I shudder. “You’re frightening, Lynn.”
She smiles, sips her tea. “Am I?”
“I respect it. Pray tell, how in the world did you lot convince my brother to be in on this?”
Her eyes close as she continues sipping. “I’m certain I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“I’ve deduced that there was no faulty wiring at all, because the bedIwas told went up in flames wasn’t Wynn’s. It was Dominic’s.”
“Oh? My mistake. I am elderly. It’s understandable that I’d mix up details—on top of everything I’m handling at the moment. All I know is I got a call and organized a solution.”
“Uh-huh.” I could press on the details of the day the solution was sent, but I’m already convinced I’m right, so I chuckle instead. “Of course what you’re saying sounds probable. But I think it’s far more reasonable to believe that my brother would entirely forget to inform key players of plot points. He is quite new to such things, you should know. Still.” Iglow. “I am ever so proud of his attempt, and I can hardly believe helikes—” I face Dominic again. “—youthatmuch.”
All at once calm, Dominic smiles. “I’m genuinely unsure what I did to deserve that honor.”
“Probably, if I had to guess, you were just yourself. Makes a girl curious about whatplain old Dominicmight be like.”
Warmth fills him, and as does a slash of ever-familiar red.
I exhale a laugh and hug my binder. “Boy. I’m sorry you had to see this ridiculous thing.”
“I don’t think it’s ridiculous.”
“Now that I know December tampered with it, I ampositiveit is, actually.”
“I think it’s cute. I love seeing how loved you are. By December. By your family. By your other friends.”
I blush, and my grandmother gasps, burying her nails into poor Mirabelle’s leg as she laser-focuses on me.
I murmur, “You know something? The way you talk isn’t remotelyinstalove.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Odd.”
“Completely. There’s alittletoo much care. Atouchtoo much depth. I’d be shocked if anyone would go so far for someone they’ve only just met.”
“The plot thickens, then, I suppose,” he says, ever alluring.
Mirabelle’s face contorts, then she raises her hand.
My brows rise. “Yes, Mira?”
“I’m…a little confused.”
Yes, well. That makes enough sense. It’s always going to be a little confusing to find yourself in the middle of a story already partly written.
Her finger points, at Dominic, and then…thenshe says, “Who…is he, actually?”
“Oh?” I purr.
Granee lurches, covering Mirabelle’s mouth before she can say anything else. The poor woman tenses, shaken, so I scowl. “Granee. Chill. I’m sorry about her, Mira. She’s…” I ponder. “…special.”
Granee huffs, freeing Mirabelle and muttering, “It runs in the family.”
Mirabelle whispers, “I’m sorry. I…didn’t…” She crosses her ankles and looks down at her hands, fiddling in her lap. “I think I’m operating outside my comfort zone.”
