Page 44 of By the Book

“That depends on how desperate he is.”

What Bobby didn’t say—but I could read in his darkening expression—was the same thing I was thinking: if George—or whoever—was desperate enough, what else might they do?

“I guess we’ll find out,” I said. “I still need to talk to him and Colleen about the diary.”

“Tomorrow,” Bobby said. “I don’t want you going over there without me, and I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Oh my God, you’ve got work.” I patted myself down, looking for my phone. “Did I make you late?”

“It’s fine. Dash, stop—I’m not late.” He slid out of his chair onto the floor, picked up my sneaker, and began working it onto my foot. Without looking at me, he said, “I could call in.”

“Oh. I mean—I guess it would be better to talk to them tonight, but I know you hate to miss work.”

“No, dummy, not so we can talk to them. If they haven’t left yet, they’re not going to leave now. Besides, George has a business, a home, assets we can track. If he runs, he won’t be hard to find.” He snugged the shoe up against my heel and set about tying the lace. (It will surprise nobody that he liked them to be the exact same length.) “I don’t like the idea of you being alone tonight.”

It took me a moment before I could say, “Bobby, I can take care—”

He looked up at me.

He’s got these eyes, see. They’re this ridiculously amazing color—earthy, rich, shining—and they are one of his more, er, expressive features.

Several seconds later, I said, “What was I saying?”

“I think you were about to say something about how it’s okay to accept help, especially from your boyfriend, who loves you and is emotionally invested in taking care of you.” He cinched the laces. “Which isn’t a commentary on your ability to, quote, ‘take care of yourself.’”

“See, it’s less convincing when you actually say ‘quote’ out loud.”

He stood. He took my hands. He looked me in the eye for several long seconds. Then he said, “Upsy-daisy,” and helped me to my feet.

“Go to work,” I said. “My parents will be here—whether I like it or not. And Keme will be here. I’ll be completely, totally, perfectly safe. Scout’s, uh, honor?”

One of the best parts of Bobby is he has this way of looking incredibly long-suffering. “I’m calling in.”

“No, don’t. We’ll be fine. It’ll be a nice, quiet night. I’ll get something to eat. I’ll clean up. I’ll get my parents’ power of attorney and institutionalize them. The way nice straight families spend their evenings.”

That long-suffering look had faded into another familiar one: a kind of bemused wonder. He hugged me. He has all these muscles, and they’re very distracting. Which was why I almost missed it when he murmured, “Is it all the sugar?”

“Rude!”

I tried to wriggle away. But he held me to him, laughing as I fought to break free.

Chapter 11

The rest of the day was a lot less fun—cleaning a burgled house doesn’t measure up to some sexily playful wrestling with your unbelievably strong and handsome and kind and patient boyfriend. (And did I mention he has abs? Like, real ones.)

Bobby called in the burglary, and Deputy Dahlberg came out and took a statement. While she took photos and a video and then—sigh—dusted for prints, I took some photos of my own for the insurance claim. Then I worry-ate the rest of the icebox cake. Plus I was doing a public service—I didn’t want it to go bad. And it was mostly huckleberries, so it was basically pure vitamins.

My parents came home. I knew because I heard them arguing about a potential point-of-view shift in my dad’s current manuscript. They didn’t apologize. Or check in. They didn’t even look for me. I was up to my, uh, elbows in icebox cake when they started up the stairs and went into their room.

Keme and Millie got there not long after. Want to know how I knew?

“OH NO!”

When they got to the kitchen, Millie’s face was pale, and her mouth was set in a hard line. Keme had the same look on his face that he’d had a few months ago when I’d accidentally told some of his surfer friends he was seventeen. (No joke, I pushed furniture in front of my bedroom door every night for a week.)

“Dash, WHAT HAPPENED?”

I told them my theory.

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