Requiring far more wisdom, my grandmother bulldozes ahead. “Lynn! I couldn’t help but overhear your dilemma, and I have the most perfect solution.”
I blink.
Glancing at the pretty boy, whose brow has furrowed, I discover his gaze has lowered. To the hand. Over my mouth.
Oh this?I’d say, were I able to speak.Don’t worry about this. This is certainly not a precaution against my tendency to say stupid things whenever my grandmother tries to set me up with someone.
Last time my dear, beloved Granee dragged me to a table with a (according to her) “hot guy around my age,” I asked if he wanted to see the decapitated rabbit head picture I keep on my phone.
It’s a grand story.
I was at a bonfire party one night, sitting on the porch steps, waiting for someone to do something interesting, when I looked over. And, oop, there it was! A decapitated rabbit head.
Tsk, tsk.Kawaisona usagi-chan.
The household dog had quite clearly gotten a hold of a wild rabbit.
They took the ears off and everything.
Fascinating stuff, right?
My potential suitor did not think so. He may have suggested I be committed. I may have reveled in the idea. After all, aren’t crazy people the most interesting? They go off at the drop of a hat, telling you how their spirits leave their bodies and go on plane trips while they’re just out walking around their neighborhoods and such.
What a wealth of story fodder being committed would afford me.
Anyway, I’ve lost the plot.
Requested male lead. Blah, blah, blah. Dragging me across a restaurant. Blah, blah, blah. Granee has a solution to Lynn’s dilemma.
Oh boy.
I’m on the edge of my seat for this one.
Lynn arches a graying brow. “You…do?”
“Yes!” Granee references pretty boy with the hand not impeding my freedom of speech. “Dominic can stay with August until the home he was intending to rent can be…put back together…after theincidentthat befell it.”
Lynn blinks. I blink.Dominicshifts his attention to my grandmother, who has just seemingly volunteered my abode to him, a complete stranger, and blinks.
I know I’mme, but, still, this is a little dangerous, isn’t it? My hubris doesn’t undo the fact I am five-five and a half, in boots…and five-three otherwise. I’m barely half a foot taller than this guy while he’sseated. And—
Oh.
Ohhh.
I think I just recalled something devastating.
Thisis why we don’t put things likeforced proximityin our list of desired romance tropes, isn’t it? Yeah.
Ah well. I guess it’s time to do what I do best.
Tugging my grandmother’s hand off my mouth, I beam. “I’ve never written a murder mystery before.” I adjust my glasses, lean nearer to the giant, and assess him. Jeepers, he really isbig. “I wonder if those shoulders would fit in my trunk.”
A flurry of red dances across his cheeks.
I stare at it, confused—for but a moment. Then I gallantly regain my nonsense. “It’d be a pity if I have to cut you up first, but I am more than willing and confident in my ability to get blood out of things.”
His pale skin blisters further, blue eyes wide.
