Page 6

Chapter Six

Ethan

K ingston didn’t normally work weekends if he could help it, so we just hung around his nice house. I tried to stay out of his way while I cleaned, but he kept gritting his teeth and saying the job I was doing was fine .

Yeah, I’d heard that word enough from my father growing up.

My other issue—and this was a big one—was Kingston’s pantry.

I’d never seen so much junk food in my life. Pasta and plain tomato sauce—not even the veggie-added variety. Kraft Dinner—which was my favorite comfort food…maybe once or twice a month. Potato chips, crackers, waffles from a box, frozen French fries, cookies, cake mixes, pie crust mix…just junky carbs everywhere I looked. I enjoyed the very occasional treat, but I didn’t eat frozen pizza every night of the week. Unless he stocked up when they were on sale. Clearly that’s what he did. Well, and the sneak peek I took in his recycling bin. Unless he never took it out—which I doubted very much—he ate this damn crap all the time.

I was heartened to see eggs until I had to acknowledge he probably used them for baking crap. Heck, he bought sugar by the four-pound bag. Even Gran stuck to one pound at a time. I might’ve been somewhat relieved he cooked…except only bleached flour for as far as the eye could see. Sheesh, would oats or whole wheat flour really be so terrible?

Wanting not to create a stir, though, I held my tongue.

And decided I was going to expand his palate while I was here.

Friday night, I presented eggplant parmigiana with Caesar salad and a fresh-fruit platter featuring berries, cherries, and pineapple slices.

He grunted his way through the eggplant, ignored the salad, bypassed the pineapple, and devoured the berries without even sharing.

I pursed my lips, but held my tongue.

Saturday morning, I made a western omelet with roasted peppers and a side of handmade baked hash browns.

He wrinkled his nose at the omelet and doused the hash browns in ketchup, but he ate the peppers without making a face, so I took that as a win.

Saturday for lunch, I handmade a whole-wheat pizza with ham, green peppers, mushroom, and pineapple.

He picked off the peppers and pineapple, but ate the mushrooms and didn’t say anything about the whole wheat.

Score me.

He glanced around the kitchen. “Did you have to use every dish in the place?”

“I said I’d clean it up. Do you want a carrot?”

“I want a cookie.”

“Too bad. I threw them all out.”

His jaw dropped. “You what?” He might’ve sputtered that.

I pursed my lips. “One cookie.”

“I knew you didn’t throw them out.” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“One cookie,” I repeated. “If you eat a piece of pineapple.”

He squinted.

“One piece, and you get that maple-flavored, sugar-filled, diabetes-waiting-to-happen cookie.”

“Hey!”

“Which part of that was inaccurate?” I pursed my lips right back. “How do you look so good when you eat such crap?” Oops. Didn’t mean to point out how attractive I find him. Because, damn, he’s got a nice body. He wore boxers to bed and, apparently, wasn’t worried about me seeing him in them.

Oh, and shirtless. His muscular chest was lightly dusted with dark hair down to his happy trail and under the boxers.

“Crap? I don’t eat crap. Crap is vegetables and spinach pasta and—” He gestured to his plate. “—pineapple.”

“Have you ever tried pineapple?” And thank you for focusing on that and not that I think you’re sexier than sex-on-a-stick Peter Erickson…

“Well…no…”

“Okay, so one piece of pineapple gets you one cookie. Fair trade.”

“I can just grab the entire bag—”

“That assumes you know where to look.” In my room at the top of the closet, but I figure you’re not going to go looking there, and if you do, then we have much bigger problems than violating my privacy. Sugar addiction was a thing.

I’d searched it on the internet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Still, he speared a piece of pineapple and ate it.

At first, he wrinkled his nose as he chewed. Then, slowly, his nose returned to normal.

Well, I’d always found it a little snubbed…in a cute way. He had a round face—but not fat. Just…adorable. His dark hair was close-cropped and his lips appeared kissable.

Don’t stare.

He met my gaze with those too-knowing bright-gray eyes.

Heat crept from my chest, up my neck, and onto my cheeks. From experience, I’d be nearly bright red in mere moments.

I pushed away from the table.

“Hey, where’s my cookie?”

“I’ll bring it to you once you’re settled back onto the couch with your feet—”

His phone buzzed. He grabbed it, swiped, and arched an eyebrow. “Well, this should be interesting.” He gestured with his chin. “You up for a drive to Coquitlam?”

“Of course.” I hustled to put all the leftovers in the fridge and as many dishes into the dishwasher as I could.

I was trying to figure out how to turn it off when he said, “Don’t. I never leave it running when I’m not home. We’ll turn it on when we get home.”

“Yeah, okay. You need a coat?”

