Page 69 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“Why do people go to kitchens when the shit hits the fan?” Maggie asked as she sat at the big island and rested her arms on the cool marble of the counter. “You’d think they’d want to keep the shit as far away from the kitchen as possible, but no... Trauma equals kitchen.”
All she had to do was look around to remember why, though. The room was large and bright and it smelled like lemons and freshly made bread. And also heaven. Yes. That’s exactly what Maggie had always imagined heaven would smell like.
But as she shifted on her barstool, she felt Ethan’s hand at the small of her back, a sure, steady weight, and she wanted to lean against it. She didn’t think she’d miss the dark, narrow passageway and even darker—even narrower—tunnel, but there she was, bracing against the glare of a world that was suddenly way too bright.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You mean besides the fact that, evidently”—she looked around, then dropped her voice—“someone has been trying to kill Eleanor for weeks now?” She wanted to rest her head on her arms and go to sleep but sleeping probably wasn’t a great idea, what with all the not-quite murder.
“You’re squinting.”
“My head hurts. It’s nothing.” Maggie knew for a fact that her headaches were nothing becauseColin had spent the better part of ten years telling her so. “It could be a migraine or tension or... You know? I don’t think I’ve actually eaten...” She trailed off as a sandwich slid in front of her. “And I haven’t had any...” A coffee joined it. “Caffeine. Thanks. I’ll just get...” Two sugars and the milk appeared and for a moment Maggie just sat there, staring.
“How did you...” She started, but Ethan was turned away, rummaging through the massive refrigerator. “Ethan?”
She waited for the inevitable joke or flirty whisper. She would have given anything for a wink. But Ethan wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring into that fridge as if Eleanor might be hiding in the cheese drawer.
“Ethan, how did you—”
“I pay attention.”
He came out with an apple and took a crisp, quick bite and Maggie felt instantly silly.Of course he pays attention, she told herself. He was a professional attention-payer. The Secret Service probably had classes and courses and tests. He could probably close his eyes and name fifty things in that room at that moment, but it felt different somehow, in the silence and the stillness, after the last few days.Hefelt different. Like maybe, all this time, he’d been paying attentionto her.
So Maggie cupped the coffee in her hands and breathed in the hot, sweet scent, but nothing felt right. Nothing tasted right. Nothing would ever be right because—
“Someone has tried to kill Eleanor three times now. Right? Is my math right?”
Ethan ticked them off on his fingers. “Burned greenhouse, rigged stairs, poisoned tea tray. Yeah. That sounds— No. Four. I forgot about the shooting.”
“Of course.” Maggie nodded slowly, likehow silly of me. “I’d hate to forget about the shooting.”
“That would be a pity.”
He grabbed half the sandwich andtook a bite and she didn’t even bother to slap his hand away.
His arm pressed against hers as he leaned against the counter, a warm and steady weight, reminding her she wasn’t alone. It was maybe the most perilous situation of her life, but Maggie wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t let herself think about how—without the man beside her—she would have been terrified.
She could only smile down into her cup and say, “You know how I take my coffee.” She didn’t have a clue about anything else, but that was evidence of something.
Ethan gave a slow nod, a silent sigh. “I know how you take your coffee.”
“Since when?”
“We’ve been in a dozen greenrooms together, you know? I’ve seen you drink coffee.”
“Which greenroom?” she asked again.
A soft sigh. A silent curse. And then— “Tucson.”
Maggie didn’t know who moved first. It was like the rotation of the earth, something you never felt but was always there. And then her face was in his hands and her hands were in his hair and Maggie might have flown right off that stool—off the globe—if he hadn’t stepped between her legs and pulled her tight against him.
“Maggie.”
Her name was a whisper. He was just right there, so close. So—
“I don’t give a damn where they are!” There was shouting in the hall, curses flying like the snow outside. “Everyone in the library! Now!” Dobson’s big voice boomed.
Ethan’s forehead fell against hers and he closed his eyes as the kitchen door swung open and James cleared his throat.
