Page 56 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“Noah stopped by earlier,” Amy starts.

I whirl on her. “With our friend here?” I hiss.

“Woohoo!” Jill is already racing for the front door. She flings it open so hard it bounces off the wall and slams shut. Kiki V-T rouses from her dog bed in the kitchen and looks up lazily.

“He, uh, stopped by when you were picking up Jill. And I think he was going to follow you to the school. He was worried something was wrong.”

“And you just thought to tell me now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry! When should I have told you? While you were meeting with the principal, and your kid was being suspended? Or how about when you opened the garage door to show the entire world we have a dead body inside?—”

“I didn’t open the garage door, Jill did,” I interrupt.

“That’s hardly the point,” Amy says.

“Go stall him. Now!” I push her toward the door.

“You go stall him.” She pushes back.

“Amy, I can’t see him again, looking like this?!” I cry.

“You want to run and take a shower?”

“No, that’s too obvious.”

“Change your clothes, quickly, something casual, but cute.” She nods toward my laundry room. “I’ll double check everything in the garage, just in case.”

I waste zero time following her instructions.

By the time Noah steps up to the front door, I’ve sprayed the entry way and living room with air freshener twice and myself once, buried my murder leggings and t-shirt behind the washing machine in the back of the laundry room, and thrown on a reasonably clean romper from my ‘to be dry cleaned’ pile.

I get to the front door before he can knock and ready myself to open it. Kiki V-T, certain that something exciting is happening, stands at my side waggling her butt impatiently. I open the door before the kids can let him in. Totally casual. Chill even. Not me trying to control the narrative. At all.

And then there he is.

Detective Noah Grant. Sunlight hitting his stupidly perfect jaw like a social media filter. Aviators, crisp white button-down, badge clipped to his belt in that way that somehow makes him hotter. As if solving crimes and knowing how to fold a fitted sheet wasn’t already an unfair combo.

“Hey,” he says, giving me that crooked smile that once led to two kids and fourteen years of emotionally stunted cohabitation.

My breath catches.

For a second, I almost forget the disaster unfolding around me. The body in my garage hidden under my dirty laundry. The messy group chat with the girls and the ring cam footage of me. The kid who was just suspended from school. The fact that the last time Noah and I were this close, we were married, and life was normal.

Kiki V-T settles onto her stomach with a whimper.

“Hi,” I manage, feeling the tension settle between us like an unwelcome guest.

“We, uh, brought lunch,” Noah says, his voice low and more tentative now.

We?

Jaq pushes up from behind him, holding take-out bags and my stomach twists at the sight of seeing the three of them together again. Jill tucked under his arm all smiles and warmth, with Jaq on his other side, standing close but remaining stoic. And Noah, the big shiny trophy in the middle looking as ruggedly handsome as ever.

What a jerk.

Jaq steps forward, their expression a mix of excitement and apprehension. “It’s McMillon’s” they announce, holding up a bag with a flourish, knowing it’s my favorite restaurant. “We were going to stop for burgers, but dad remembered McMillon’s so that’s what we got.”