I trace a pattern on his chest, keeping my voice light. “The other day, at the tavern… I heard you say something to Lance.”
His body tenses.
“Yeah? What’d you hear?”
“Something about my father.”
His expression is neutral, but there’s a war behind his eyes.
“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just something I heard through the grapevine. You know how people talk.”
“People talk aboutmy dad? What did you hear?”
“Regular defense attorney shit. Every worry you’ve already voiced to me, about him dealing with criminals—”
“Alleged.”
“Right. I just worry he’s not safe, you know? Sometimes I think maybe he should move here, too.”
“Fat chance of that happening but join the club.” I laugh. “Comes with the territory.”
“Defense attorneys, right?” He shrugs. “It’s really nothing for you to worry about, baby, that’s why I didn’t want you to hear it.”
I want to push. Askwhotold him, andwhatexactly they said, and why he would be worried about my dad beyond the usual.
But the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m being paranoid.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” I lay my head down on his chest. “Okay.”
His hand finds the back of my neck, and I close my eyes.
I should tell him about the man at the bar. About Lancewaiting for me in the tunnels. About the stew, and the seven seconds, and the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he didn’t have the corner pieces for.
But I don’t.
The words sit on my tongue, heavy and sour, and I swallow them down like medicine I don’t want to take. Guilt curls through me, and I press closer to Art and close my eyes, his heartbeat pulling me under.
But even as I drift, one thought keeps circling:
Why didn’t I tell him
Late-Night Stroll or Something More?
Rosebrook’s favorite pastime (gossip) is back in full swing, thanks to a curious sighting in HillPoint that has tongues wagging and group chats lighting up.
Late last night, long after the porch lights flickered out, none other than Lance Calloway and Genevieve DeGrance were seen walking side by side in HillPoint.
That’s right, Genevieve, as inArthur Penngrove’s girlfriend. And Lance, as inArthur’s best friend and frequent partner-in-alibi.
The pair appeared deep in conversation, their heads bent close together under the glow of a single streetlamp.
Picture it: Two shadows, one shared secret.
Was it an innocent walk home? A midnight coincidence? Or is there more beneath the surface than either of them are saying?
