Chapter 10 – Lily
LILY
I’m not dead.
Certainly in imminent danger, but I am indisputably, undoubtedly not dead.
Aster may have spared me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this were just a long, screwed-up game of cat and mouse.
How much does he know?
How many times have I felt I was being watched, and actually was?
The only place I’ve had true privacy is when I’m home, otherwise who knows where he’s followed me.
The champagne on the table taunts me. Tiny bubbles float to the surface like every new question in my mind. I snatch the flute and down it in one sip.
“Earth to Lily,” Amara says, snapping a finger before my eyes.
“Sorry.” I force a laugh, blinking back to the present moment, and return the empty glass to the table with a clink.
“What were you looking at?” Zuri asks from her spot beside me between mouthfuls of chocolate chip pancakes.
“What do you mean?” I ask her, taking a bite of my own, stabbing a strawberry for an extra burst of sweetness.
“You were staring over there like this.” Zuri makes an exaggerated effort, eyes wide open, looking towards the restaurant’s brick wall I just zoned out on.
“Just got a lot on my mind today, Z,” I say.
My eyes meet Amara’s, and she gives me a sympathetic smile. She doesn’t know the extent of my job, just that I do some type of private investigative work, which isn’t a lie, and it often has me working weird hours and getting shit sleep.
The waitress walks by and retrieves my empty glass. “Would you like another?” she asks.
“Mimosa this time, please,” I reply, and she nods, hurrying away.
“Want to walk by the harbor after brunch?” Amara asks.
“I wanted to go to Colette’s candy store!” Zuri pouts, and Val laughs.
“It’s fine,” Val says. “You two go, and I’ll take Zuri to Colette’s.”
“Yay!” Zuri cheers, all but buzzing off the chair in excitement.
“Because she really needs more sugar?” Amara counters.
“Come on.” Val smiles at her wife endearingly. “I’ll get you those sour purple gummies you like.”
Amara narrows her eyes, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. “Fine. Some red ones too.”
“Why don’t you have a kid?” Zuri asks me.
“Zuri!” Amara chastises, and I laugh.
“It’s okay,” I tell Amara, turning my attention to Zuri. “I’m more fun auntie material.”
And there’s no way I could bring a child into this world with the profession I do.
“Sorry, honey. Mommy can’t read you a book tonight, she’s busy setting up stink bombs in the corrupt mayor’s car.”
“Can you be my fun auntie?” Zuri asks, eyes hopeful.
“You already have three aunts,” I remind her, and she rolls her eyes.
“And now I’ll have four,” Zuri says, and Val barks a laugh.
“Well, we can’t argue with that logic now, can we?” Amara asks, sending me a teasing wink, and a smile breaks across my face. My heart squeezes, feeling not only accepted but chosen. It’s all so very… normal.
A day-mare flashes before me of Amara and Val having to tell Zuri her fun Aunt Lily went and got herself killed by being an absolute idiot.
The downed pancakes threaten a reappearance.
At the top of my to-do list, I add: be more careful.
The waitress arrives at our table, a fresh tray of drinks in hand. She extends an arm with the mimosa at the same moment I reach to take it, knocking it out of her grasp, and it dumps out all over my chest. Again?!
“Shit,” she blurts as I catch the glass in my lap before it shatters to the floor. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and she plucks the wet flute from my fingers. “It was my fault. Truly.” Was it my fault? Maybe. But I also don’t want this poor girl feeling like a screw-up the rest of the day, because it’s really not that serious.
“Let me get something to clean this,” she says, disappearing, and I turn to Val, Amara, and Zuri, who burst into laughter.
“See!” Zuri howls. “Now that was fun!”
“Hilarious,” I say with a mock eye roll, the cool liquid dripping between my breasts as I grab my tote and stand. “I’ll be right back.”
Inside the single person bathroom, I analyze the damage in the mirror. Why do I keep wearing white? Once again, the fabric is transparent.
Tugging off the silk shirt, I glance around for a hand dryer. Failure. Only paper towels.
Double fuck.
I pull a few from the dispenser and pat my chest. I wet a few more and wipe off my skin to ensure it won’t feel sticky later, then toss them in the trash.
Grabbing my bag, I rummage through it. The reason I always keep a massive tote on hand is for situations like this. It’s my emergency kit. Require a needle and thread? I got you. Heartburn medication? What brand? Need my mask and dagger at a moment’s notice? They’re there.
At the bottom of the bag, soft fabric brushes my hand.
“Yes!” I cheer, pulling it out triumphantly. My eyes land on Aster’s black T-shirt crumpled in my grasp, and my heart drops. “Shit.”
I glance at the white soggy fabric on the counter, stained with orange, then to the dry one in my hand. The logical part of my brain knows going back out there in my mimosa disasterpiece is not an option. But the other side says wearing this is asking for trouble.
It’s just a damn shirt, not a proposal acceptance.
A sigh shudders out of me. I’ll put the scrap of cloth on, and the second I get home, I’ll burn it.
Holding my breath, I throw it over my head, cursing when I’m enveloped by that same leathery scent from his bedroom.
He’s not allowed to smell good.
