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“Green apple licorice.”
“You’d better be joking,” he said with a touch of exasperation. I wasn’t. “Do you need water for your pills?” he asked.
I paused mid-sip, causing me to gulp loudly.
Amos halted on his way to the door, rotated, and then leveled a stern look my way. “June Ella Matthews,pleasetell me you’ve been taking your pills.”
I coughed, wiping my lips guiltily. “I may have left them at my commission’s house on Tuesday.”
“It’s Thursday,” he pointed out. “You haven’t taken them for two days? Why didn’t you go get them? Or have someone take you, at least?”
“I, ah,” I fumbled, wondering why those questions were so hard to answer.Because he creeped you out and you don’t want to go back. “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “My lungs felt fine, so I figured I’d just get them Saturday.”
Amos was pissed. “You have to take them every day or they won’t keep the inflammation in your lungs under control.” He approached me and set his coffee on the counter. “Pop quiz, Matthews. How will you know if the inflammation has come back?”
“Uh,” I faltered, stepping back.
He leaned a hand on the counter, angling his body over mine. “They’ll seize up and you’llstop breathing. Did you enjoy that last time?”
“No,” I said, and my chest heated as my ire rose to match his. “You don’t have to be an as—” I swallowed the word bitterly. “Jerk about it. I still have autonomy over my own body,DoctorBrady.”
I could almost feel the tension in his shoulders mirrored on my own body. “Where is your commission’s house? We’ll get them before work.”
“No,” I said too quickly.
Amos angled a perceptive look down at me. “Why?” he asked slowly.
My thoughts scrambled and tripped like gladiator sandals on a rocky path. “It’s—I can’t just show up first thing in the morning.”
“So, call them,” he said, as if testing me. My brain went blank. And I knew in that moment that my poker face might as well be a projector broadcasting my thoughts into his head. Too-smart-for-my-own-good Amos Brady caged me in with his body and the counter behind me. “June,” he said in warning. “What’s wrong?”
His arm brushed up against mine, and the heat from his body nearly punctured my anger. But I tensed up instead, suddenly defensive for reasons I couldn’t quite name. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t feel like going back before Saturday.”
“Bull,” he rumbled. He grabbed my nose and tweaked until I had to look up at him. “You suck at lying.”
I swatted his hand away. “Fine, the guy who commissioned it is alittleweird. So, I didn’t feel like going back before I had to. Okay?”
His eyebrows crashed together. “Weird, how?”
“Like, I don’t know,” I shifted my shoulders uncomfortably. “Socially awkward, I guess.”
Amos stepped away. “You’re not going back there.”
I groaned, letting my head fall back. “Amos. I said he was weird, not dangerous. Iamgoing back because this is my first mural, and I’m going to finish it.”
“Making a mural for your Instagram page isn’t worth compromising your safety,” he countered. He’d moved back toward the door like the matter was settled and his mind had made up the decision for me.
“Whatdid you say?” I asked. Outrage swelled in my chest.
“I said, your hobby isn’t worth your safety,” he repeated. He tapped the digital pad by his front door, and behind me, the lights died, and the blinds lowered over the wall of windows.
“It’s not a hobby,” I said, aghast. “Are you for real? Amos, my life’s goal isn’t to be yoursecretaryfor eternity. I’m an artist. What kind of professional would I be if I stopped a job just because the person made me—because he was a little—”
Amos jerked the door open and turned furious eyes on me. “Go back to what you started to say. He made you feel what?”
I swallowed acrid anger. “I can’t believe you just called my art a hobby.”
Amos waited with the door open for me to pass through, his expression thunderous. “You’re avoiding the real issue, here.”
