12
“You kissed Ethan?”
Heat rose in Maggie’s cheeks, her fingers tightening around her matcha as she scanned the street. It was almost five in the afternoon, and no one was in listening distance. Thank God. She didn’t need the town gossip mill to center around her.
“Yes,” she finally said, voice quiet even though they were alone.
Polly stepped closer, walking so slowly they almost weren’t moving. “Was it a good kiss?”
Maggie gave her best friend a “what do you think?” look.
“Okay, so it was good. Not a surprise. According to you, Ethan’s always been a good kisser.”
Not good. A kiss from Ethan was magic. It was intimate and electric and had awakened parts of her that she hadn’t realized had been sleeping.
“So, what does this mean?” Polly asked.
“We didn’t talk about that.” They hadn’t talked about anything. A million questions sat between them, and they hadn’ttalked about a single one of them. “He said I’ve been all he can think about this last month.”
Polly sighed. “That man was made for you, Maggie Sinclair. Who knows what would have happened if you’d invited him inside your apartment.”
Maggie frowned, the sudden memory of the photo popping into her head, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. “Did you go into the apartment while I was out?”
“No. I told you I wouldn’t. It’s your space. Why?”
The matcha in her fingers suddenly felt a bit colder. “You know those strange things that were happening to me in LA?”
“With your psycho stalker? How could I forget?”
“Do you remember how one of the creepy things was the photo of my mother and me always being face down?”
Polly gasped. “It wasn’t.”
“When I got back last night, it was face down.”
For a moment, Polly was quiet, her skin paling. Then she shook her head. “No. That’s not possible. It must be an unstable frame or something.”
How many times had she told herself that in LA? How many times had she made excuses foreverything? Too many times.
“Was your door unlocked?” Polly asked.
“No.”
“Was the lock broken?”
“No.”
“What about a window?”
“All sealed.”
“Well, there you go. There’s no way Psycho Stalker got in.” Polly paused before lifting a shoulder. “But maybe you should let Ward know, just in case.”
Maggie scoffed. “I went to see him this morning about something else, and it was the least productive conversation I have ever had.”
“About what?”
“I asked him for all the records from my mother’s death, and all he said was he’d ‘get them.’ No date of when.”
