Chapter Nine
Bones
The light was still burning bright from her kitchen.
It was half past eleven, and there she was, still bustling around like there was a fire under her. I watched Snow through the window, moving from counter to counter, arms full of flour, sugar, and who knows what else. She’d pull a tray out of the oven, set it aside, and slide another one in, and barely stopped to breathe.
I took a slow sip of whiskey and leaned against the counter with my eyes fixed on her. I’d left the garage an hour ago, cleaned up, and got ready to call it a night. But then I noticed her light was still on.
She’d told me she wouldn’t need help. Said she had a “plan.” But I knew better. The only way Snow was going to get through the next couple of weeks was if she somehow managed to clone herself.
Or if she let me help.
I exhaled, set the whiskey glass down, and watched her a minute longer. She’d probably argue—tell me she had it covered, didn’t need a hand. Stubborn as hell.
But I couldn’t stand by while she ran herself ragged. Not when I was just a few steps away, willing and able. I was going to have to find a way to convince her to let me pitch in.
Downing the last sip of whiskey, I set my cup in the sink and rolled my shoulders.
Guess I’d just make sure she didn’t have a choice.