Page 42 of Donut Disaster
“I don’t want to talk about Cormack.” Noah leans in dangerously close, his lids are hooded, and I recognize that glazed look in his eyes. He’s gunning for a kiss. The last time I kissed Noah—outside of that closet debacle at Lainey’s—was a half a year ago. And sadly, at the time, I didn’t even realize it would be our very last kiss.
“What do you want to talk about, Noah?” The words come out in a whisper.
He shakes his head just enough. “I don’t want to talk. I want to kiss you, Lottie.”
A flare of heat spikes through me. “Um, actually, I—uh…” Not one coherent thought seems capable of formulating on my lips.
Do I want to kiss Noah?
Heck yes.
I mean, heck no.
Keelie was wrong. Everett isn’t really giving me a hall pass. He merely wants me to process things. This is a cerebral separation for the sake of my heart.
Noah leans in and brushes the faintest kiss over my lips, and every last cell in my body ignites with an explosion of heat.
He sighs as he pulls away, his eyes slowly opening to look into mine.
“Goodnight, Lottie.”
Noah lets himself out, leaving my lips greedy and hungry for more.
How dare he kiss me.
How dare he notreallykiss me.
What the heck am I saying?
I grab a pillow and shove it over my face.
Some days it’s no fun being me.
Chapter 13
The conference room at Honey Hollow General Hospital is decorated with a few meager banners, and a couple of silver Mylar balloons add an elegant touch. An entire myriad of people, all of them important looking, mingle and laugh and even their mingling and laughter feels miles more intelligent than that of mere mortal men.
Keelie helped me schlep over a half dozen cookie platters and one of my donut cakes. They’ve been such a hit back at the bakery that I’ve quadrupled production, so there was plenty of surplus to make a tower of glazed goodness in Dr. Drake’s honor.
And, of course, my new favorite Newfoundlander, Cookie Monster, hitched a ride over. He’s so handsome and noble looking, it’s a shame that others can’t see him. Cookie keeps busy by doing a full sweep of the room, sniffing and barking every now and again as he looks for clues that could lead to Morgan’s killer. How I wish I could keep Cookie. There’s a regal air about him, and yet he’s loyal and sweet. It never feels fair that I fall in love with the sweet beasts who come back—and then as soon as we peg the killer, they up and disappear.
There was a short ceremony about ten minutes ago where Dr. Dawson was posthumously recognized for an honor given by the board of directors and then, of course, Dr. Drake was announced the chief of surgery. And now the party is really getting exciting—well, as exciting as it can be at eleven forty-five in the morning.
Keelie leans in. “Which one is the killer, Lot?”
Cookie comes up and barks up a storm as if he wants an answer, too.
“Shh,” I hiss at her. “It’s going to be me if you say the wordkilleragain.” I give a quick glance around. “We’re just here supervising the desserts because Sandra was nice enough to accept my offer. Besides, this way we can watch Dr. Drake do his thing.”
“Perfect. Let’s go ask if we can crash at his estate in Hawaii. I’m itching to get away from Honey Hollow for a week or two.”
I filled Keelie in on everything Aspen told me about Dr. Drake’s colorful past.
Speaking of which, he waves my way as he heads over.
Cookie heads him off at the pass and sniffs his feet.
“Don’t you dare ask to borrow his anything,” I whisper to Keelie in haste. “He doesn’t give anything away for free. It comes with strings, Keelie. Strings that Bear would wrap around Dr. Drake’s neck if he knew about them.”