Page 183 of Under the Lies

As long as she doesn’t cross city limits, I don’t give a single damn at what Harlow Brooks is doing. But if one day Harlow gets cocky enough to come back, she’ll get all seven layers of Hell raining down on her.

“How’s my breakfast coming?” Sayer asks, dragging me out of my thoughts.

I look away from the stove, over my shoulder, seeing her slide into one of the barstools. “You could help, and it’d be done faster.”

“I don’t cook. I drink wine.”

And don’t I know it. I had a pretty well-stocked wine collection before she moved in and she went through more than half of it after only six months of living here.

“Well, go open a bottle,” I tell her. Every Sunday with breakfast we have bellinis.

“Any special request?”

“No. Just pick whatever.”

She nods, looking dejected as she makes the drinks.

What’s wrong with her?

I’m about to ask when she hands me a drink and presses a kiss to my chin. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She smiles and with it the reassurance that everything is fine and I’m being paranoid.

She goes back to the island. Waiting. Grumbling that she’s going to shrivel up and die if I don’t feed her soon.

Finally, her French toast is done. And her face lights up like the city’s skyline as she cuts into the bread. She’s bringing the fork to her mouth when she stops, eyeing me. “What?”

“What?” I parrot back.

“You’re staring at me.”

“Am I not allowed?” I lift a brow.

“Not when I’m trying to eat. Not like that.”

“Like how?” I ask, even though I already know.

“Like you want to eat me.” Her cheeks turn slightly pink with her words and I feel my grin turn wolfish. That’s exactly how I’m looking at her.

“I always look at you like this.”

“I know, but it’s really distracting right now.”

“Why?”

Without a word, she puts down her fork and slides her hands into her hoodie pocket. When she takes them out, there’s something in her hand.

She drops it on the bar between us.

A little velvet black box.

My head snaps to hers. “Snooping in my office again?”

She shrugs, only slightly guilty as I open the box to reveal a beautiful, yet subtle diamond on a simple silver band. The perfect ring to sit on Sayer’s finger. Beautiful, yet understated. Big enough for it to shine a kaleidoscope of colors when it hits the light but small enough to not draw everyone’s attention.

The room is silent, save for my beating pulse as I stare at the ring. I bought it two weeks ago and hid it in my desk drawer. Deep in the back.

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