Page 46 of How I Met Your Murderer

For once in my existence, I could say I knew how that felt.

“No, no, no. You can’t just put the Merlot on top of the Pinot!” Jordy insisted.

“That’s exactly where it goes,” Basil shot back. “It’s called organization, Jordy. You should try it sometime.”

“Organization?” Jordy scoffed. “You’re color‑coding the crates like they’re spell components and not paying any attention to what’s actually inside!”

“They are components,” Basil said, snatching the label from his hand. “Of a functional storage system. Which you’re currently sabotaging with your chaotic gremlin brain.”

Jordy’s eyes sparkled as he insisted, “My mam told me chaos builds character.”

Basil squared his shoulders and, a hand on his hip, declared stiffly, “Well, maybe so. But chaos also gives me hives.”

“They’re flirting just fine without our help,” I whispered to Raff.

He shook his head. “That’s not flirting,” he muttered. “That’s just two lads having a mild disagreement in the workplace.”

Basil and Jordy both reached for the same crate at the same time, bumped hands, and immediately pretended it hadn’t happened.

“Raff,” I said gently, “you flirt by arguing about the right way to eat Maltesers.”

He opened his mouth, then seemed to think the better of whatever he had been about to say, his eyes briefly darting to me and then just as quickly glancing back at the hapless couple. “I—well, you’re right about that.”

Completely unseen, I drifted toward the stack of crates and nudged the topmost one just enough to make it wobble.

Basil startled like I was betting he would, tripping in his haste to catch it, and Jordy caught him around the waist with reflexes that probably impressed an athlete like Raff.

They froze like that. Breathless, wide-eyed, faces just inches apart.

“You’re a regular wizard,” Raff whispered when I brushed a chilled hand against his cheek to let him know I was back at his side.

“You’re welcome,” I murmured.

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” Raff said, the glint in his eyes promising he had some kind of plan. He winked at me. Then he strode toward the pair like he was just entering the kitchen, calling, “Jordy! Basil! Uh, Caoimhe asked me to see if you two could handle the cellar inventory. Together.”

The decorator and the owner blinked at each other like startled deer.

“Um—yeah, we can do that,” Jordy said slowly, like he hoped Basil would jump in.

“Sure we can,” Basil added, low and breathless.

As they disappeared down the stairs side by side, Raff whispered to me, “Why do I feel like I’ve just sent two babes off into the woods?”

“They’ll be fine,” I assured him. “The baby deer can hold hooves.”

He snorted, the first real sound of amusement I’d heard from him today, and I gave him a mock salute.

“Wildcard,” he mouthed, and I flushed under what I had come to recognize as praise.

sixteen

The Bear

Eric

Ten minutes later, I returned to check on the pair doing inventory. Raff trailed after me, limping slightly and pretending he wasn’t curious about whatever was happening down there. He had shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the next step ahead.

The cellar was dim and cool, lit by a single flickering bulb. It didn’t have the same intense sort of darkness as the dungeon—a place I hadn’t had a reason to visit in a few days, although I would be heading there soon to scream with the worms if Raff kept acting like our kiss hadn’t rearranged his world, too.