The weather had turned again, bringing an arctic chill that wasn’t common in November.

“Sure. The young woman is waiting at a neighbor’s house until we get there.”

I grabbed his coat and helped him into it. Then I managed to get us into socks and shoes. Finally, we left the house. He set the alarm, and we got into the van. Within just a couple of minutes, we were on the way.

“Where in Coquitlam? Does it make sense to take the Number 1 or the Barnet Highway?” I turned right onto Hastings Street and headed away from downtown Vancouver. Regardless of our journey, we were going to drive right through my neighborhood. That prospect excited me. Obviously we wouldn’t be stopping, but I always got a kick out of passing through my stomping grounds.

“The GPS says there’s an accident near Deer Lake Parkway on the Number 1, so we might as well use the Barnet. Prettier drive.”

I arched an eyebrow but kept my eyes on the road. I never would’ve figured him for someone who enjoyed a pretty drive. He just seemed…practical. That said, I’d spotted a few garden gnomes, and a stork stuck in his garden, so he did enjoy aesthetically pleasant things as well as the mundane.

The garden needed work before the first frost came, so I planned to tackle that tomorrow. If he wanted to supervise, I could bundle him up with blankets and put him in a chaise lounge. The sun was supposed to be out, so he’d need sunglasses and a hat to complement the puffy coat and piles of comforters.

Do you want him watching you? Criticizing you and sarcastically commenting?

Good point.

Yeah, but then he could watch my ass.

True.

He hadn’t actually come out as gay, but all the signs were there. Including him checking me out several times in an I’m checking you out kind of way. Straight guys sometimes did that—I was sort of unique—but the glances from Kingston? More predatory.

Which totally turned me on.

And I didn’t hide my sexuality. Today’s outfit was a rainbow bow tie, matching suspenders, a pale-pink dress shirt, and khaki pants. Not that a straight guy couldn’t pull off the look…but probably not as well as I did.

I put my foot to the floor to make it through the intersection before a light turned red.

“Hey.” Kingston hung onto the door.

“No one was turning left.” I shrugged. “No one waiting to turn right in the northbound traffic. So, we were fine.”

“So you say.”

I passed a slower-moving car in the left-hand lane. I didn’t give the guy a piece of my mind. Well, out loud anyway. In my head I strenuously suggested he stick to the slow lane and keep out of the way of people who were—

Crap .

Sixteen klicks over the limit.

I eased off the gas.

Soon enough, though, we were headed into the Burrard Inlet. Beautiful, tall trees soared to our right while the water lapped gently on the shore to our left. Traffic was light and, for just a moment, we were the only vehicle in sight.

The highway and our van felt out of place amongst the majesty.

Until I saw the fuel terminal. The end of the pipeline.

Reality hit hard. We were still a carbon-based society. Making progress, for certain, but not there yet.

Then we hit the town of Port Moody and civilization returned. I liked this quaint part of the trip and even followed the speed limit. As soon as I could, though, I picked up my speed again.

“She lives on the Westwood Plateau, so we’ll need to take a right-hand turn up ahead.” Kingston’s voice broke the extended silence.

I glanced at the dashboard.

Wow, you went an entire twenty-two minutes without saying something while being in another’s presence.

Are you okay?

I snickered to myself. Careful not to speak aloud. Let Kingston think I was snickering at him. “That’s great.”

Even as I said the words, mister sexy Aussie told me to turn.

And I followed his instructions all the way into a nice little neighborhood with single-family houses as far as the eye could see. Cities needed densification. Greater Vancouver was running out of room, and we needed to build up as much as possible. Coquitlam had some areas that were definitely clustering—mostly around transit hubs.

“You have arrived at your destination.”

“Thank you.” I pulled the van to the curb and parked in front of a two-story white-sided house. Much the same as the others except this one had a bright-yellow door. Something to differentiate it from the others.

“Did you just thank the GPS?”

I met Kingston’s incredulous stare.

After a moment, I both shrugged and smiled. “I thank elevators when they announce my floors, ATMs that dispense my cash, and GPS devices that help me arrive safely. Hey, is that the lady?”

A woman with hair almost as dark as Kingston’s emerged from the house next door and waved frantically.

“Safe bet.”

I was out of the van and around with Kingston’s crutches just in time. I always worried if I wasn’t quick enough that he’d just put weight on the ankle—consequences be damned.

Her dark-gray eyes, also like Kingston’s, flashed appreciation. “Hi! I’m so grateful you could make it. You had to come a long way, I know. But Hallstein swore you’re the best.” She fluttered her hands. Then clearly caught herself as she frowned and lowered them.

I didn’t ask who Hallstein was.

