Call it payback for the incident at the Morrison party two days ago, when he somehow convinced the birthday girl that Professor Giggles needed to sing the entire “Happy Birthday” song in an operatic falsetto.
Honestly, the last week of escalating pranks with Leo has been incredibly entertaining. He’s proved to be a worthy opponent in competitive mortification. It’s like chess, only there are more sequins and tiny witnesses.
I watch now as Leo takes a sip of coffee.
He frowns. Looks down at the cup. Then looks at me.
I arrange my face into an expression of innocent concern. “Everything all right?”
“There’s something…” He peers into the cup. “Sparkling.”
“Must be the fancy coffee. Rich people put gold flakes in everything.”
“This tastes more like a craft store.”
“Maybe your palate is becoming more refined.”
His eyes narrow. Just enough to let me know he knows exactly who’s responsible.
Heat prickles across my skin in a way that is entirely disproportionate to a man squinting at me.
Which is concerning.
I really need to stop finding his suspicion attractive.
“Children!” I clap my hands, projecting my Captain Giggles voice across the enormous conservatory. “Who’s ready for somemagic?”
The response is deafening. I hobble toward my setup on my crutches, and Leo falls into step beside me, still holding his glittery coffee like evidence.
“You’re going to pay for this,” he says quietly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The glitter, Archie.”
“Glitter? In this economy? I’d never waste such a precious resource.”
He doesn’t respond. Just takes another sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
My pulse does something inconvenient. What is it about this man that makes my body react like this? It’s happening all the time now, this constant hum of awareness my body seems to do anytime Leo is near.
I catch myself tracking his movements across a room. Noticing when he rolls up his sleeves. I’ve developed a whole thing about his hands, which is ridiculous because they’re just hands. Ordinary hands that happen to be attached to a man who makes my stomach flip every time he raises an eyebrow at me.
My life is too complicated right now for a man. Especially this man, with all the secrets between us.
But it appears my body didn’t get the memo.
The magic show goes smoothly. The children are an appreciative audience, shrieking at every reveal, gasping at every transformation.
Leo, in his role as Snugglesaurus today, looking like a very irritated prehistoric marshmallow, hands me props on cue and only threatens me with extinction-level events twice.
It’s during the balloon-animal segment that I notice the boy.
He’s sitting at the edge of the group. He’s small for his age, with curly dark hair and glasses that keep sliding down his nose. While the other children jostle for position, fighting to be next in line for their balloon creation, he’s pressed against the wall like he’s trying to disappear into it.
Samuel. I remember his name from the party briefing. The client’s nephew.
I watch as two larger boys elbow past him to get closer. One of them knocks Samuel’s glasses askew. Neither apologizes.
