Page 51 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
I take a deep breath, subtly stepping closer, my hands resting on his chest. “I had a nice time too. Text me when you’re back in your dorm.”
“I will.”
The air between us is thick with tension. He leans in—and my lips part in surprise.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly.
His eyes are warm, his expression soft as he peers into my soul. Warmth blossoms in the pit of my stomach—and transforms into frigid terror.
I nearly kissed him in the club, and I won’t let it happen again. Distractions are not an option—and they’re not allowed to come in the form of my only suspect.
I press my hands against his chest, stopping him before his lips can find mine.
“Is it all right if we… take things slow?” I bite at my lower lip, feigning nervousness.
He inhales shakily, stepping away. “Of course. I apologize. Rushing isn’t my preference. I’m generally not…”
My hands fall to my sides. “No, I know!” I laugh, hoping the sound is calmer than I feel. “It has nothing to do with you; it’s what’s best for me right now. That’s all.”
“Then that’s best for me as well. I’m happy to take it as slow as you need.”
“Great. Then… you can text me. Like I said.”
“And, as I said, I will.”
I don’t give him time to say anything more before scurrying inside and locking the door behind me.
Chapter Twelve
“He sort ofremindsme of a bird.” Margaux pops a grape into her mouth. “Maybe that’s it.”
The night passed, Margaux reappeared from her date, and we spend our morning at a familiar café. It’s a neutral space. We won’t be overheard here.
The café is simple—with light wooden tables, optimal natural lighting, and minimal decoration. Margaux and I are seated at a little round table in the corner. It’s the spot we’ve always hidden in—but there were once three of us.
This place is nostalgic, and that only makes me more adamant about taking down Poppy’s killer.
“That’s not the point!” I snap my fingers in front of her face. “You’re getting distracted!”
“I am not! I think it could be an artistic choice for his portrait, that’s all.” She lifts her cup to her mouth, taking a small sip. “Ifit’s him in the painting…”
She sounds full of doubt, but I need it to be him. My ears ring. My heart races. Ineedto catch Poppy’skiller. Why is this taking so long?
“I guess it’s not the proof you were looking for…”
She snorts, setting the hot mug down. “It absolutely isn’t. You have no proof it’s him wearing the bird mask, and even if it is… why does that matter?”
“What about the body? I went out with him one time, and someone died. If that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is!”
“It is suspicious, but… did you see him hovering over the body?”
“No…”
“Did you see him draining the life from said body?”
“No!”
“And you were in a room full of other people?” She lifts a brow. “And possibly… I don’t know, illicit substances?”
