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One paramedic glanced at Charlie, raising an eyebrow. “Is he allergic to cinnamon or something else?”

“Yeah,” Charlie confirmed, her voice tight. “Cinnamon. I didn’t even know until... well, this evening.”

“Well, he’s gonna need a dose of epinephrine and some oxygen,” the paramedic said, already prepping the injection. “But he should be alright once it kicks in.”

Charlie swallowed, her heart finally starting to settle. The worst was over. Hemlock would be okay. But still, the weight of what had just happened hung heavily on her.

As they loaded Hemlock onto the stretcher, he gave her a wink.

With one last look at Hemlock, still looking ridiculous but at least alive—Charlie followed the paramedics, praying this bizarre, disastrous evening was almost over.

Chapter Two

Hemlock laid in the back of the ambulance on a gurney. From his position he could see Charlie pacing back and forth as she spoke to the police officer that had arrived on the scene. The way her hands moved; he’d love to hear how she was spinning this scenario. He was sure this wasn’t the first time they’d been called to a hotel for an attempted murder. Chuckling at the thought, he suddenly felt bad for Charlie. From where he lay, he could clearly see she was embarrassed.

Hemlock’s chuckle was cut short by a sharp pain in his chest as he tried to shift on the gurney. His face felt like it had been hit by a freight train, and his lips puffed up so badly he barely recognized himself. It wasn’t exactly the most flattering look for a guy trying to spend the evening with a woman.

He watched as Charlie continued to pace, her hair frazzled from her running her hands through it and her face a mixture of stress and frustration. Though she still spoke softly to the officer, her voice had risen enough that he could hear the strain in her words even from where he lay.“It was an accident.”She was repeatingit like a mantra, probably trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

The officer’s face had a look that saidI’ve seen everything, and he seemed to take the whole thing in stride. Hemlock guessed he’d probably dealt with enough bizarre hotel situations to last a lifetime. However, Hemlock bet a man allergic to cinnamon would definitely be one for the books.

What really got Hemlock was the way Charlie moved. She kept wringing her hands, walking in tight little circles as she spoke to the officer, looking like she was trying to manage the world’s worst hangover while explaining she hadn’t just tried to murder someone with her lips.

She was embarrassed—there was no hiding it. He could see the way her shoulders were hunched, the way her gaze flicked nervously between the officer and him. It was a mix of worry, guilt, and maybe a little disbelief at the absurdity of it all.

Hemlock felt a pang of sympathy. Still, there was a part of him that couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.Almost dying because of cinnamon.It wasn’t exactly the heroic near death experience he’d always imagined.

“Sir, you should carry your EpiPen with you at all times,” the medic said in an authoritative voice beside him.

Cutting his eyes at the young guy, Hemlock wanted to roll them in response. “It’s in my bag on my bike.” Which was a lie. The pen was somewhere in his house. He knew he was allergic to cinnamon and was normally careful about consuming the spice. Hell, he didn’t even enter a store that sold cinnamon smelling items during the holiday season.

“What do you do, Mr. Durand?” the EMT asked.

“I’m a medic.” Another lie, he was a nurse practitioner. He saw the shocked look on the guy’s face and wanted to slap it off. “If you tisk at me, I’ll punch you,” he informed the EMT. Moments later, Razor stepped into view.

What the hell was he doing there?

“How’s the patient doing?” Razor asked the EMT as he gave Hemlock a smirk. All it took to know something had gone wrong was seeing the girl talking to the cops and Hemlock in the ambulance.

“What the hell are you doing here, Razor?” Hemlock demanded. There was no way Charlie called him. She didn’t know them.

“He’s hostile,” the EMT snapped, interrupting Razor and Hemlock.

Chuckling at the situation, Razor commented to the EMT while he ignored Hemlock. “Nurse Durand doesn’t have the best bedside manner. Is he good to go?”

“Yes. But he needs to keep his EpiPen on his person.”

Razor nodded as he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of Hemlock. The boys would get a good laugh at this shit. Waving Hemlock out of the ambulance, Razor looked at him and tried not to laugh. “What in the fuck did you eat?”

“Nothing. I kissed her.” Hemlock pointed at Charlie. Later, he would laugh about the entire ordeal... Much later. “You never answered me as to why you’re here?”

Razor shrugged while mentally trying to come up with a plausible reason for why he was at The Continental Inn and Suites. “I heard the call come over the scanner and came to see if I could help.”

Knowing a lot about Razor, he knew the brothers tell from playing poker with him and he was lying his ass off. Scanning the parking lot, Hemlock spotted a cherry red sixty-nine Chevy Corvair. It wasn’t a car you frequently saw like a Mini Cooper. Hemlock had only seen the Corvair a handful of times. Sway’s bestie, Lottie, owned and operated that sweet ride.

“You’re sure there’s no other reason you’re here, Razor?” Hemlock asked as he pointed to the car.

“Don’t be a child, Hemlock. If I were here to see Lottie, I’d say it.”