“Don’t let Mom see you,” I tease.
“Oh, I know.” He chuckles, taking a bite. His reddish-brown hair is neatly combed to the side. “Did you see anything out there?”
“No, it was quiet.”
“Good. Grant and Sage are planning a trip into Prodigy to see the club.”
I pause. “Why?”
“We need to inspect the damage.”
“Isn’t it too early? The coven could be watching.”
Red shrugs. “Grant thinks the coven is long gone.”
I hate the idea of returning to the city so soon. It seems dangerous. But I’m not a strategist like Grant or Forest.
“Our guest is awake,” I say, changing the subject.
Crumbs fall from Red’s mouth as he freezes. “He is?”
“I saw him in the window before we came in.”
The shorter man rushes off without another word.
I reach for a cookie just as Mom appears beside me, slapping my hand away. “Don’t you dare. We still need to decorate those.”
I roll my eyes. “Why? They’re better without icing.”
“We’ll leave some plain, but Evelyn wanted to decorate cookies, so we’re doing that tomorrow. If you want something sweet, look in the fridge.”
I turn on my heel and open the fridge, my jaw nearly hitting the floor. “Mom, you’re an angel. I mean, I always knew that, but…”
I want to squeal with delight as I pull out the container of cinnamon apple tarts. They’re theonething I don’t mind this time of year, because it’s the only time Mom makes them. “You could’ve wrapped these for Christmas morning and I would’ve been happy.”
Mom laughs. "Just don't eat them all at once. You'll make yourself sick."
I kiss her cheek and pop one of the small treats into my mouth. The sweet flavor is exactly what I need. “Mmm!”
"What's that?" my sister says, coming into the kitchen. Ivy’s brown eyes get huge when she sees what’s in the container, and I twist away before she can grab one.
“No! They’re mine. Mom said so.”
“I did not,” Mom chides. “But he’s kind of right. I made everyone’s favorite treat last night.”
Ivy gets a hopeful expression on her face as she goes up on her toes. “Caramel bites?”
“See for yourself.” Mom slides a plastic container across the counter, and Ivy dances when she peels off the lid, her long, dark hair sliding over her shoulders. “Wait. Are those Dad’s minty balls?”
Mom’s smile fades. “It didn’t feel right not to make them when I was making everyone else’s.”
Ivy wraps an arm around Mom’s back. The sadness is too much for me. I quickly load a plate with treats and turn to leave the room.
“I’m going to work for a bit. Call me for dinner.”
As I get closer to the stairs, I hear raised voices coming from the second floor, and increase my pace.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!”
