Page 20 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

“That face you make all the time. Does it hurt?”

“What face?” he says, and that little crease deepens. “I don’t make a face.”

“Yes, you do,” I say, grinning at him. “You walk around looking like someone who’s just checked the weather and discovered it’s supposed to rain for the next week.”

“I love the rain,” he says blankly.

Of course he loves the rain.

I lean in, invading his space just a touch as I give him a closer inspection. “How come you don’t have any wrinkles when you scrunch your face up like this? You’re probably going to have the audacity to age like fine wine.” I sigh, leaning back again. “I, on the other hand, will most likely shrivel up like a prune in my old age. My mom was only forty-two when she died, but she looked at least twenty years older than that.”

“Maybe,” he says slowly, looking thoughtful. “But if I recall correctly, your mom didn’t take care of her body, either.” He raises one questioning brow at me. “Right?”

“That’s true,” I admit. “She smoked toward the end too.”

He nods, a decisive jerk of his head. “So there.” He pauses, then says, “Speaking of that. What are you going to do tonight? I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go meet a stranger at eleven at night.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, mostly to combat the sudden nerves I feel. Talking with him made me forget, just briefly, what other things were going on in my life. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m still deciding.”

“Well, I’d recommend against it,” he says. “The whole thing feels unsafe to me.”

“Mmm.” I nod, trying to distract myself by focusing on him. Then—“Hang on,” I say, my eyes widening as I look more closely. It’s possible I’ve gotten carried away in my inspection of his face as my gaze trails over everything I can see—the crooked nose, the defined cupid’s bow, the firm chin. I was wrong to pursue him at the time, but seventeen-year-old me still hadgreattaste. I’ve just noticed something new, however. “Is that—do you—” I swallow, reaching up and pointing to his earlobe. “Is your ear pierced?”

“Just the left one,” he says distractedly. He’s still standing in front of me, but he’s got his book open again, reading once more.

“When—how—”

“I went through a phase.”

A phase? Aphase? I needsomuch more information than that. “When?” I say quickly. “What kind of phase? What kind of earring did you wear? Are there pictures? Can I—”

“There are probably a few photos buried at my parents’ place,” he says musingly. Then he looks up from his book, his gaze finding mine. “But you’ll never see them.”

I will see those pictures if it is the last thing I do. I will run a long con on his mother if it means I get a glimpse of straight-laced Aiden wearing anearring.

“I can hear the wheels turning in that brain of yours,” he says, sounding distracted once more as he looks back down at his book. “The earring isn’t even the best part.”

I all but choke on my own spit. “What’s the best part?” I croak. I am a rabid dog, salivating for this information. “What’s the best part, Aiden?”

He looks up at me, his hand pausing halfway through turning the page. A spark of something devilish enters his eyes as the corner of his lips twitches. “There are tattoos,” he whispers.

“Tattoos?” I squeak.

No answer; he just steps into his room and then nudges me out, back through the doorway. Then he closes the door in my face.

“Aiden,” I say, pressing my cheek to the door and knocking hard. “Tattoos? Plural? Tattoosplural?”

Faintly, from the other side of the door, I hear him laugh. I roll my eyes, but when I go to the kitchen to eat the scones I saved from Grind and Brew, I’m smiling too.

My smile fades as I sit down at the table, though. What am I going to do? He’s right; going to meet someone I don’t know late at night is stupid.

But maybe if I took some kind of weapon? Pepper spray, maybe?

Parents.

The word pops into my head, still just as strange as it was when I read it last night.

I gave up wondering about my father a long time ago. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t much of a father if he was never around. But I was also well aware that he might not even know I existed.

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