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Chapter One
Mid-October
I was standing in Marcus Palmer’s underwater mansion watching him pack for Somalia. Somalia. As in Africa. As in the other side of the planet where cell service probably didn’t exist and definitely couldn’t support the what are we conversation I’d been practicing in my bathroom mirror for three days now.
Marcus Palmer, tech billionaire genius and the guy who’d built an entire commercial kitchen in my house just because I mentioned it would be nice to have the option to bake at home instead of the bakery, was abandoning me to build wells. Or schools. Or maybe it was orphanages. I’d stopped listening after leaving and indefinitely.
“Thanks, Ava, but you don’t have to drive me to the airport,” Marcus said, zipping up his suitcase. My Abyssinian cat, Lucky, hopped off Marcus’s shoulders and onto the suitcase, riding it like a furry little maharaja on an elephant. Marcus rolled it toward the front door, the wheels clicking against his imported marble floor.
“Right. Because you have a car coming.” I held out my arms for Lucky, making that embarrassing kissy noise that no self-respecting cat owner admits to making. Lucky looked at me, looked at Marcus and jumped into Marcus’s arms instead. Traitor. “Is the helicopter in the shop?”
“Tesla,” Marcus said, rubbing his face against Lucky’s neck while my cat purred like a motorboat. He scratched behind Lucky’s ears in exactly the right spot, the one that made his back leg twitch. “The helicopter seemed excessive.”
Ha. Helicopters are excessive but fleeing to Africa to avoid talking about feelings was totally normal. Alright, he was going on a volunteer expedition to help people in need, not to get away from me but he’d only told me yesterday. Yesterday! I’d had less than twenty-four hours to emotionally prepare for this.
He was gone frequently on business trips around the world and back to his company’s headquarters in Silicon Valley, but those trips never lasted more than a week or two at most. I’d begun to depend on Marcus as my ever-present person.
We’d kissed a handful of times. Five times but who was counting? And sure, who wouldn’t be in love with a super good-looking tech billionaire genius, but it still had to mean something special that he held my hand sometimes when we walked together. Right?
To be fair, he hadn’t broached the what-are-we talk either.
I wasn’t sure at this point who was more of a relationship discussion coward, me, or him, but I wanted it to end now. End in a good way where we definitively confirmed we were or weren’t a romantic couple versus just close friends who shared a love of carbs and anything with sugar.
Or was that selfish of me since he was embarking on this new adventure? Would I only be burdening him with maintaining a long-distance relationship I’d forced on him as he was literally walking out the door? If only I’d been brave enough to bring it up earlier this summer when we first met. But no, I’d assumed our days of endless lunch and dinner dates, solving murder mysteries together and hanging out would eventually morph into the relationship definition discussion.
And now, it was too late.
Lucky meowed, his amber eyes judging me from Marcus’s arms. It sounded suspiciously like told you so.
“So,” I said, aiming for casual. “How long will you be gone again?”
“Few months. Maybe longer.” Marcus shifted Lucky to one arm, checking his phone with the other. The man could multitask better than I even when holding my traitorous cat. “Actually, it was Jean-Carlo who inspired me.”
My brain did a record scratch. “Jean-Carlo von Retteg, as in my ex-boyfriend, whom you only met a couple weeks ago?”
“He was telling me about his military service,” Marcus continued, his face lighting up like a kid describing Disney World. “All those years traveling the world, making a real difference, building schools in Afghanistan, water systems in Iraq. Real hands-on stuff. Made me realize I’ve been sitting behind a computer screen my whole life. Sure, I donate money but that’s not real help. I want to make the world a better place.”
Great. My ex-boyfriend inspired my maybe-boyfriend to flee the country. This was perfectly normal and not at all tragic.
“That’s great,” I managed, my smile probably looking like I was being held at gunpoint.
I watched him sling his nylon duffel bag over his shoulder. “Marcus, before you go, we should talk about something.”
