“Cool. A serial killer couple.” I splash some creamer into Noah’s and my coffees and add a sugar to mine.
“And get this.” He accepts the mug and sips noisily. “They leftrecipesas their calling card.”
“What?” Standing next to the table, I pause with my coffee halfway to my lips. That is weird. Still, it’s not Ruth Roy. Obviously.
“Yeah. I couldn’t find anywhere that says what the recipes were for. But I’d bet a lot of money it was apple pie. Killings stopped the same year her husband died. Twenty years ago.”
“Shut the fuck up.” I burst out laughing, and to his credit, so does Noah.
“I’m serious!”
“Stop. Please. You have sufficiently distracted me. Thank you. Now go look at my pies and tell me which one you like best.”
Noah stands and strolls over to the counter. Sir Fluffy is sitting on the wooden floor with his tail swishing back and forth like a Swiffer, staring up and probably wishing his hind legs worked better so he could jump up to lick some pie.
The knot of dread in my chest is looser now that Noah is here.
“Is this supposed to be a duck?” He scrunches his face at the third pie in the row.
I groan.
Chapter 36
Pack It Up
CALLIE
“Are you sure about this, Cals?” Lola sits on my bed, her face scrunched. “Portland has always been your home.”
My throat feels tight as I stack books in a heavy-duty box. I’ve lived in this room in Jake’s apartment for less than two months, but considering how little I came here with, it feels like home. Besides my book page art creations and my bookshelf, I also bought a few cheap canvas prints to hang on the walls, one of a pink sunset over a lake, another a trio of lop-eared rabbits against an artistic pink background. It feels more like home than the apartment I shared with Shane.
The answer to Lola’s question is no, I’m not sure about this.
I’m the farthest thing from sure, actually. But I have to trust in the decision I made when I was calmer. The decision that said I need to start my life over somewhere else. Of course it feels all wrong right now. This is the hardest part. Following through with the plan I made that is best for my future.
The thing is, change is hard. It’s hard to think about, and harder to actually make happen, even if you know it’s the right thing to do. The average person doesn’t change, as a general rule, and there’s a reason for that. It’s way easier just to keep on doing what you’ve already been doing. An object in motion remains in motion unless something gets in its way and forces it to adapt.
But I’m not an average person.
I understand that right now, things are clouded by a tall, tattooed, muscled serial killer who is a walking contradiction. I know him as sweet and kind and funny and so protective of the people he cares for.
Then there’s the other version of Wes. The Wes who holds people down while his brother stabs them, or destroys anyone who hurts someone he cares about. That side is dark. Violent.
I surprised myself when I didn’t find the morally gray part of him a deal-breaker. Because Wes looks at me like I’m his and dammit, I am. But I can’t be, even though I care about him so much.
There’s a knock at my bedroom door.
“Callie?” Jake says, slowly pushing my cracked door.
“Come in,” I call, even as Lola’s eyes widen.
Jake pushes the door open the rest of the way, his gaze flitting between me and Lola.
“Hey, Lola.”
“Hi,” Lola says with those damn hearts in her eyes again. Lordy.
“What’s up, Jake?” I try to keep my voice steady, but the sad puppy dog look he’s giving me hurts my heart.
