Mr. Daltyn.
The way she says it makes him sound like a mysterious widower in a Hallmark movie instead of a terrifying NHL goalie who looks at people like he’s deciding whether he should bury them in the woods for getting close to me.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for my stack of clothes.
The second I do, something black and lacy slips from the pile.
My entire soul leaves my body as they hit the floor.
The black lace panties.
The same pair Daltyn took from my drawer my first day here. The same pair he shoved into his pocket while looking completely unhinged.
Heat floods my face so fast I nearly catch fire.
Thelma blinks down at them.
Then at me.
Then back at the panties.
“Oh,” she says.
OH?
OH???
I snatch them up so fast I nearly dislocate my shoulder.
“I—these are—” My brain completely short-circuits.
Thelma’s mouth twitches suspiciously like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Well,” she says carefully. “Those are very pretty.”
I want the earth to open and swallow me whole.
Before I can form a response, a loud knock echoes through the cabin. Then a voice yells through the wooden door. “PAYTON! OPEN UP! I HAVE NEWS!”
No. Absolutely not.
I can’t deal with her right now.
Thelma’s eyes widen. “Oh, dear.”
I clutch the panties against my chest like evidence in a murder trial and head toward the door before realizing what I’m holding.
Horrified, I turn around, grab the stack of clothes, and shove them under my folded sweatshirt, leaving them on the island.
Then I yank open the door.
Gram barrels inside wearing giant sunglasses, hot pink leggings, and enough excitement to power a small city.
“THERE SHE IS!” she shouts.
I close my eyes briefly. “Hi, Gram.”
She grabs both my arms dramatically. “Did you SEE the photos?”
