Page 68 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“And you were going to bludgeon me with a lamp.”

I returned the lamp to its shelf and nodded. “Exactly.”

Pierce chuckled as he straightened, then leaned in to kiss me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I hummed against his lips. “So…whatareyou doing here?”

“I’ve never been in a home goods store.” He stepped aside and cast his gaze around the organized chaos of the storage room. “I wanted to see where you worked.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Can I have a tour?”

“Uh…sure.”

I led him into the adjoining showroom and gave him a brief tour. I couldn’t decide if I thought it was stranger that he was here or that I could tell he was upset. Outwardly, he looked and acted like himself—energetic and goofy with a dash of charm. He checked out the price tags on the linens and the chandelier hanging over the staged dining area, turning to me with his mouth wide open.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Is that thing made of pure gold or something?”

I swatted his arm. “No, dummy. It’s a Jade Jopler design. She’s all the rage.”

He rolled his eyes and proceeded to test the furniture. He fell into an armchair…too short, a sofa…too hard, and finally stretched his long legs on the chaise of the sectional, folding his hands behind his head…just right. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Ah, this is the life.” Pierce sighed, whistling for the dog to join him. “C’mere, boy.”

“Benson knows better than to jump on the furniture,” I scolded, checking my watch.

“I was talking to you,” he countered slyly.

I flipped him off. “End of tour. I need to finish up in the storeroom so I can go home.”

Pierce opened a coffee-table book, studied a painting, fingered the fringe on a pillow, then followed me. He perched his ass on a table stacked with candles, picked one up, read the label, sniffed, set it down, and reached for another one.

“Smells good.”

“Mmhmm.” I couldn’t read his expression, but it was as if he were trying too hard to act normal, carefree. “Are you okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Pierce flashed a crooked, more convincing smile as he pushed away from the candles and dropped to his knees to pet the dog. “So…is Benson the store mascot?”

I nodded. “He belongs to the owner, Bran, and his husband, Jake.”

“Your friends.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. It’s nice to meet him in person. I’ve seen your photos on Instagram, buddy. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”

I frowned. “What do you mean you’ve seen his photo?”

“I’ve been stalking you on social media,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Yep.” He grinned as he straightened, glancing around the storage room and fixating on the mess on the table. “What’s with all the candles?”

“I’m doing inventory.”

“Ah…in-vent-ory.” He drew the word out like notes from a song. “In-ven-tory with Lo-ren-zo.”