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“Is it weird that, like, they’re a package deal? Clay could stay in town, give you two some privacy.”
“We don’t need privacy,” I blurted before my brain caught up to my mouth. “Forget I said that.”
“Aww.” She patted my cheek. “That would explain why you’ve been so grumpy.”
“I have not been grumpy,” I grumped. “I don’t know where I stand with Asa, that’s all.”
The hair bracelet said one thing, but the lack of ravishment said another.
“He looks at you the way Camber looks at a chocolate peanut butter cake.”
Except Camber worshipped those cakes with her mouth.
Goddess bless, I was not jealous of a slice of cake for seeing more action than me.
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I bumped shoulders with her. “Are you and Louis still talking?”
“No.” She pinched her lips together. “He got weird, after…”
After David Taylor, the Silver Stag copycat, kidnapped her and Camber.
“I’m sorry.” I brought her in for a hug. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses.”
“Maybe.” She wriggled free and picked up her share of the treats. “Or maybe it’s not meant to be.”
The melancholy statement wasn’t intended for me, but it hit home all the same.
“I didn’t mean you and Asa,” she rushed to assure me when my face fell. “You guys are different.”
Arms loaded down with my half of the supplies, I shot her a smile that promised I wasn’t upset.
Out on the sidewalk, she and I began restocking our table as the caroler troupe swished past.
A prickle of unease stung my nape, and I angled my head to scan the busy street.
Shoppers. Kids. Characters.
Nothing amiss.
Shaking off my paranoia, I dusted the table free of crumbs then straightened the cups and napkins.
A scream rent the night, frantic and desperate, and townsfolk rushed to the source.
“Rue,” Arden breathed, her hand fisting the back of my dress.
“Stay here.” I pressed my tray into her arms, ushering her backward. “Don’t leave the shop.”
“Okay.” Eyes haunted, she inched toward Camber. “Be careful, Rue.”
On my way out, I kicked the stop up and shut the door. Not that glass panes offered much in the way of protection, but until I knew what was going on, the illusion of safety was all I could give them.
Tiny Tim was jogging toward the action, his crutch forgotten, but Scrooge fell in step with me.
“Let’s hope it’s not food poisoning again.” I kept my pace brisk. “Our festivals are earning a reputation.”
“The mayonnaise isn’t to blame for this.” Asa pitched his voice low. “I smell blood.”
As much as I wished for a mundane explanation, say, a hemophiliac slicing their thumb open at the gift-wrapping booth, I could tell this was more. And that was before the scent hit me.
