Page 65 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

When my hands close around the knobs of the third drawer, he speaks again. “Not that one.”

“Third drawer down is the underwear drawer,” I say with a nod. “Good to know.” Then I move my hands to the fourth drawer.

“Juniper,” he warns, and I turn around. “Cut it out.” His eyes narrow on me as he goes on, “Are you one of those people who likes to annoy everyone else when you’re bored? You know that’s the worst kind of person, right?”

“Do you have two underwear drawers?” I say, staring down at my fingers on the knob of that fourth drawer.

“Juniper.”

I sigh, abandoning the chest of drawers. “I’m aware, yes. But I don’t think I’m that kind of person. I’m not bored right now. I just can’t figure anything out.”

He nods. “Great. So you’re someone who doesn’t want anyone else to be at peace if you yourself can’t be at peace either. That’s probably worse—”

“It’s not that,” I say, throwing my hands up in the air. “Ugh. You’re misunderstanding me on purpose. I just need to talk things through with someone, and you happen to be the lucky winner.”

“Then stop poking around and start talking,” he says. He sounds just as exasperated as I do.

“You explicitly agreed that I could invade your privacy in your room,” I say.

“I—yeah, I did,” he begins, running his hand over his hair, “but—”

“However,” I cut him off. “I will let you off the hook.If.”

He’s still sitting on the bed, but now he straightens, angling his body toward me. His eyes narrow. “If…?”

“Ifyou show me one tattoo.” I hold up a finger. “Just one.”

He lets his body relax again, a lazy smile flitting over his face. “Deal.” He stands up without any further prompting, lifting his shirt.

And…holy abs.

“Wildly unnecessary.” It pops out of my mouth before I can stop it, but come on. If you look that good in a stuffy tweed blazer, you shouldn’t also look good shirtless. It’s just rude. “Where’s the tattoo?” I say, rallying every last brain cell at my disposal.

Aiden points to a littlexright over his heart. His lazy smile has turned into that signature smirk, but I don’t even call him out; he’s earned this one.

Yep. Smirk away, my friend. That is afineset of abdominal muscles and alovelypair of pecs.

“Xmarks the spot?”

He nods, letting his shirt drop—sad.

“Did it hurt?” I say.

“Nah,” he says. He shrugs and sits back on the bed. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Neither was mine.”

His eyes jump to me, and I watch for a second as his gaze moves up and down my body. Then, with quickening breath, I wait as it settles somewhere right around my belly button.

Like he’s using x-ray vision, and he can see what’s inked over the scar on my lower back. And in my mind, from the recesses of my memory, come the words he spoke all those years ago:You can cover up a scar if you don’t like it, though. You can keep it covered or even get a tattoo there or something.

“Ah,” I say softly as the pieces fall into place. How long has he known? “You remembered.” I move slowly toward him, my pulse pounding through my veins as my mind works to catch up. What does he think of me now that he knows what happened all those years ago? What does he think of the poor, silly little girl who went dumpster diving for breakfast?

My cheeks burn as my eyes sting with unshed tears. I don’t think I want to know the answer to that question. I don’t want to know what he thinks of me now.

“Yes,” he says, unapologetic. “I remembered.” His smirk has vanished; his eyes are still fixed on my torso as I approach.

“When?” I say, tilting my head.

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