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“You aren’t going up to see your dad?”
She shakes her head as she finishes off the donut. After a sip of coffee, she replies. “Not today. I’ll be up there for the next two weeks—I’ll have plenty of time to work on him. At least until SommerFest begins.” She licks the sugar from her fingers. “But for now, I’ve got nothing planned and nowhere to go.”
I stand. “In that case, I gratefully accept your offer of help.”
She slaps both hands on the table, then rubs them together. “Let’s do this! Did you drive here?”
I deposit the empty box in the Gasthaus’s dumpster and laugh. “My house is five blocks away.”
“Well, I’m going to drive so I don’t have to walk back later. I’ve already checked out.” She leads the way to a carport behind the building. It’s normally the owners’ parking spot, but the bright yellow Porsche sits in the middle of the shaded space, hidden from the road by the building and a short fence. “I’m sure Suave and Amanda will be happy to have their parking space back.” We climb in, and she starts the car with an expensive-sounding rumble.
We drive down my street. Is it my imagination, or are people peering through their front blinds? Ignoring the crawling feeling of being watched, I climb out of the car when she parks in front of my house.
“Nica Holmes!” The smarmy photographer from spring break stands on the far side of the road. He snaps a couple of shots on his massive camera, then sprints toward us.
Remembering Blake’s encounters with the guy, I point to the sidewalk, backing toward the front door where Nica is already standing in the shadow of the front porch. “No trespassing. You stay on public property.”
“What are you doing here, Nica? Are you and this guy an item? Life imitating art?” As he yells questions, he continues to snap photos from the sidewalk. Nica stands with her back to the street, ignoring him.
I hurry to her side and unlock the front door, ushering her inside. “Sorry about that.”
“I should apologize to you. It’s my fault he’s here. I’ve been posting photos and videos—it was only a matter of time before someone showed up to catch some pictures.” She rolls her shoulders. “I’ve gotten used to the quiet.” She tosses her massive purse on the couch and rubs her hands together again. “Forget him. Let’s get to pranking!”
Upstairs, I open Eva’s bedroom door. Nica bursts into laughter, pointing at the room. Every surface is covered in sticky notes: bed, walls, dresser, even the bedside lamp. A layer of balloons almost covers the carpet.
“Is this why you told me not to go into her room? You said it was messy!” Nica steps into the room, scuffling through the balloons.
“I couldn’t exactly tell a stranger about this.” I smirk. “Do you know how long it took? This is the work of an insanely obsessed person. I think I’m crazy. What would you have thought?” I point at the balloons. “And this is taking way longer than I expected. Turns out a bedroom is pretty big when you’re measuring in inflatable latex.”
She turns slowly, taking in the magnificence. With a shake of her head, she gestures at the closet. It’s on the hallway wall, creating a little niche for the door. “What if we did your plastic wrap thing. We can put some across here—” She steps closer to me, raising her arms so she blocks the door. “Then we only need enough balloons to fill this little niche.”
“That’s a great idea. But part of the problem is the door opens in. I wanted the balloons to spill out when she opens the door, but if we fill the space, they’ll just block it.” I swing the door back and forth to demonstrate.
She hums, her finger tapping her jaw as she thinks. My eyes zero in, snapping to her full lips like a magnet to iron. The lush pink curves twist, sending sparks of heat through my body. Then they form an “oh,” and I’m almost lost. “What about this?” Her eyes sparkle, drawing my attention. She points upward. “How about we rig them to drop when she opens the door?”
I grab her shoulders and squeeze. “Genius!”
Chapter 22
NICA
By the time Matt returns from the store, my fingers are sore. I’ve been blowing up balloons. Inflation is easy—he’s got a little hand pump specifically for balloons—but tying the things is rubbing the skin on the sides of my fingers raw.
The front door opens and slams, and his voice carols up the stairs. “Hi, honey, I’m home!” A few seconds later, he appears with a cloth shopping bag in his hand and a huge grin on his face. It grows wider when he sees me sitting on the floor in the hall beside the garbage bag I’ve filled with balloons. “This is going to be epic!”
“I hope so.” I roll the tight rubber off my fingers, snapping the knot closed and taking some skin with it. “I think I need to take a break from tying, though.” I hold up my hand.
His eyes narrow as he peers at my fingers, then he frowns. “Ouch! Let me find you a Band-Aid!” He disappears into the bathroom and returns a few seconds later. Sitting on the carpet beside me, he takes my hand in his. With a grimace, he rips open an antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”
I suck in a gasp when the alcohol touches the raw skin.
“Sorry. You should have stopped. There was no need to injure yourself.” He squeezes some antibacterial ointment onto the pad of a Band-Aid and wraps it around my middle finger. “Is the other one—”
I rotate my hand within his gentle grasp, showing him the pink skin on my index finger. “It’s sore, but not raw yet.”
He lifts my hand, kissing the tender spot. His lips are hot against my skin, and my eyes meet his for a timeless moment. My breath catches in my chest, and my heart almost stops. Swallowing hard, I pull my hand away slowly. “Let’s get this thing done before she gets home.”
I don’t know what else to do. After our argument last night, I was sure I’d never see him again—or at least only at the play. I halfway expected him to drop out. Working with someone you have a crush on can be exhilarating or excruciating. I can maintain a professional demeanor, but acting is my job. I wasn’t sure Matt would be able to do the same.
