Page 113

—Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger
My hand shoots out to stop the forward momentum of the door Fallon’s determined to use to take off part of my facial features. I immediately begin begging, “Please, witch. Let me offer my condolences.”
Her eyes glance off mine before her voice, likely colder than the recesses of space, “Accepted, Mr. Kensington. Thank you for stopping by. Now, please, if you’d be so kind as to remove yourself from this property.”
I step closer to her, more drawn to her now than I was the first moment I felt the arc of attraction over five years ago. “Fallon, I’d like to speak with you.”
Just then, I’d like to think divine intervention granted me a reprieve or perhaps her mother intervened. A local delivery kid came up, struggling with ten boxes of pizza. “Delivery for 10 Mountain View Circle Terrace.”
Fallon opened the door wider, eyes bulging. “I ordered pizza, yes. But I ordered a single pie, not enough to feed the Seven Virtues University basketball team!”
“Lady, once the orders are in my car, they’ve been validated. It says to deliver ten extra cheese pizzas with pepperoni to this address.”
Fallon pulls up her app and shoves her phone in his face. “One! I ordered one pizza. What the hell am I supposed to do with the other nine?”
The kid, obviously immune to irate customers, drones in a bored voice, “You can keep the order or reject it. Those are your options.”
“You mean to tell me I can’t take one and send the rest back?” She’s outraged.
“No.”
“Listen, are you keeping the pizzas?”
“Well, I suppose if I want to eat—” she begins only to be cut off.
“Have a nice day.” The kid jogs back to his car.
“I’ll be calling your manager,” she shouts after him, making me want to grin because if it wasn’t for all of her years in the retail industry, she likely would have taken this kid’s head off.
He should feel grateful. Lord knows, I do because now I can offer, “Do you want help carrying those inside?”
“Where am I supposed to put ten pizzas?” Her voice sounds so bewildered and lost that my heart aches.
“I don’t know. Eat them?”
She shoots me a filthy glare that has so much more behind it than nine extra pizzas. I want to recoil from the pain and anger in it, but I persevere when she snaps, “Be grateful you have some use right now, Mr. Kensington, or I wouldn’t be letting you past the front door.”
“I’ll take whatever opportunity is presented to me just to talk with you for five minutes.”
“Fine. Get these pizzas into my mama’s…” Her head dips to the side and her jaw locks.
I want to sweep her into my arms to offer her a place to release her pain about Helen’s death, but I strongly suspect it wouldn’t be welcome. Not right now, at least.
“Just get them and follow me,” she concludes.
I lift the boxes easily after swinging my laptop bag over my shoulder. “Lead the way, witch.”
Abruptly, Fallon comes to a stop somewhere between her mother’s formal living and dining rooms. “Let’s be clear, Mister Kensington. I’m not your witch, your sweetheart, your babe, nothing. I am absolutely nothing to you except some stupid kid you had sex with. Are we clear?”
My heart cracks open with regret. I’m still holding the stupid pizzas when I ask her, “Will you let me apologize?”
“For what?”
“For the things?—”
She cuts me off. “We did? For great sex? There’s no need.” We walk into the kitchen and she lifts half the boxes and places them on the table. Removing the remaining stack from my arms, she places them beside the others before flipping the lid on the top box and taking a piece out.
My stomach growls in protest at the smell of the cheese and spice combination that fills the air. I haven’t had more than mini-pretzels and a few Cokes since I boarded the flight in Austin this morning. I’m starving, and the woman I’m in love with is surrounded by dinner for forty yet wouldn’t be inclined to offer me a bite of food if giving it to me meant saving me from certain death.