“You watch too much television,” I told him.
But what he said made my blood chill. Laney was genuine. She wasn’t just fucking with me. I could tell she liked me by how she blushed just when making eye contact with me. Those bright-blue eyes didn’t lie. They told me more truth than all the other bullshitters I dealt with on the daily.
I trusted Laney Mills. Didn’t I?
12
Laney
Edison insisted on picking me up. I wasn’t sure how I felt about arriving in a Tesla. He might not have a reputation at stake in Springfield, but I certainly did. The weather was perfect, and I’d heard firecrackers all day from the celebrations going on around town. Billy was traumatized and hiding in the shed. I’d brought him a blanket and extra food, but he was still shaking and quivering at every little noise. Imelda was annoyed, her ears flattened out and now horizontal with her fat head. She was wearing a scowl so grouchy, I laughed. Poor grumpy, unpatriotic cat.
Edison should be here any minute, so I swiped a final coat of mascara over my lashes and carefully painted my lips with a blood-red liquid lipstick. That was all the makeup I was wearing. My hair was halfway up and curled into giant loose ringlets. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so pretty in my life. It would be perfect if not for the nausea that still seemed to grip me. I chalked it up to nerves.
When I heard Edison’s car quietly pull up, my exposed flesh prickled with anticipation. Did I let him into the cottage, or did I run out and greet him?
Before I could make a decision, he was rapping at the door. With a deep breath in my lungs, I flung open the door. He looked so drop-dead gorgeous in a suit—the cut, the fabric, the smile that accompanied it. Edison handed me a bouquet of red roses, the blossoms so perfect that they didn’t look real. When I inhaled their sweet scent, he smiled. I wasn’t the kind of girl who lost her mind over looks, but something about Eddie elicited that kind of reaction in me. I swooned, got tongue tied, felt weak in the knees.
“They didn’t have any blue roses. And the arrangements for the Fourth were an insult to this great nation. You look absolutely stunning, Miss Mills. That color was made to be worn by you.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “I love roses. Come in while I put them in water?”
He’d seen everything else, so I might as well let him inside my house. I was proud of my cottage; I’d done all the renovations by myself. If there was something too intimidating, I simply watched YouTube videos until I got the hang of it. It might not be perfect, but I did careful work, and it showed.
He ran a hand over the crown molding, and I was glad I’d dusted.
“Just you and the angry cat?”
“Mmm. And Billy. But he’s mostly outdoors. I let him in when it’s raining or too cold.”
“What breed?”
“Oh, Billy’s not a dog. He’s a pygmy goat.”
Edison’s eyes opened wide, and then he crossed his arms and smirked at me while I trimmed the stems of the roses so they wouldn’t topple the vase.
“A golden retriever would be too conservative for Laney Mills. Is it because your father’s a judge that you march to your own tune?”
“A lot of people keep goats these days.”
“Dear God, is that an entire German chocolate cake just sitting there?”
Edison seemed flustered at my masterpiece resting under the glass dome. She’d turned out so beautifully, I’d taken some photos for my website. Later, I might do a shot of a slice with these roses.
“Do you like German chocolate?”
“It’s my favorite.” He looked bright-eyed, like a little boy.
I looked at my watch. “We could have a quick slice before we go?”
“Wouldn’t we ruin dinner?”
“Oh, well, dinner is already ruined. You pay two hundred dollars for a plate at these things, but the food usually tastes like it came from a cafeteria.”
“Really?”
“In a nursing home.”
“Let’s eat cake.”
I gathered my special cake knife and spatula; I didn’t mess around when it came to baking tools. I sliced Edison an obscenely large triangle. The knife sank into the chocolatey dense sponge, and I could tell it turned out superbly. My piece was only slightly smaller. My cake plates were all mismatched, from yard sales over the years, and I handed him one.
“Tea or coffee?”
“Giant glass of milk?”
While I poured him his milk, he sneaked up behind me and kissed my neck.
“Baking is sexy when you’re the one doing it.”
The face he made when he tasted the cake remind me of the Edison I knew in the bedroom.
“That is, hands down, the best piece of cake I’ve ever had in my whole life,” Edison told me, still chewing, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and pointing at his huge slice with his fork. I liked how big of a bite he took to taste it. “Holy shit, Laney. You are extremely talented.”