“No.” He slipped one finger inside me and then the other.
I couldn’t breathe. “Wait?—”
Then another finger. He started to move, the rhythm easy to him. His thumb scraped my clit, and too soon, way too soon, I buried my face in his neck and climaxed. Wildly.
His chuckle sounded way too satisfied as he removed his hand and fixed my zipper.
My body jerked several times.
He leaned down and kissed my cheek. “I feel better now.”
Chapter 33
Around midnight, I blinked awake, neck stiff, body aching from lying too long in the same position. The steady rhythm of Aiden’s breathing filled the quiet. I had curled up against him, one hand resting on his chest.
The hospital lights had dimmed for the night, washing everything in silver-blue shadows. Machines hummed softly, and the sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with something faintly metallic. That was one good thing about a small town. Nobody had the heart to kick me out. The night nurse had peeked in once, smiled, and kept walking.
Slowly, I stood, stretching until my back cracked. Aiden didn’t move. His face looked peaceful for once, the harsh lines softened. He needed sleep to heal.
Yawning, I tore a page from the notepad on the counter and scribbled a note letting him know I’d be back in the morning before Nonna arrived.
I stepped out of the room. The hallway stretched quiet and sterile, lined with closed doors and pale yellow light. When I reached the exit, the night air hit me, cool and clean. The rain had stopped, but the pavement still gleamed under the streetlights. The smell of wet earth hung heavy in the air, laced with the faint bite of pine.
My mind would not rest.
How had anyone broken into Nana’s shop? Rory’s alarm system was top-tier. We’d caught the leprechaun leaving, not entering. The costume matched Nana’s right down to the gold buttons, except for the missing patch. Whoever wore it had planned that.
Driving through town, I passed the bakery, dark for the night, and the diner, still glowing with tired light and one truck in the lot. Silverville slept like it trusted the world not to burn it down. I wasn’t sure I did anymore.
I parked in front of Nana’s shop and killed the engine. The sign above the door caught the moonlight, silver lettering gleaming faintly against the dark wood. The building sat quiet and still, a small piece of magic in an otherwise sensible world.
Even from the car, I could tell the place had a pulse. If my brain wouldn’t stop, I guess I’d keep working. I climbed out, pulling my jacket tighter around me. My hand slipped inside my purse until my fingers brushed the familiar shape of my Lady Smith & Wesson, which I’d grabbed before heading over the pass.
Leaves whispered across the sidewalk, swirling in the breeze. The air carried that after-rain clarity, every scent crisp and alive. I walked the perimeter of the shop. Each window sat sealed, glass unbroken, locks untouched. The back door looked solid. Whoever had been inside hadn’t forced their way.
Aiden had been right.
I stood at the back step, debating between sleep and work. Sleep didn’t stand a chance.
Entering the key code, I pressed my thumb to the scanner. The lock clicked open with a soft metallic sound that seemed far too loud in the quiet.
Inside, the familiar scent met me at once. Dried lavender, honey, and the faintest hint of orange from the diffuser Nana always kept on. The air felt warmer in here, softer, safer.
I locked the door behind me and flicked on the lights. The glow spread across rows of shelves lined with jars and bottles, each labeled in Nana’s careful cursive. Shadows filled the corners.
The kitchenette called to me like an old friend. I made a cup of coffee, added the last of the creamer, and took a long sip. It burned my tongue and woke me right up as I headed into the main room.
The day of the sale replayed in my mind. I hadn’t seen any blue stripe on the tea containers. Maybe I hadn’t noticed, maybe it hadn’t been there. We’d been slammed with customers that day. Still, something about it didn’t sit right.
And Brad Backleboff buying so much tea? That had never made sense. His story about gift packages for family sounded flimsy at best.
Coincidences were for fairy tales. In law, and in life, they usually meant someone was lying.
I took another drink of coffee and turned on the overhead lights. The shop brightened, every surface visible now. The counter was still covered in receipts. I crossed to it, set my cup down, and began sorting through the papers.
Nana’s writing curved across the pages in purple ink, looping and cheerful. Mine was sharper, more precise. Between the two of us, we’d documented everything: card payments, cash sales, newsletter sign-ups. Every customer who bought tea sat right there in black and white.
I recognized the names. Neighbors. Friends. Regulars. People who probably didn’t want mushroom supplements and thought they were just buying tea. I pulled out the stack of invoices from Blue Moon Tea and studied them again, finding nothing unusual.
