I deepened my voice to bellow, “Who’s that over there I see? Why, if it isn’t Princess Matilda!”
She hid a giggle behind her hand.
I stomped my way over. “The sweaty troll from under the bridge is here to kidnap you!” I wrapped her in a hug and covered her with kisses.
A soft peck landed on my cheek. Sad brown eyes blinked at me, her bottom lip jutting out as she held up her hands.
“You were excited about your manicure?” I asked her.
She nodded.
With an exaggerated frown, I held out my hand and gave it a critical examination. “Can trolls get manicures?”
Biting back a smile, she nodded again.
“What about a milkshake? Can trolls have milkshakes?”
“Yeah!”
“Let’s go then!”
I ignored the clock.If I didn’t see the hand moving closer to 9.00 p.m., it wasn’t that late.
I paced the living room, my phone pressed to my ear. “Jeremy hasn’t responded in hours.” I was too proud to admit to Callan that my husband hadn’t responded to me all day.
“You tried calling him at work?” Callan asked.
“His receptionist said his last appointment finished just before three. He left on time.”
A rustle of movement carried through the line. “Something must have hap—oof.”
“Cal?”
The string of muffled curses was faint. He must have held the phone away. “Sorry,” he said. “I clocked my knee on a kitchen stool when I was grabbing my keys. If I get my ass moving, I can get to the airport—”
“You don’t need to do that!”
“I’m sure as hell not sitting around here if your husband is missing!”
“I’m probably just overreacting—” Headlights beamed through the front shutters. “Wait.” I raced to the window, bending over to peer through the white wooden slats. The familiar black sports car parked in the driveway, and the headlights flicked off.
“Ez?” Cal’s voice was cautious.
“Jeremy just pulled up.”
“He better limp out of that car with a pair of busted arms and legs.”
“He hasn’t gotten out yet.” I squinted. It was hard to see, but the blue glow on Jeremy’s face almost made my blood boil. “He’s messing around on his phone.”
“Strike one.”
The car door opened, and Jeremy’s wingtip shoes shone under the porch light when he stepped out. “No limping.”
“Strike two. Go sort him out. He better have a damn good explanation for what he’s put you through tonight.” Callan’s voice softened when he said, “Send me a message later so I know you’re okay. I’ll wait up.”
“Thanks, Cal.”
I paced in the front hallway waiting for Jeremy’s key to twist in the lock. The door opened.
