds.
Pliiiing-pling-ling.
Pushed it again.
Plang-tiii-pliiing-pling-pling.
And again.
Liirrrrinng-pling-plang-plung.?
A squealed giggle of amusement and delight escaped me as I reached out to press the little white button oncemore butstopped in my tracks as one of the doors swung open abruptly.
Standing in the doorway wasa portlyman, of average height but with a belly that you could bounce a quarteroff of. His dark hair had some light greys near hisears,his eyes were a dark chocolate, and he looked all business. His black suit had not a wrinkle in sight, and hecarried all the energy of a man in charge of running this spacious household.No-nonsensebutler vibes, without a doubt.
“May I help you, miss?” He spoke with the authority of someone whowouldn’tknow fun if it bit him in the ass.
Straightening up, I clutched onto the gift box in front of me. “Hi, I’ve got a delivery for Ms. Jamie Peterson.”
There was a shift in the man’s demeanor, a ruffling offeathers perhaps, orskepticism. It was difficult to pinpoint, given how straightlaced this man was bound.
“IamMr.Jamie Peterson,” he corrected while peering down the length of his broad nose.
Oh. Yikes.
A rare moment of embarrassment overcame me as a heated flush spread across my face. With a nervous giggle, I extended the strawberries toward him like a peace offering.
“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Peterson. These are for you. From Dale.”
He took the package from me, taking a peek at the folded card on top.It was subtle, but the faintest crack appeared in the facade of his faithfulbutlerdom. A twinkle in those dark eyes, a twitch of his cheek that might have been a suppressed smile.
It was the look of a man who realized his beau thought about him even while being hundreds of miles away.
Leaning forward, I strainedto listenforthe telltale sound of a Double-Tap heartbeat. I was met with silence.
Dammit.
These matches were always a challenge, but Charlee Amoretti does not back down from a littlehard work.
Clearing my throat, I clasped my hands in front of me. “In addition to the strawberries, there was a request for me to perform the Broadway version of the song?—”
