Page 170 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“I hated every bit of that,” she says, squeezing Rue so hard she knocks her own glasses askew. “The shouting parts were bad, but the silences…”

She swallows audibly, then holds Rue even tighter. It’s an instinct I understand.

“I wasn’t very fond of it either.” Rue squeezes her back. “No more murders for the rest of the year, I promise.”

Felicity hasn’t let her go yet. “I can do math. That’s not a good bargain.”

I’m considering pulling them both into an embrace when arms wrap around my midsection.

It’s Quinn.

Quinn is hugging me.

“I was worried, okay?” she says into my shirt.

“Ah…” I’ve known Quinn Brady since I was eighteen. In all that time, Quinn Brady has touched me on purpose maybe four times. Two of those times were handshakes, and one was when a wasp landed on my neck and she got to slap me.

For someone as rigid as Quinn, her arms are surprisingly soft, but I barely have time to register that before she releases me and finds the room staring at her in shock.

“What?” she says a touch defensively. “I’ve never listened to him do an intake before. I won’t be doing that again.”

She spins to face Rue next, stretching her arm over Felicity’s shoulder with her palm extended.

“Lipstick.”

Rue lifts her brows as she extracts herself from her sister’s hug, fishing the tube out of her pocket and handing it over. Quinn uncaps it, inverts it, examines the wheel, and deposits it somewhere in her voluminous skirt.

“I’m redesigning the seals,” she says on her way back to the armchair that used to live in Rue’s half of the duplex.

It’s the closest Quinn Brady has ever come to explaining herself over anything, and judging by the way she plants her heels on the ottoman next to Cosmo, the topic is now closed.

“The invoice for the comms equipment’s on your kitchen island,” Pell announces from his perch on a stool he dragged from my kitchen and positioned so he can keep an eye on as many exits and entrances as possible.

“You’re all heart,” Quinn mutters.

“On that subject,” Rue says, “when exactly did all of your hearts grow three sizes?”

She wanders over to the small artificial tree and flicks one of the ornaments. I’ve never owned a single holiday decoration in my life, but last year, I watched her put that tree up the day after Thanksgiving and take it down the day after New Year’s. She entertained no guests that whole time, but she faithfully turned the multicolor lights on when she got home and turned them off again when she went to bed. This year, she didn’t bother with it, for obvious reasons.

“We had a lot of downtime while you two were getting into place, so I raided your boxes in the garage,” Felicity says. “Merry Christmas!”

I join Rue at the tree, marveling at the sight of it in my house, which was always emptier than hers, and for far longer. She cuddles into me, and it’s my heart that’s growing, opening up rooms I didn’t know existed until her.

“When…” I cough, clear my throat, try again. “When was it that I gave any of you a key to this side of the duplex?”

I’m met with three identical snorts of derision.

“That’s a weird way of saying, ‘Thank you.’” Quinn’s sarcasm wakes up Cosmo, who leaps to his feet in a jingling of tags and uses her legs as a bridge to cross from the ottoman to the chair. Once he arrives, he wedges his stout little body into the gap between her hip and the rolled arm, then rests his chin on her thigh and rolls his eyes up to look at her.

“You’re quite the flirt,” she says as she pets him, and I catch the curl of a smile before she ruthlessly flattens her lips once more.

Across the room, Rue catches my gaze. I recognize the look on her face.

“We, ah, need to shower off a crime scene,” I tell the room. When none of them start to pack it up and leave, I shrug and toss Rue over my shoulder. “Fine, but you guys might want to turn on some music.”

“Adrenaline bang,” Pell says. “Nice.”

“None of us will be listening at the door, I swear!” Felicity calls after us as I take the stairs two at a time, Rue’s voice in my ear urging me to hurry.