“Come on. Give me something. What exactly is Julian here for, Birdie?” I run my fingers along the leather cuff on my wrist. “Was that a dead body?” I whisper.
She lets out an audible exhale, like my question is inconveniencing her. “You walked into a situation, Wyn. A situation that you weren’t supposed to—” Her words stop abruptly as she looks toward the doorway, and at the man who’s now filling it.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I breathe out as I watch Julian casually lean against the doorway as if he wasn’t just bound to a chair. His feet cross at his ankles and arms cross over his chest, and I know I’d only reach his shoulders at best, even in his current position. “How the fuck did you get out of those zip ties?”
“Not my preferred way of being tied up,” he says to me, wiggling his eyebrows.
I tug at my blouse and move my hand behind me, trying to hide where he’s staring. “I already saw you’re still wearing it.” His lips tilt to the side, like he’s pleased that I haven’t takenit off—a leather cuff that doesn’t fit, but I still wear it every day anyway. He tosses my switchblade onto the counter—the weapon I had stashed away inside of my boot. “I didn’t want to miss this conversation.”
Dammit, how did he find that?
“Ah, just the man we were discussing. And how is it that you know my granddaughter, Mr. Colton,” Birdie says, ignoring the weapon that just collided with the butter dish.
Instead of looking at her, his focus stays locked on me when he answers. “I’m not sure I can really say that Iknowher.” He tilts his head just a fraction.
Son of a bitch.
“The version of her I thought I knew wasn’t residing in Tennessee. She dressed much more casually. And her hair was different—dark, almost black, cut short.” He points to his jawline.
Birdie starts to say, “Wyn, your hair was?—”
“Naomi,” he cuts in as he limps through the entry into the kitchen. “She told me her name was Naomi.”
It feels like the universe is playing some kind of fucked-up joke right now.
Birdie quirks an eyebrow at me again. “Interesting behavior coming from you. This is more in line with something your mother or sisters might have done.” Her mouth twitches like she’s amused before she shakes her head. “Giving a man a different name,” she says under her breath.
Standing straighter, she sizes him up. It’s a power move that I’ve witnessed plenty of times throughout my life—if there’s any truth to be found in this room, it’s that Birdie’s always the one in charge. “There’s a shirt over there for you, if you’d like.” She glances at me. “Although, none of us are complaining if not.” A chuckle slips past her lips when I widen my eyes at her to cut it out, and she grabs her basket of bread, moving toward thedining room. “I see the appeal,” she says, leaning into me, before heading through the arched doorway.
Gritting my teeth, I ignore that comment and say, “I need you to finish telling me what that was last ni—Birdie!” I call after her, but she’s through the doorway and done with this conversation, apparently.
When I glance back at him, there’s a tiny smirk dancing along his lips, and I know he heard her not-so-quiet commentary.
There are layers of lies that hover between the two of us, yet he knows more than most should about me—where I had been, and even more, intimately. I struggle with what to say as he watches me and comfortably allows the silence to linger.I hate it.Clearing my throat, I grasp at the first thought I have as I stare back at him. “You cut your hair.”
“You’re an entirely different person,” he volleys back as he limps closer, reaching the other side of the island between us. Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the counter and waits for me to say something more.
I push my shoulders down and fist my hands on my hips. “Observant. Yes. But you can start,” I grit out. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Is that how you think this is going to go?” he says in a teasing tone that makes me want to slap him—definitely not kiss him. “You might want to ask your beloved grandmother the answer to that one.”
“You’re dangerous.” I cough out a laugh. I’ve thought about this man too often. “I can do a lot of things, but apparently knowing who I can trust?—”
He shakes his head and laughs like this is funny, cutting me off. “You’re a beautiful liar,” he says, erasing the playfulness that’s been on the edge of his words. “And I know why you had to, but—” The way he looks at me now feels intrusive and overwhelming.
“I’m a liar, but so are you,” I breathe out, shoving past him and through the doorway, down the hallway, and toward the dining room. If there was another way to leave, I would’ve chosen it. The last thing I want is to be catapulted into family dinner.
“Auntie Wyn” my nephew, Nash, yells out, stopping me in my tracks and causing everyone to look my way.Shit.
“Wyn, you better sit that pretty ass next to me right now,” my brother-in-law, Theo, says.
“Did you ditch the nerd party and go on a bender?” my sister Stevie asks. Eyes widening, she takes in the mess of my appearance. When she reaches my bare feet, she looks at her husband. “Please ask her where her shoes are, Theo.”
“Wyn, where?—”
Stevie cuts him off. With her eyes closing with exasperation, she says, “Where are my favorite Tecovas, Wynnie? You will not get back the chartreuse Manolos if you’ve lost my favorites.”
I give my sister a look that says,Now is not the time.
