12
“Iwould ask how you slept last night, but I can smell the answer.” Clay entered the suite. “Blueberries?”
“Blueberry scones with lemon icing,” I confirmed. “I misread the recipe and ended up with three dozen.”
One of the many dangers of midnight baking, though no one ever complained about the extras.
“That’s guaranteed to be the best news I hear today.” He kissed my cheek then shoved me. “Go sit.”
The gleam of the overhead lights off his scalp raised my eyebrows. It wasn’t often he went au naturel.
“Only because you asked so nicely.” I slogged to the table. “I couldn’t turn my brain off last night.”
A dozen scones stacked on a plate landed in front of me before Clay returned to the kitchen for milk.
His big hands juggled three full glasses with ease, and he set them at our places. “Did you talk to Colby?”
“I did.” I smiled goofily. “She told me she misses me.”
“I know how she feels.” He plopped down across from me. “You leave a big hole when you’re gone.”
“Black holes are like that,” I said sagely. “Sucking everything into them and leaving nothing behind.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He kicked me beneath the table. “I hope it won’t be another decade until I see you after this.” He bit into his first scone and moaned. “Please never leave me again.”
It hurt to make him no promises, but I was wary of my good fortune, and it hadn’t slipped my notice that the director had yet to contact me. It left me uneasy. I couldn’t think of a reason for his silence, and that bothered me.
Unless he was hoping to trick me into believing this time, living under his auspices would be different.
Hey, I might have been born at night, but not last night.
As I washed down my second scone, I couldn’t help noticing the empty chair. “Where’s Asa?”
“Brushing his hair.” Clay snickered into his glass of milk and almost shot it out through his nose. “You did a number on him, Dollface. I told him not to sleep on it, but he fell asleep texting. I tried to help.” He sipped again, this time with a pinky held straight up. “Apparently, I have a heavy hand with a comb, and I don’t know how to brush real hair that’s rooted into a person’s actual scalp.”
Way to hit Clay right in the feels. Asa would be paying for that comment for a looong time.
Which was the only reason I didn’t press for details about who Asa might have been texting so late.
Wiping my hands clean, I tried for a neutral tone. “Does he need help?”
“I’m sure he does.” Clay narrowed his eyes on me. “And you’re not going to give it to him.”
Oh, yeah. Clay was pissed about the hair comment. No wonder he had gone bald today.
“The thought never crossed my mind.” I checked the time. “We need to get on the road soon.”
Grumbling around yet another scone, he asked, “Still antsy about Olsen?”
“Kept me up all night.” I shoved my plate aside. “I can’t put my finger on why it bothers me so much.”
That admission earned me a solid frown. “You didn’t get any weird vibes while we were there, right?”
“Not a one.” I sipped my milk to wet my throat. “It didn’t hit me until I read the Kellies’ report.”
“Must have triggered something in your subconscious.”
“Must have.” I couldn’t shake the jitters. “It feels like I’ve got ants in my pants.”