Donna and I stood in the reception area, watching the door swing closed behind them. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly.
“What now?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
Pierce emerged from his office, looking even more tired than when he’d come in. “I’ll give you a ride to the Clumsy Penguin. Your cars are still there, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They loaded us into a van to bring us here.”
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go, and before anyone else tells you, let me be the one.”
I gulped. “What?”
“Jolene O’Sullivan already went to print.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled. “It’s online tonight and will be in the paper tomorrow. She wasn’t there, but she got witness statements and pictures fast.”
He held out the screen, a little too much satisfaction in his eyes.
I looked down and groaned. The photo showed me scrambling on the floor, covered in flour, a chicken wing stuck to my shoulder. Nonna was mid-swing with her wooden spoon, Nana perched triumphantly on top of Zippy.
Donna, mercifully, was out of the frame, as was Cormac.
I sighed. “What’s the headline?”
Pierce smirked. “Albertini Family Stuffed and Floured.”
Donna groaned. “It’s not even that good.”
Good enough to embarrass me, which was always Jolene’s goal. Darn it.
Chapter 22
After a long, hot shower, I let Brickhouse in and collapsed into bed. The second my head hit the pillow, I fell into dreams. Sleep dragged me under so hard it felt like I’d been hit by a tranquilizer dart.
At some point before dawn, the mattress dipped. Aiden’s familiar weight and warmth pressed against me as he shoved Brickhouse off my feet. The dog gave a sleepy grunt and wandered to his bed in the other room. Aiden slid in beside me, his arm heavy around my waist, his body a solid wall of heat. I sank against him without waking fully.
Hours later, he stirred again, stretching out over me. His hand slid up, fingers threading through my hair, sweeping it away from my face. I blinked my eyes open to find him watching me. His blue eyes were vivid in the early light. He dipped his head and brushed his lips beneath my jaw.
“Why do you taste like…” He trailed off, licking his lips. “Chicken breading?”
I groaned softly. “I must have missed a spot.”
His chin rested against mine, his breath warm. Seconds ticked by as he obviously thought through scenarios. “Did anybody get hurt?”
“No.” My arms slid up around his shoulders, my nails grazing over the muscle there.
“Did anybody get arrested?”
“Thankfully, no.” I smiled up at him. “It was close, but no arrests.”
He studied me. “Anybody I need to beat the hell out of?”
I laughed quietly. “Nope. Everyone’s fine.”
He nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Then we’re good.”
“Yep. We’re good.” I wasn’t about to tell him about the flour explosion, Zippy’s tantrum, or the photos in the morning paper. That could wait. Right now, his body felt warm and solid, and the weight of him pressed into me in all the right ways.
“I missed you last night,” he said, his voice rough.