He should smell like sardines, mothballs, and stinky socks. Then, at least if he were near, I could sniff the air and know the psycho was coming.
I try not to breathe through my nose to avoid thinking about him. Hard to do when you’re nearly in his fucking skin suit.
Where is he?
Is he following me?
Should I risk following him now that he knows?
Shaking my head, I force the negative thoughts out, exiting the bathroom before my bubbly brunch besties think I’ve been swallowed by the toilet.
The rest of the day will remain purely Aster-free, and I’ll celebrate with a bonfire the moment I’m home.
While I’m at it, maybe I’ll toss in those newspapers and be done with this whole thing before I become the next headline.
“I’m worried about you,” Amara says, eating a bite from her ice cream as we stroll along the sidewalk by the bay. My hair is braided down my back, and the wind wisps the strays around, tickling my face.
I throw a hand over my chest. “I’m honored.”
“I’m serious!” She nudges me, and we both can’t help but laugh. “You’ve been extra distant lately. Even when you come to Mocha Muse, you seem less… peppy than usual.”
“I didn’t realize I was the definition of pep.”
“What I mean is, you usually come in looking all determined, and lately you’ve just seemed… distracted.”
This is the hard part about your friends not knowing what you do. You constantly feel like you’re lying or hiding things. But it’s for the best. Deniability in a court room and all that. “Just stuff for work.”
“Well, maybe you should consider doing less of it.”
“I’m here today, aren’t I?” I force a teasing smile.
“Only because I told you if you didn’t, we’d show up at your place with champagne, Sprite, and pancake mix.”
“Not true. I was almost ready when you called.” She cocks a brow. “Okay, fine. I was face down on my bed, imagining what my funeral will look like.”
“Lily…” Her eyes turn sympathetic. “Do you think you should call your therapist?”
“Oh my god, no!” I wave her off, realizing her assumption. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean…” There’s a big bad serial killer on the loose who’s obsessed with me.
“It’s fine.” She takes the last bite of her ice cream. “I know you like your dark humor.”
“That’s true. I—”
“Lily?” a familiar voice says that forces a chill along my spine.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
Not here.
Not now.
Not with Amara.
He can’t know about my connection with Amara.
I frantically search for an escape route, but given he’s walking directly toward us, our only choice would be jumping into the harbor, and I’m not sure I could explain that one to my unaware friend here.
I force the panic down, secure it in a box, then lock eyes with Aster. He stands before me clad in slacks, a white button-up, and slutty little glasses, looking irritatingly gorgeous.
Screw you and your stupid handsome face.
Dear vagina,
I would like to remind you that we hate this man.
XO,
Lily.
“Do I know you?” I ask, smiling sweetly.
“We’ve run into each other a few times,” he replies cooly, eyes dropping to my chest, and when they return to mine, they’re fucking dangerous. Glinting with pure, unabashed joy. What is his deal?
The realization slams into me like a truck.
I’m wearing his shirt.
I’M WEARING HIS SHIRT!
My face flushes red, heart seizing in my chest. Mortification doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Earth, if you could swallow me whole, that would be wonderful.
“Oh, right,” I say, glancing sideways to Amara, and then my gaze returns to his. “Sorry, you just have such a forgettable face.”
“Lily!” Amara nudges me.
“It’s fine,” Aster replies, shooting her a charming smile. “She’s not great at meet-cutes, it seems.”
“We did not meet-cute!” I argue, and Amara giggles. A whole grown-ass woman actually giggles.
“We have thrice now, actually. Maybe fourth meet-cute’s a charm?” He winks, and I must physically restrain myself from slapping the shit-eating grin off his face as he turns his attention to my friend. “And I believe you’re… Amara?” he asks, and air becomes scarce. “You own Mocha Muse?”
“Yeah.” No! She reaches out her hand with a smile. “Caramel macchiato guy, right?”
“That’s me.” He takes her palm in his grasp.
I want to slap them apart, as if his mere touch could mark her for death.
I didn’t consider what danger she could be in when discovering he frequents Mocha Muse.
I assumed she was merely the maker of his morning pick-me-up, nothing more.
Nothing risky. But now that he knows about our friendship, I’m terrified.
Will he go after her when he’s done with me?
My eyes widen. What about Zuri?
“How do you know each other?” I blurt out trying to gauge if it’s purely coffee-related or there’s more to this backstory.
“He comes in the shop most mornings,” Amara says, seemingly perplexed as she attempts to speak with me through her eyes.
What the hell is your problem? she’s asking.
This man’s a murderer! I mentally reply.
“You okay?” Aster asks, brows furrowed. “You look stressed.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out, forcing a smile, and return my attention to him. “Peachy.”
He grins wide. “Great.”
“Well.” I loop my arm through Amara’s dragging her with me. “Goodbye.”
“See you soon, gorgeous,” he says with a smile so breathtaking, I swear I’m already dead. The words sound innocent, but he and I know they’re a promise, not a threat.
If he wants to mess with me, threaten me, scare me shitless, that’s one thing.
But no one—and I mean no one—will be hurting my friends.
Not today.
Not ever again.