Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

I growled, releasing the drill and slipping the eye screw in, winding it.

I twisted and twisted, using every bit of strength I had to get it as tight as I could before climbing farther up the ladder—the full thirty-two feet—and straddling the top of it, doing the same on the ceiling, near the original output for the light.

The ladder teetered under me, and my heart skipped a beat, but I worked fast, screwing in the eye and then fisting it and pulling, testing my weight.

It was still no indication that it would hold the chandelier, but at least it held something. I was never content to just carry the blueprints. I liked helping in the construction.

And I loved to work alone. I thought that was why I favored the small projects at the firm. The more personal renovations.

Descending the ladder, I secured the rope to the chandelier, carried the rope back up the ladder, and threaded it through the eye hook on the ceiling, and then came back down, moving the ladder to the wall and slipping the rope through the other eye again.

I stepped back down to the floor, wrapped the rope around my hand, and dug in my heels, pulling strong but slow. The shards jostled and sang as they tapped against each other, but the chandelier didn’t even leave the floor.

Shit. I almost laughed at the muscles I thought I had whe

n I thought I could do this.

It had to be a quarter of a ton. Breathing hard, I tried again, using my weight to pull and pull, but there was no way. Even if I got this off the floor, I couldn’t hold it.

“No, I’m coming!” I heard Rory growl.

I jumped. “Rory!” I called, dropping the rope and standing up straight. “Rory, can you come here?”

The next thing I knew, he was standing in front of the door, shirtless and sleepy-eyed like he’d just woken up.

Planting his arms on both sides of the doorway, he cocked an eyebrow but didn’t ask me what I was doing. Pretty sure he never gave a shit.

“Can you help me?” I asked, pointing to the chandelier. “It’s too heavy for me to—”

I heard him laugh, and then I looked back to see him gone, not even letting me finish my sentence.

Dick!

If he and Micah helped, it would take ten seconds. Did he have somewhere else to be today?

I twisted my lips to the side and studied the chandelier, trying to figure it out. There was always a way to solve the problem.

There was always a way to accomplish something I needed to accomplish.

Or… I smiled to myself, a lightbulb popping on. A way to get someone else to do something I needed done.

I wondered…

Dropping my tool belt, I left the ballroom and headed to the kitchen, immediately pulling out the butter, eggs, sugar, and all the other ingredients I had memorized from when Grand-Mère had me do the baking after she got too weak. She loved the smell in the house and wanted it to be part of my memories, so that when I inhaled the scent of sugar cookies or banana bread, I’d remember the happy times with her and my mom.

After pre-heating the oven, I dug out a couple of pans, a bowl, and began mixing the ingredients, stirring them into glossy, chocolate heaven, the smell reminding me of most of Octobers after a morning at the farmer’s market, while my dad raked the leaves outside.

I placed both pans in the oven, took an apple out of the bowl on the counter, and ate it, waiting.

The kitchen warmed, filling with the rich smell, and I could feel the hairs on my arms rising as my stomach growled.

“What the hell is that?” I heard Micah finally say down the hall.

I beamed inside but bit back my smile, hurriedly spinning around with my oven mitt as the timer went off. I pulled one of the pans out of the oven.

Setting it on the cooling rack, I stuck a knife in the middle and pulled it out, making sure it was cooked all the way through.

Micah entered, followed by Alex and Rory, and Micah’s gaze locked on the pan, climbing up on the counter like a cat and sexy crawling right for the sweets. He inhaled deep, closing his eyes. “Is that…?”