Karl’s face creased in a wince, but he didn’t protest.
Ten minutes later, the room monitor was still talking.
“—and then you’d place the amulet back inside the tomb and close the sarcophagus lid, thus causing the zombies to collapse in place before they could quite reach you,” she concluded, sounding weary. “The hidden door would swing open, and you’d have escaped successfully.”
Silence.
“Wow,” Molly finally said. “So there were different spaces to explore, including a boobytrapped tomb and its treasure room. We could have met the holographic reincarnation of an Egyptian queen and slain a zombified, phrenology-obsessed Victorian archaeologist. And yet we spent our entire hour in a museum’s ten-by-ten back room storage area.”
She raised her brow at Karl.
“No way in h—” He caught himself, then turned to the employee. “No way anyone actually gets all that sh—stuff done before the hour is up. This room’s gotta be the hardest one you have, right?”
She directed a flat stare his way. “Our record for this room is fourteen minutes. Set by a trio of eighth-graders during a slumber party.”
His shoulders sagged.
“Within those fourteen minutes, they also created and exchanged friendship bracelets—”
Karl grunted. “Fu—freaking Swifties. Should’ve known.”
“—and began coding a Snapchat filter that made them look like talking butts.”
“Damn overachieving tweens,” he muttered under his breath.
Half amused, half annoyed, Molly followed the room monitor through the now-opened door, down the hall, and to the exit,where the young woman shooed them outside with an audible sigh of relief.
After the air-conditioned chill of the escape room, the humid warmth of the late September afternoon felt like a benediction. She turned her face up to the sun, let her eyelids slip shut, and basked in the heat for a moment. When she blinked her eyes open again, Karl was staring down at her, his intent, tight-lipped expression spangled in her sun-dazzled vision.
His voice had turned to sandpaper. “You ready to go?”
She nodded. In unspoken mutual agreement, they began to walk in the direction of both the Spite House and his bakery. Neither said anything for a long time.
He didn’t touch her either. Didn’t take her hand or bump hips or sling a heavy arm around her shoulders. Just scowled down at the brick sidewalk and stomped as best he could in his Crocs. In other words: not very effectively.
“Figure that clusterfuck didn’t help me prove myself.” As he finally spoke, his fingers tunneled through his hair and tugged agitatedly. “Sorry, Dearborn. Waste of time and money.”
“Well...” The waterfront glinted blue over the horizon, and she squinted at it while they walked. “The premise of the room was fun. And now I know you don’t get mean under pressure, insist on making all the decisions, or simply quit. Those are all necessary qualities for me to trust someone.”
Honestly, the more ways Karl differentiated himself from her ex, the better.
“But?” His tone was resigned.
The obvious unhappiness in his voice almost silenced her, but... he’d always encouraged her bluntness in the past. And ifhe wanted her to trust him, he needed to understand how he was making that task more difficult on them both, right?
She exhaled slowly. “I can’t say I’d be eager to rely on you in any situation requiring teamwork and clear, consistent communication.”
He didn’t reply with words. Just grunted again, which seemed apropos.
While helping Molly move in on Friday, Athena had explained the whole bizarre story behind the mistaken obituary. And yes, the reporter’s desperation for a story, her hearing problems, and her true crime habit caused the whole uproar. But so did Karl’s unwillingness to text his closest friends or even crack the door to his workroom and wave at the woman when she asked about him.
Poor communication. Again. Just like today.
A relationship with a man who didn’t see the point in sharing crucial information would be an exercise in frustration. Hell, even casual sex with a man who couldn’t talk through what they both wanted and what was or wasn’t working for them didn’t sound great. Chemistry and good instincts could take a lover pretty far, but not as far as she’d prefer.
Their footsteps crunching against the sidewalk were the only sound for a while. When her phone rang, it was a welcome distraction. She ducked her head to dig for it in her bag, and when she halted at the sidewalk’s edge, next to the brick exterior of a bank, he stopped beside her.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “Just want to make sure there’s no problem with the renos.”