“He was correct to refer me. And we didn’t mind making the drive. Very scenic.” Kingston smiled.

Yes, smiled.

“Well, that’s true. And he told me how you rescued him and Myles when they accidentally got stuck in that janitor’s closet.” She winked.

Ah, that dude. So is Hallstein the head of security or the set decorator? I made a mental note to ask later.

“Yes, well.” Kingston cleared his throat. “I’m always happy to help. What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m so confused.” She pointed to her front door. “I drove home and parked on the street because we’re watching Kat’s Jaguar while she’s away. So it’s in the garage. Gillian parks her SUV in there as well, and we’re expecting guests for dinner, so I figured it would be easiest for me to leave the driveway clear for them.”

I didn’t even try to keep up.

“Okay.” Kingston continued to hold her gaze.

“Right. So I made three trips of stuff from the car to the house, and when I went to unlock the front door, my keys were gone. Just…gone.” She held her hands out as if that somehow emphasized her dilemma. And since her hands were empty, her flapping them around kind of did.

“It’s okay.” Kingston spoke in his softest and most soothing voice. “We’ll get your house unlocked, and then we’ll figure out what we’ll do next.”

“I had my work keys on that ring. That’s at least two locks at the office. My car keys, the remote to my garage…” She winced. “I’m adding this up in my head, and it’s not looking good. But, I mean, they have to be here somewhere, right? I had them when I drove up, and now I don’t. I’ve looked everywhere.” She said the word with great emphasis.

“No worries. Why don’t I get to work?”

Taking that as my cue, I headed to the van. Within a couple of minutes, I had him set up on a folding chair in front of the front door.

“Oh, this is so great.” The woman shivered. “Oh God, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Tabitha.” She waved her hand around yet again. “I should probably prove I live here or something.”

“That would be appreciated.” Kingston’s gaze flicked from her to me and then back to her.

As she yanked her phone out of her back pocket, I backed away.

If Kingston needed me, he’d call. He had yet to, though. Sebastian had apparently helped him with the finicky lock while we’d been at his house.

Thinking of Sebastian reminded me of the lovely Tarah with her blue eyes, and that got me wandering down the sidewalk. The trees in his neighborhood weren’t as old as mine, which had nothing to do with the color of Tarah’s eyes, but the sky was darkening, and maybe it might rain? God knew, the temperature was dropping. Snow wasn’t in the forecast, but meteorologists made mistakes, right?

Although probably not about us getting snow instead of rain.

My nose twitched.

Dog.

Malamute or husky or beagle.

All three carried distinctive smells, but this dog… Nope, I couldn’t settle on one breed.

I followed the scent as it mixed with human.

A familiar human’s.

Tabitha had been here.

And she’d interacted with the dog.

I smiled. Yeah, she seemed like someone who would stop to pet a dog. Friendly like that. Not just to Kingston because he was going to rescue her, but also just because she had that open and honest vibe.

Following the scent, I continued up the street.

Tabitha’s scent disappeared while the dog’s got stronger.

I wanted to put my nose to the ground, but didn’t figure that would earn me any favors. Being a stranger was often a tough enough sell.

Stop.

I paid attention to my nose. I spun and headed up a driveway.

This house’s front door was a plain beige—which matched the rest of the house. Well, some people didn’t express their inner joy with bright colors.

I straightened my tie.

Maybe zip your coat to cover it? What if they’re not —

The almightiest racket came from the front window.

I spun and my gaze connected with deep-brown eyes.

Drat.

Wrong call.

Chocolate lab.

She looked at me.

I held her gaze.

She stopped barking.

I stepped forward and rang the doorbell.

She started barking again.

“All right, Bluebell. I can hear the doorbell.” An exasperated woman’s voice rang out through the closed door.

The dog continued to bark.

Bluebell?

A rather harried-looking woman, with distinctive auburn curly hair, opened the door. She grabbed Bluebell by the collar just as the dog lunged for me.

I dropped to my haunches and held out my hand.

She eyed me, then sniffed.

More barking.

Yeah, if I sniffed myself, I’d bark as well.

I stood and smiled. “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

The woman smiled tentatively. “Whatever you’re selling—”

I shook my head. “Not selling anything. But I’m hoping you can help me. Your neighbor has lost her keys, and I was hoping you might have them.”

She blinked. “I don’t have anyone else’s keys. I’d remember if…” She gazed down at Bluebell.

Who blinked up as if trying for innocent.

I twitched my nose.

She barked.

Her mom sighed. “Bluebell.” To me, she held up a finger.

I nodded.

Bluebell and I continued to stare at each other. She knew my truth. Just like I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was the key thief.

