Page 8 of Laced With Secrets

“My family’s estate would be the most practical location.” Victor’s tone shifted to professional efficiency, though his standoffish body language remained unchanged. “We have storage areas in both the attic and basement filled with clothing dating back generations.”

“C’est parfait,” Sebastian agreed. “Boxes and boxes of historical pieces that could provide inspiration and context.”

Victor’s expression remained carefully neutral, but something sharp flickered in his wintry gaze. “Of course, working in dusty storage areas can be quite… demanding. Lots of heavylifting, cramped spaces, and items that haven’t been properly catalogued. Some people might find it overwhelming.”

The polite aggression was unmistakable—a clear attempt to discourage Penny from participating. I watched as my friend’s spine straightened with stubborn determination.

“I’ve worked with vintage pieces in less-than-ideal conditions before,” Penny replied sweetly. “A little dust and disorganization doesn’t intimidate me.”

Oh, Penny, no!My temples throbbed as I fought to keep my expression neutral.

“Leo,” Sebastian added, turning to me with what appeared to be genuine enthusiasm, “there’ll be plenty of vintage shoes as well as clothing. If we find anything interesting in storage, you’ll have first claim on footwear.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “I appreciate that.”

Sebastian’s hands came together in a sharp clap. “Now, how about we pick a time to meet at Le Chateau Fairfax? How does tomorrow afternoon sound?”

“That works for me,” Penny said with forced brightness, lifting his chin with that characteristic stubborn pride I know all too well.

Victor’s jaw tightened, but he managed a polite nod. “Four o’clock then.”

As the two alphas walked away together, I noticed the rigid set of Victor’s shoulders and the way his hand remained possessively on Sebastian’s back. Their conversation resumed immediately, voices too low to hear but body language clearly indicating disagreement.

“Well,” Penny said with theatrical flair, “this should be absolutely delightful. Nothing like working with someone who can’t stand you.”

Dominic’s protective instincts sharpened immediately. “If you’re truly uncomfortable with the arrangement, I could find a way to?—”

“I can handle it,” Penny interrupted, his chin lifting with mulish determination. “Besides, it’s for the district. I’m not going to let anyone intimidate me out of contributing to our community celebration.”

“Come on,” I said, linking my arm through Penny’s. “Let’s get some hot chocolate and figure out how to survive whatever Mrs. Henderson has set in motion.”

Penny’s laugh carried a brittle edge. “Okay, but I think I’m going to need extra marshmallows to survive this.”

CHAPTER THREE

The lunch rush at Maude’s Diner was winding down when the craving hit me like a physical blow. I’d been fine one moment, discussing holiday shopping plans with Penny, and the next my entire body demanded pickles and vanilla ice cream with an intensity that overrode rational thought.

I gripped the edge of the laminated menu, trying to focus on anything else. Yesterday, during lunch, I’d mentioned wanting extra pickles on my sandwich—just casual conversation—but the way Dominic’s eyes had sharpened made me change the subject quickly. Blake had given me a speculative look too. I ready for them to put the pieces together. Not yet.

“You okay?” Penny asked quietly, reading my expression with the ease of a decade-long friendship. “Still craving pickles?”

I nodded miserably. “And now with ice cream.”

Penny grimaced. “Oh no.”

I glanced around the half-full diner. I needed to be careful. Millcrest boasted a vigorous grapevine.

Robbie Mitchell—a slight omega with kind eyes and his grandmother’s dark curls—approached with his order pad. “Hey guys! What can I get you today?”

“I’ll have the chicken caesar salad,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady even as my body screamed for pickles. “And a side of vanilla ice cream for dessert, please.”

The words were ashes in my mouth. I wanted the pickles so badly my hands trembled, but I couldn’t order both. Too obvious. Too pregnancy-stereotypical.

Robbie wrote it down and turned to Penny. “And for you?”

Penny didn’t even glance at the menu. “Turkey club, please. Extra sliced pickles on the side. Actually, you know what? Make it a whole bowl. I’m really craving them today.”

I shot him a grateful look. Penny hated pickles with a passion.