“Yes, you’re right.” He pulled out what looked like something from a sci-fi movie from his pocket. “I’ve changed the security code for the house to Lucky’s birthday, September fifteenth, so 0915, and here are the keys.” He pressed the device into my hand, his fingers warm against mine for exactly five seconds. Not long enough to be romantic but not short enough not to be something meaningful. “I’ve also programmed your watch to unlock the door as soon as it senses you’re near. I know you have your own place but feel free to use this space for guests or if you want a change of scenery. Or maybe throw a party. Halloween is coming up soon.”
“Thanks but that wasn’t what I was wanting to talk about,” I said, clutching the high-tech key thing like it might give me courage.
His Palmer Tech Smartwatch buzzed.
“Car’s here.” He gently pried Lucky off his neck, kissed his head and handed him to me. At least one of us got a good-bye kiss.
I followed him up the stairs. At the top was a secret tree trunk that doubled as a front door to his underwater, secret agent-like lair.
“So soon?” My voice went up an octave. “I thought we’d have more time to hang out.”
Marcus hugged me and ran toward the door. “Don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve arranged Jean-Carlo to be your new Head of Ava Security.”
“My what now?” I juggled Lucky, who was trying to return to Marcus like a furry boomerang.
“Jean-Carlo is going to keep an eye on you while I’m gone.”
I blinked. Then blinked again. Then possibly a third time because my brain had short-circuited. “Why?”
Because nothing says I have romantic feelings for you like when a guy appoints your ex-boyfriend as your bodyguard. That’s totally what people who want to be in a romantic relationship with you do. Right after they flee to another continent.
“He has military training and he’s local,” Marcus said, already opening the door to reveal the October rain pelting down, which reflected who I felt on the inside. “But more importantly, he genuinely cares about your safety.”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” I protested, following him onto the foyer while Lucky tried to jump back into Marcus’s arms.
“You’ve found five bodies this year.” He turned back, rain already dotting his perfect hair that somehow looked better wet. Unfair.
“Could’ve happened to anybody!” I ran to the porch, immediately regretting it as rain slapped me in the face despite the protective lattice of overhead branches.
“Wait,” I said, rushing to grab the box I’d hidden behind the coat rack in the foyer. “I made you something. For the plane.”
Marcus opened the box, his eyes widening. “Are these what I think they are?”
“All your favorites. Red velvet stuffed with brown butter cheesecake and bourbon caramel,” I said, pointing to the first row. “The chocolate ones have that molten peanut butter and pretzel filling you like. And the vanilla bean is—”
“Stuffed with Madagascar vanilla custard and lemon curd?” he finished, already picking one up. “The ones that always put me in a blissful sugar coma?”
“Plus my autumn cupcakes with maple custard infused centers of brown sugar and cinnamon, and a champagne buttercream topping.” I pointed to the last row of gold-colored cupcakes.
He took a massive bite, the custard oozing out. “Oh wow. How am I supposed to leave when you make these?”
Then don’t, I thought but didn’t say.
“I’ll eat them all on the way to the airport,” he said, through a mouthful of sugar.
At least my cupcakes got a proper goodbye.
He turned and jogged through the rain to his waiting Tesla, little mud puddles splashing with each step. Once he was inside, he looked out the window and smiled, that perfect, crooked smile that made my insides do stupid things. Not sure what else to do, I smiled and waved back like an idiot at a parade.
I slipped back inside and closed the heavy oak front door and shook off the raindrops as best as I could.
“Well, that was confusing, as always,” I told Lucky as we watched Marcus’s Tesla silently pull away, its taillights disappearing into the gray morning. This was worse than being friend-zoned. I’d been put in relationship purgatory and was permanently stuck in the what-are-we waiting room.
Lucky hopped out of my arms and ran over to the windowsill, pressing his little paws against the glass and meowing what I could only interpret as a come back to Marcus. Or possibly you forgot to give me treats.
End of Excerpt