The nice lady reappeared a few moments later, wiping the keys down with a wet paper towel. “I’m so very sorry. I’m trying to get the slobber and dirt off. She hid them in her favorite spot in the backyard. I didn’t even see her steal them.” She eyed her dog.

Who glared at me as if she understood I was the one taking away her valued treasure.

“I’ll let Tabitha know.” I took the damp keys from her. “She’ll be grateful.”

“I don’t know…oh, wait a moment. That lovely woman…with the wife…”

Tabitha being a lesbian—or bi—hadn’t come up in casual conversation. I waved my hand. “Several streets over? Yes.”

“She’s always so nice when we walk by.” The nice woman cocked her head. “How did you know Bluebell stole the keys? Or that she lived here?”

“A little birdie told me.” I winked at Bluebell. “Gotta run.”

“But—”

But nothing. I was out the door, down the driveway, and halfway down the street in a heartbeat. No way was I going to try to explain anything.

Bluebell knew.

Fortunately, she didn’t have the linguistic prowess to explain me to her hapless human companion. Little demoness dog.

She knew .

I twitched my nose as I hustled. Then I turned onto Tabitha’s street and moved even faster. I didn’t want Kingston changing any locks since I’d rescued the keys and there was zero chance they’d been duplicated in the hour they’d been buried in Bluebell’s backyard.

As I approached Tabitha’s house, an SUV pulled into the driveway. The garage door opened, and the vehicle drove in.

The front door was on the other side of the house, so I moved gingerly that way.

“Gillian?” Tabitha came around the corner just as the other woman got out of her car.

“You didn’t find your keys? Oh, honey.” Gillian held out her arms in an obvious willingness to offer comfort.

I held up the keys, despite not wanting to interrupt what promised to be a touching moment. If I’d lost my keys, my dad wouldn’t have been comforting me, that was for certain.

Tabitha stopped in her tracks. “Where in the hell did you find them?” She grasped Gillian’s hand. “This is Ethan. He’s Kingston’s assistant.”

“Kingston…?”

“The locksmith. He’s just—” Her eyes widened. She snatched the keys from my hands and bolted around to the front door. “Kingston! Stop what you’re doing!”

Gillian’s eyes widened.

“Well, since we found her keys, and because no one copied them, you don’t need new locks…” I shrugged.

“Okay.” Gillian eyed me. “And where did you say you found the keys?”

“I didn’t.” My nose twitched.

She arched an eyebrow. “Try again. I know you’re not part of a scam because you drove all the way from Vancouver, so that doesn’t make sense.”

“That I would randomly steal a woman’s keys in Coquitlam? No, I’d say not.”

“Tabitha spent an hour looking for them before she called Hallstein to warn him. She didn’t even care about herself—or her situation. She only cared about the studio being compromised.”

“Well, she doesn’t need to worry. I can guarantee they weren’t copied.”

Her hand landed on her hip.

“Where did you say…?” Tabitha rounded the corner with Kingston awkwardly following her.

“It’s a super long story, and Kingston needs to get off his feet, so if we’re good to go…” I met his thunderous expression. Oh shit. He’s really pissed.

“Sure—” Tabitha started to speak.

I started to move.

Gillian pressed a hand to my chest.

“Uh…”

“Just be honest.” Kingston held my gaze. “No one is going to be upset. But if Tabitha isn’t to make the same mistake again, she needs to know.” No compassion, except perhaps for the harried woman who was, frankly, more distressed now than she had been when we’d arrived.

I swallowed. “Okay, but you have to promise not to say anything.”

The three exchanged puzzled looks.

I took a breath. “I don’t want the d-o-g in question to get in trouble.”

“Bluebell!” Tabitha nearly shouted the name. “That little sneak.” Her eyes flashed. “Okay, also super cute.”

“Yeah,” Gillian agreed. “Still.” The woman eyed me. “What, was she sitting on her front lawn slobbering on them when you happened by?”

“In fact, that’s exactly it. Her mom cleaned the keys and swore me to secrecy, but now you know. You’ll be more careful around the thieving dog and, really, we don’t ever need to discuss this again.”

For a very, very, very long moment, we all stood still.

All three stared at me.

Tabitha waved her arms. “Okay. We’re going to never discuss this again. But you’re coming to dinner next Friday night so I can thank you properly.”

“Oh, we couldn’t—” Kingston tried.

She waved him off. “You don’t want me telling Hallstein that after I dragged out all this way that you wouldn’t accept our dinner invitation. Six sharp, please don’t bring anything.”

“Yes.” Gillian linked arms with her wife. “You must come.”

Kingston glared at me.

Right. Like the women blackmailing him was somehow my fault. I’d saved the situation, but was anyone giving me credit? Nope.

The drive home was very long.