“You don’t know that room is used for orgies.”
“There is not a location on earth where that couch has been used for anything but orgies, Ginny!”
“OK, I’m right here.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t yell at me.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not yelling.”
“Not now.” Ginny kissed his cheek. “Listen. This is a lot. I get that. And it’s for my mom.” She kissed his other cheek, her lips sticky with gloss lingering on his skin. She exhaled, and her breath mingled with his, a mixture of mint and coffee. She set her forehead against his and kissed the tip of his nose.
His hands twitched on his armrests.
“I’ll handle it,” she whispered.
He blinked, strands of her red hair getting in his eyelashes. “I beg your ever-loving pardon?”
“I’ll handle it. They already invited me in.” She leaned away from him to reach for the napkin, her knees bumping into his. He spread his legs so she fit better between them. “Let’s see. Don’t need Step One then, which is ‘Ride in on Bike.’ Which makes Step Two unnecessary: ‘Bring Saddle Bags Inside to Carry Money.’ I’ll have to, hmm … Oh, I know! I’ll wear a coat!”
“Virginia.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s July. In South Florida. It’s ninety-nine degrees in the shade.”
“A fashionable coat,” Ginny explained. “And I’ll go in with C-4, and I’ll go out with cash.”
“And the bikers won’t hear an explosion?”
“No.” Ginny ran her finger under the napkin’s Step Three. “Because they’ll be Distracted by Grease Fire.”
Shepherd groaned, his head falling back on his chair. “I wish I was already dead.”
Ginny sat on his lap, her arms winding their way around his neck until he had no choice but to look at her. “Maybe we should call his ex-wife. I’m beginning to think she was the brains behind the operation. Charlie’s plans are … not so desirable.”
Shepherd grabbed her waist, torn between pushing her off and keeping her there forever. Maybe she was using her body to manipulate him. Maybe he didn’t care as long as he got to hold her in the dark. “I don’t need his ex-wife. I’m good at plans, Ginny. That’s my entire deal!”
She nodded sagely. “I’ve seen the binders, Shepherd. I’ve memorized the page titled What To Do If We Run Out of Mozzarella During a Birthday Party.”
“Twelve steps,” he said, proudly.
She gave him a look from the corner of her eye that suggested, perhaps, he was a little too proud of his cheese plans. “Yes. Twelve steps.”
“I’m going to make the plan,” he vowed. “We are not going to tell Charlie that I’m making a second plan.”
“Agreed.”
“And you are not going in there alone, Ginny. Your father would kill me, and then he’d tell the police about the guy I might’ve injured.”
She kissed the side of his mouth. “He was dead, honey.”
“You keep saying that, but we have very little evidence to back that up.”
“I know what I saw.”
Three weeks ago, the shell of a food truck parked in the alley behind the restaurant was filled with big dreams, and not much else. Now it was filled with his pizza chefs, Max and Chris, as they argued over the best way to set Shepherd’s festival plans on fire.
“Honestly, the fact that either of you didn’t flinch at the word ‘arson’ has me concerned about the future of my restaurant.”
Chris smiled, his septum piercing shining in the sunlit alley in a way that was, perhaps, too beautiful for breathing in the fumes from the overflowing dumpster that sat between Shepherd’s restaurant and the massage place next door.
“We play with fire for a living, Boss. We’re just grateful you’re letting us help Ginny.”
Max stuck his head out of the truck’s window. “We like Ginny more than you.”
