Chapter Nine
LILY
“Order up,” Gage calls out before he dings the bell on the ledge of the pass-through between the cafe’s kitchen and dining room.
“Lil-y?” Luke says hesitating and tacking on the question, confused as he takes the paper bag and order tag from Gage. “Stocking up?” He asks with a chuckle setting the abnormally heavy bag on the cash counter before entering the order into the register.
Crap. I should have thought about this before. I eat here so often, Luke knows my order by heart. And weight.
What do I say? I can’t tell him I have company. He might ask who. Anything I make up could come back to bite me. So, I just awkwardly agree. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. Though, I might just eat it all tonight,” I add because it would be weird for me to agree that this food is for multiple dinners, then come back tomorrow for another double order.
This arrangement with Apollo is already getting out of hand.
I really need to learn how to cook. Do meal prep and stick to it. The meal prep is the easy part. The sticking to it, not so much.
“Um… Okay?” Luke says with a raised brow. Obviously aware of how weird I’m being.
And he’s not the only one. The person standing beside me gives me a scrunchie side-eye. I wouldn’t have thought much of this person’s judgment. I know from first glance they aren’t a townie. But I do a double-take when my brain catches up to my eyes and I start to panic.
This isn’t just a tourist or person passing through. Those glasses… The matching hat and scarf.
It’s the reporter I waved to this morning.
My heart goes crazy. A nervous heat blooms on the back of my neck and down my spine.
I need to get myself together before he decides I’m acting suspiciously. I mean… I am but maybe he hasn’t caught on yet.
As soon as Luke tells me what I owe him, I hand him my money—mymoney, not Apollo’s—tell him to keep the change as I snatch the bag off the counter and turn to leave before Luke can question me further or even staple the top of the bag shut like he always does.
And I don’t look back.
I hoof it all the way home without a glance over my shoulder. Though I desperately want to. Feeling the whole way like someone’s following me.
Is this what it’s like for Apollo?
No wonder he’s in hiding. I’d hide too. I want to hide now. But I still have about half a block to go.
I’m just starting to feel stupid for wasting my energy on being paranoid when my house comes into view and I see the sidewalk and driveway have been shoveled.
Maybe it’s because I’d been gripping it so tightly for so long as I panic-walked home and my hand just can’t take it anymore. Or maybe it’s because I don’t know how to handle not having to do the work myself that the shock of seeing the shoveling is done makes me lose my hold and the bag falls to the ground splattering our food on the snow-dusted sidewalk.
Instantly, my head spins to look behind me. Needing to know if anyone saw me.
There’s no one. No bespectacled reporter or even a nosy neighbor.
That’s gotta be a first.
After picking up what I can of the mess I made on the sidewalk, I head to the house. Shifting my eyes the whole time, convinced I’m going to be called out at any second.
When it seems I’m going to make it inside without being bombarded by questions as I walk up the front steps, also clear of snow, I finally wonder who did it.
It couldn’t have been Apollo. What if someone spotted him? My neighbors, most of them elderly, with little to do other than spy on each other, would have been waiting for me. To ask me about the strange man scooping my driveway.
No sign of any of them.
Maybe Oliver did it when he came over earlier?
Trying to feel good about being able to check scooping snow off my to-do list but annoyed it ruined our dinner, I push open the door and ask, “Who shoveled the driveway?”
