I tried to pull back, but he leaned closer. Just before he could actually kiss me, I saw something from the corner of my eye. A man outside the shop with a professional camera was snapping pictures. Ever since Chris’ little stunt in the restaurant, I’d noticed people snapping pictures of me when I went out. I guess they all wanted the shot of me looking half-dead with no makeup as I left a coffee shop in the morning.
I let out a groan, then pushed Lance away. “I need to go.”
I left him standing there and rushed out of the shop. The man with the camera kept snapping pictures. “Make sure you get this one,” I said, holding up both my middle fingers in front of his camera.”
I had a feeling Lance and his horrible timing had just caused Chris and I a pile of trouble.16ChrisI waited on Belle’s couch. Part of me wondered if it was wrong to pick the lock on her door and let myself in again when she wasn’t home. Then I decided she hadn’t explicitly told me not to wait on the couch for her.
I mean, she knew I could pick her lock. If she didn’t want me to let myself in, all she would’ve had to do was say so. Besides, it was my duty as her soon-to-be fake husband to check the house and make sure she was okay.
I’d also done a quick count of her pickles before I settled on the couch. As I suspected, one was missing. Curious. Either she got hungry. Or she got hungry. I made a note to ask her about it whenever she showed up.
I’d been waiting about a half an hour when I heard someone try the doorknob. There was a jiggle, then a curse. It sounded like Belle, and when I got up, I noticed a set of keys sitting by the door.
Oh, this was too perfect. She locked herself out.
I went to the door, checking the peep hole. There she was, tiny and warped so the top of her head was bulging up toward me. “What do you want?” I growled against the door.
Belle jumped back, dropping her bag. She squinted at the door. “Chris?”
“Wait there,” I said.
I jogged to her speaker and turned on her eighties playlist. “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” picked up right where it had left off from earlier that evening. I danced my way to the door, then unlocked it.
Belle let herself in with slumped shoulders and a defeated look on her face.
I frowned after her, still shimmying to the beat. “The song is about girls having fun. Not girls pouting.”
She pressed a button on the speaker, then went to her couch and sank into it. “Do I even want to ask why you were in my apartment with the door locked?”
“We agreed to meet.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Why do you look like someone just poured mud in your coffee?” I sat next to her, turning to face her on the couch.
She was staring at the ground, shaking her head. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
I dug in the bag I’d brought, then pulled out a big bottle of the fanciest wine I could get my hands on. “The sommelier said someone got murdered over this particular vintage once. Tried to swap it for a cheaper one at his colleague’s house and the guy axed him when he found out.”
Belle scrunched up her face. “Seriously?”
“That’s what the guy said. But if all else fails, it was expensive. So that means it’s good.”
“Did you bring glasses?”
“The only way to drink expensive wine is straight from the bottle.”
Belle looked like she didn’t want to, but she grinned a little. “I’m almost positive that’s not true.”
I’d already sampled the wine, so I was able to easily tug the cork free. It came loose with a satisfying little pop. I held the bottle toward Belle. “Give it a try. You look like you could use it.”
Belle was giving the bottle a doubtful look, but she eventually reached for it and took a swig. “I’m not sure it justifies murder, but that is pretty good.”
I studied her as she took another drink. “What do you do for fun?”
Belle set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What is this, an interview?”
“We’re supposed to be engaged. I should probably know at least a little about you in case someone asks.”
“Well… I do like to make decorations. I have this machine that prints letters onto things, and I’ll make wreaths or wood signs or shirts. That kind of thing.”
I couldn’t say why, but I liked her answer. I guess it was refreshing to hear a woman say she enjoyed doing something other than club hopping or “partying.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Any other hobbies?”
“I got really into golf for a little bit, but my father kind of spoiled that.”