Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Easton stepped out of Derek’s office and caught a glimpse of a couple of running figures. Then a burst of giggles pierced the silence, high-pitched and echoing off the polished floors. A blur of pastel and sparkles zipped across the corridor at the far end.
Four Littles. Possibly five.
Laughter trailed in their wake like perfume, light and mischievous and utterly carefree.
Easton blinked. “No running!” he called out, taking a few steps forward down the corridor.
Nothing. Not even a pause in the chaos. Just more giggles and the fading sound of feet slapping against the floor.
He turned to Sam, who’d just caught up. “Did they just ignore me?”
Sam arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
Easton frowned and took a step back toward Derek’s door. Something caught his eye. There, plastered squarely across the center of the wood, was a sticker he was certain hadn’t been there five minutes ago.
He squinted.
BEWARE OF THE SADIST
DO NOT CROSS
It read in bold, ominous capitals. A jagged red X sliced through the middle like a warning sign. But below that, in glittery cursive, someone had added:
PROBABLY JUST TIRED.
For a heartbeat, he stared.
His lips twitched.
The snort came first. Laughter bubbled up fast behind it, bursting out of his chest before he could stop it. He doubled over, hands braced on his knees, the sound coming in ungraceful gasps.
Sam stepped beside him and peered at the door. “The brats!” but he chuckled too.
Easton nodded, still wheezing. “No kidding.”
The door swung further open. Derek’s dark eyes scanned them both, then dropped to the sticker. His expression didn’t change. “That has Sadie all over it.”
Easton could barely stand upright. His shoulders shook as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. “You think?”
“It’s not funny,” Derek said, but his mouth was twitching too. A traitorous little quirk formed at the corner of his lips.
Come on, man. Admit it’s funny.
Sam seemed to have read his mind. “It’s a little funny.”
Easton straightened, dragging in a long breath. “Let’s find the culprits. I heard at least four sets of feet.” He glanced at the door one last time and muttered, “Probably just tired,” under his breath and shook his head.
They set off down the hall, the scent of sugar and faint traces of vanilla trailing in the air.
As they scouted for the rascals, they found more and more stickers. Each of them hilarious and outrageous.
A glitter sticker with a purple poop figure with a freaking halo and the text INNOCENT AF clung to the wall just beside the ornate double doors leading to the front porch
Behind him, Derek grumbled. “Innocent my ass! That little menace…”
Sam leaned in. “I’m almost impressed.”
They continued into the lobby, the rich scent of cedar and stone rising around them.
The vaulted ceilings stretched above them like the ribs of a cathedral.
Heavy timber beams cast long shadows over the polished floor, and Derek’s brooding, far too serious mood seemed to cling to their solid weight.
But Easton wasn’t made of oak and iron.
He caught the soft swirl of dust motes dancing in the golden haze of afternoon sun, filtering through the massive windows that framed the mountains beyond.
His steps lightened. The mischievous glint in Sam’s eyes, the childish chaos of the stickers, and the infectious giggle of the Littles responsible reminded Easton of something vital.
Messy, inconvenient, utterly necessary joy.
A few steps further, Easton spotted another sticker. This one was stuck to a reading lamp by the oversized leather armchairs near the double-sided fireplace.
MOOD: FERAL UNICORN.
Derek muttered under his breath. “If they touched the fireplace…”
“They didn’t,” Sam said, gesturing across the stone hearth, “But they did stick one to the side of the wooden reading table.”
WARNING: MAY SPONTANEOUSLY GIGGLE.
Easton veered right as they reached the check-in desk. There, in plain view on the side of the snack basket, a new label sparkled.
WILL LIE FOR ICE CREAM.
Erika wasn’t behind the desk, but the coffee was still steaming. Easton took a step toward the store and paused.
The spinning rack of stuffies? Decorated.
LICENSED TO brAT.
On the glass display cabinet holding vibrators and plugs, they found another.
100% ORGANIC SASS.
Sam chuckled. “They’re escalating.”
Past the restaurants, the air smelled of cinnamon and roasted coffee. Easton glanced into the café window, catching his reflection and something else. A sticker on the inside of the glass. They went inside.
NAP-READY AND UNASHAMED.
Derek groaned.
They turned left and entered the Littles’ Wing, the wood floors giving way to marble tile. The temperature shifted.
On the wall just outside the trophy case, another decal had been carefully aligned beneath the 2024 Halloween award.
brAT LEVEL. EXPERT.
Sam stopped beside the case and tapped the sticker with one knuckle. “I think they got carried away a little bit.”
Derek pointed at a square label on the timeout room doorframe.
SPANK BANK HEADQUARTERS.
“I think that one should have been on the Dungeon,” Easton stated. His lips kept twitching.
Derek exhaled. “I swear, if I find one on my implements, I’ll spank them until the stickers wear off.”
Easton bit down on another laugh and gestured toward the hallway. “Come on. Let’s flush them out before they start labeling the pets.”