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“No. Somewhere more private.”
Oh, crap-zilla.
Maybe he reallyisdumping me right here, right now. Just like Liam did all those years ago, because what the hell do my pesky little feelings matter when a big important man has an agenda?
But Dexter isn’t like that.
…is he?
Sarah’s still staring, and so are a couple patrons between slow sips of coffee. I summon a flimsy smile and pull my apron off.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Oliver, who nods with wide eyes.
At least Emmy’s in the kitchen so they won’t all see—whatever shit show’s about to go down.
It’s weird not feeling invisible. Today, I’m as conspicuous as a big ugly zit, and the attention is just as welcome.
“You don’t have to be so abrupt, you know,” I tell him as he leads me outside with one hand pressed impatiently to the small of my back.
I sink into the weight of his hand helplessly. He wouldn’t touch me like that if he was about to dump me.I hope.
“People will talk,” I say.
“Let them,” he clips.
I pull away from him and stare into his eyes, dusky blue mirrors revealing nothing.
“Dex, what the hell? Why are you here?”
“I wouldn’t drop in like this if I had a choice. Sorry.” He sighs and urges me forward. “Will you just get in my car?”
I fold my arms again, squeezing harder like I can lock up my heart and all its inconvenient feelings with just enough pressure.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as you get in.” The car automatically unlocks and he ushers me into the passenger seat.
Something pink catches my eye.
There’s a Sugar Bowl box sitting there, a little crumpled with cream smeared across the edge and what looks like a mess of cake inside.
I grab it for a closer look as I slide inside the vehicle.
“Um, what did you do? What’s this about?”
“That’s what I want to talk about, Junie.” He shuts the door as the rain picks up, spitting against the windshield, hissing in the silence between us. “I was here when the men from the golf course came for their order. I followed them to Haute’s clubhouse. I went looking for your goods, but it turns out the food isn’t there to be eaten.”
I look at him like he’s started spewing Coptic Greek because it makes just as much sense to me.
“Huh? I don’t understand.”
“I snuck inside. I stole one of the boxes and found these inside your cupcakes.” He opens a napkin and shows me a bunch of numbered plates, barely bigger than coins. “Someone shoved these inside.”
“…they what? They messed with my cupcakes? Why? What about the rest?”
I’m reeling.
“I’d guess they’ve fucked with everything else, too, or else they’re planning to. Now, I don’t know what they are. Don’t know what they’re for, but it’s clearly nothing good. And almost certainly illegal.” He rakes a hand through his hair and rests the napkin on his thigh.
