“Why not?” I muse. “It’s just one more thing off my plate.”
Peyton can’t complain. In fact, she has no say in anything at the moment—which is sort of the way I like it.
“What could go wrong with Santa at a Christmas party?” I say with a laugh and Bunny’s eyes flit to the fire.
If Hattie only knew the plans I have for that man once he sets foot in the club. Let’s just say I’m about to check off a heck of a lot of boxes on my own personal naughty list, and with the head elf himself.
Wonderful.
Bunny claps her hands together. “Thank you, Hattie. He’ll be so excited. He takes his Santa work very seriously—it’s a lot like method acting, you know.”
Before I can ask what exactly method acting involves for a Santa impersonator, Killion appears at our table, making an entrance that causes every female diner in the restaurant to suddenly remember they need to check their lipstick.
He’s still in his work clothes—dark suit, badge visible, that particular brand of authority that makes him look like he could solve crimes and break hearts with equal efficiency.
“Ladies,” he says, sliding into the booth beside me and landing a kiss on my lips. “Long day?”
“You have no idea,” I tell him. “I spent it in Edison.”
Bunny’s phone buzzes. She glances at it and her entire face transforms into the expression of a woman who has just received extremely promising news.
“It’s Nicholas,” she breathes, already in motion, scooping up her phone with one hand while the other waves a breezy goodbye. She drops a kiss on my cheek, then points at Killion. “Feed her. If she’s been to Edison, then she’s been through an ordeal.” Then she’s gone in a cloud of romantic anticipation, the restaurant door swinging shut behind her like punctuation on the world’s fastest exit.
He turns my way with a smile that does something completely unreasonable to my pulse and we settle into the comfortable quiet of two people who have learned how to exist in the same space without filling every inch of it with words. The jazz plays. The candles flicker. Somewhere across the restaurant, a cork pops.
“So,” he says finally. “Edison.”
I knew we’d get back there.
“Who, what, where, when, and why?” He frowns for a moment, making him twice as comely as he already is.
I quickly fill him in on all of the above.
“We were perfectly safe,” I say, before he can say anything else. “We talked to some people, gathered some information, and left. It was all very civilized.”
“You took Peyton and two octogenarians to Edison to interrogate a murder suspect.”
“Investigate,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Hattie.” He’s frowning again—and again, so hot.
“We learned things,” I say. “Useful things. Millie Ashford had her recipes stolen by Seraphina and her business was already struggling. That’s a motive, and a means?—”
“I know what motive and means are,” he says, but there’s no real edge to it. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with the kind of casual intimacy that still catches me off guard sometimes. “I love that you care about this. I love that you’re good at it.” His hand drops to mine. “I hate that you keep putting yourself in rooms with people who might be killers.”
“I had Cricket,” I say. “And Rookie.”
That’s correct,Cricket confirms.I was extremely vigilant.
And I was on the lookout for French snacks,Rookie adds with a soft bark as he reappears.
I quickly translate.
“Incredibly reassuring,” Killion says, and means none of it, but he’s smiling now, which means the worst of it is over.
We order drinks we probably won’t finish. We talk about the case, about Millie and her stolen recipes and her failing bakery, about Vivienne and her Edison boutique that has no business being as expensive as it is, about Seraphina and the very long list of people who had reason to want her quiet.
Then we circle back to the Christmas trees that we somehow still don’t have.
