Page 114 of Executing Malice

“A few years back, your non-brother won a ribbon for some turtle—”

“Oh my God, Mud Pie!”

Dante grins. “One of my clients sent me the link to some small-town fundraising thing to save turtles and...” his voice drops, “there you were. Standing next to him and a very confused turtle holding a blue, first place ribbon.”

I give a laugh. “I can’t believe Mud Pie is the reason you found me.”

“Me neither. I thought I was seeing things. But I stared at that photo so long, I can describe every detail of it.”

I perch my head on his shoulder, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “I’ll have you get him a whole head of lettuce the next time I go over.” I poke my head up to peer at him. “They stopped the turtle races. The TLG decided it was the gateway to gambling.”

His eyebrow lifts. “TLG?”

“The Lady’s Tea Garden. The Garden gnomes.”

He snorts. “They are a weird bunch. Definitely should be studied.”

Neither of us move for several minutes while we finish eating our lunch and go over the rest of the evening. The consensus is going home to make supper and watch a movie.

“I voteHalloween,”I declare, and get an eye roll.

“I figured. You’d make us watch them every night in order leading up to Halloween every year.”

I take the opening. “Speaking of Halloween...”

He flicks my nose lightly. “No, you’re just going to have to wait. But,” he adds when I sulk. “I have your costume ready for you.”

I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since arriving in Jefferson. That’s a kid thing or if you’re running the festival. I have no doubt I’m going to really enjoy whatever he has planned.

“Can I get a hint?”

He kisses the spot he’d flicked. “Soon.”

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We pick dinner up at Holland’s Grocery. All the fixings for a Shepherd’s pie with a side of vegetables. The thing I notice during our first outing together is the sheer amount of side-eye we keep getting. The quiet murmurs. It’s expected of Jefferson. Dante is new and this might be the first time a lot of people are seeing his face. There’s bound to be some chatter, but I’m still irritated by it.

“What’s their problem?” I grumble, catching sight of Martha Carbo walking past our aisle for the third time.

Dante glances up from the can of corn he’d been surveying. He must have caught sight of the two, round faces peeking out from around the far end because he makes a soft humming sound and declares, “Let’s ask.”

Before I can process his decision or stop him, he’s marching down the aisle, can fisted in his hand like a rock.

“Hey!” he snaps at whoever he finds lurking behind the canned goods. “You need something?”

Oh shit.

Abandoning our cart, I scramble after him and catch him looming over Thelma Walker and Florence Page.

I curse under my breath and rush to touch Dante’s arm. I’m quick to plaster my smile in place as I face the two busybodies.

“Mrs. Page. Mrs. Walker. Hi, how are you?”

“We were fine until this ... brute jumped at us.”

I give a subtle tug of Dante’s arm, urging him back so he’s mildly less threatening.