Page 48 of Little Sunshine

Not the time.

Not the place.

Not mine.

“Food. TV. Privacy,” I recapped before sweetening the deal—literally. “I even have some leftover cake.”

“Poisonous cake from a stranger. It’ll be like the unhappy ending to a morbid fairy tale.”

“Hey, my baking skills are shitty but not deadly.”

Her lip quirked—or maybe it was a twitch. “Wow, even more enticing.”

“That’s why I have a chef buddy who handles all the baking. He makes these unreal cookies. Soft and buttery, they literally melt in your mouth.”

Her eyes lit, and I could almost see the need form.

One day, you’ll look at me like that.

Not above using my friends to get what I wanted, I laid it on as thick as frosting. I tipped my head and rubbed a hand across my beard. “Actually, I don’t think he’s ever made anything that didn’t make me want to lick the plate clean. He was classically trained in the best French kitchens.”

“Cool. Fancy poisoned cake.”

“Do you always think everyone is out to murder you, sunshine?”

Her expression was the epitome of duh as she gestured down to herself—injured in a hospital bed.

I’m a fucking moron.

“Fair point,” I said roughly, mentally kicking my own ass. “I won’t tell him you accused him of poisonous desserts because then he won’t bake for you, and that would be cruel.”

She gave a small, one-shoulder shrug as she mentally lifted her walls higher. “Tell him whatever you want. It doesn’t matter.”

I leaned forward, my eyes meeting hers. “You came to me, Mila.”

“I—”

“You were hurt,” I interrupted before she could spew lies or excuses of temporary insanity. “And you came to me. You knew you could trust me. Keep trusting me.”

The silence stretched until I was about to back down and offer her the hotel room.

“Fine,” she muttered so quietly, I wasn’t sure I’d heard right. “But only for a few days.”

“Whatever you say, little girl.”

“And stop calling me that.”

I hid a smile and started planning.

Armed with a few bottles of pills, a lengthy list of warning signs to watch for, and an exhausted yet somehow still stubborn as fuck woman, I moved through the lobby with Mila. She’d refused to ride in a wheelchair. When I’d offered to carry her, she’d offered to punch my dick again.

Or use a scalpel.

I let her walk.

Other than her hood pulled over her head and her slowed steps, she gave no indication she was in pain. It reminded me of the first time I’d seen her in Moonlight. Her chin was held high as she moved like nothing was wrong.

Like prey hiding her injury from predators.

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