Page 66 of Dead Man's Hollow
Amy smiles. “That’s sweet.”
“The paper didn’t change anything. Bastian and I were meant to be together. He was my first boyfriend.”
Amy chokes. The only thing that stops her from doing a spit take is the knowledge that she’ll be the one scrubbing red wine out of her white carpet if she spews it.
“What?”
“Bastian wasnotyour first boyfriend,” Amy informs her sister.
“He wasn’t?” Chloe is wide-eyed.
Amy reconsiders. “Well, he might be your firstboyfriend.But he definitely wasn’t yourfirst.”
It’s Chloe’s turn to choke.
ChapterThirty-Six
When Rich pullsinto his driveway, he’s glad that the house—hishouse, he reminds himself—is already full of people. It means Amy doesn’t argue when he walks through the front door like he owns the place—which he does. Instead, she smiles tightly and allows him to kiss her cheek. After he makes the rounds, saying hi to his sisters-in-law and their husbands and grabbing a donut from the tray in the kitchen, he rounds up the kids and herds them down to the basement. He has an old arcade game down there. Amy bought it from a bar’s going out of business sale for his thirtieth birthday. It hasn’t been plugged in for close to a decade, but when he inserts the plug into the outlet, it lights up and the music plays.
The kids cluster around, and Evan explains how to play. For a moment, Rich stands off to the side and watches them clamor for their turns, jumping and laughing. Then he stretches, placing his hands on the small of his back and bending backward to work out the kinks. He groans softly. Brett’s pullout couch is not back-friendly. He needs to talk his way back into his own bed, and fast.
He’s about to head back upstairs to see if he can grab Amy for a quick conversation when Ava shouts for him. “Dad! Come play against me!”
He can’t pass up the invitation. He cracks his knuckles and grins. “Get ready to lose, sucker.”
Maisy swivelsher head toward the door with a grumpy, bleary-eyed look as Jordana unlocks it and walks in, a travel mug in each hand.
“Good morning!” the younger woman chirps.
Maisy grunts and holds out her hand. Jordana places one of the mugs in it.
“Your liquid dessert, milord.”
She takes a swig of Jake’s finest caramel mocha latte and shakes her head. “It’s milady, Jordana. How many times do we have to go over this?”
“My bad,” Jordana giggles as she sips what Maisy knows is bitter black coffee. If only she’d gotten to the girl before Sasha brainwashed her.
Jordana’s gaze falls on Heather Ryan’s diary. “So?!”
Maisy shakes her head. “Typical teenager piffle. It doesn’t amount to a hill of beans.”
“In English, please?”
Maisy sighs heavily, unwilling to be jollied out of her mood. “It’s silly. She uses some personal shorthand, so none of the names make sense. But even if they did, you’d want to stick a fork in your eye rather than read it.”
Jordana holds out her hand. “Let me see.”
Maisy slaps the diary into it. “Knock yourself out. In the meantime, I’m gonna drink this beautiful beverage and put on my face.”
Jordana drops the book. “No, let me.”
Maisy turns toward her. “What?”
The younger woman raises both hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m just saying, you had a makeup artist and a hairdresser for years at the station. Now, your hair is gorgeous, no question. But your makeup tricks … Maisy, they’re dated.”
Maisy huffs so hard that she wonders for a moment if actual flames shoot from her nostrils. But since Jordana doesn’t scream and take cover, she assumes not. “Fine.”
She’ll indulge Jordana. She can always wipe it off and start over.
