Page 137 of Falling for the Enemy

Back in the kitchen, she guzzled a glass of water. “Is the smell slightly better?” She sniffed. But her wishful thinking wasn’t changing the situation, and now she might have an odor of her own that needed attention.

She lifted her collar and gave her pits a subtle sniff. Not terrible, but not great.

“Joce.”

“Yeah?” She dropped her collar and turned.

Logan came through the door in a fitted Henley with his sleeves shoved up, ready to work.

The sight of a Hawthorne—any Hawthorne—loosened the knot in her chest. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Why are you all sweaty?”

“Long story.”

Simon raced by with an armful of balloons and string. “Hey Logan.”

“Simon, wait.” She grabbed him before he got involved. “There are more centerpieces in the boxes up front. Put one on every table.” She turned back to Logan. “Have you heard from Soren?”

“Not since yesterday.”

She tried not to stress, but it was hard not to worry something was really wrong or wonder how he could possibly think she wouldn’t need him. “Okay, how long can you help?”

“I’m all yours for about two hours. Then I’ve gotta get back to let King out and feed him lunch.”

Two hours was good. A lot could happen in two hours. “Perfect. I need you on twinkle lights and—Wait.” A vise clamped around her neck, shooting tension down her back. “Why are you on King duty?”

“Because Soren’s away.”

The room slid, and she suddenly felt like she was underwater. “Away?” she repeated.

“Yeah. Some business thing.” Logan unspooled the twinkle lights without glancing up, oblivious to the fact that the earth was tilting off its axis.

Like everyone else who read the town gossip column, he likely knew she and Soren were more than just friends at this point, but that didn’t necessarily make his absence a crime. Or did it? Like Logan, he was Greyson’s brother. He should be here helping out, shouldn’t he? Was she wrong to just assume he would be?

Her mind went back to the fact that not only wasn’t he here, he wasn’t even in town. “I thought the business thing was last night.”

“It was, but it’s up in Rhode Island.”

“Soren’s in Rhode Island?” she all but shouted with enough shock that several of the bussers paused. She lowered her voice. “When’s he getting back?”

Logan shrugged and plugged in a string of lights, testing to see if they worked. “He said he’d be here in time for the party.”

In time but not before. Check. Her panic shifted into something sharper she couldn’t fully name, but it felt a hell of a lot like irritation.

Rhode Island. Fucking Rhode Island?

Why hadn’t he told her he was leaving town? It now made sense why he offered to let her use his car.

The rotten fish odor, the lingering patchouli battling Esther’s vanilla essence in the entry, and now the stench of absolute bullshit combined into one thick, cloying breath.

“I need some air.” Jocelyn walked towards the door, then quickly turned back, prioritizing the problems that still needed solving—with or without Soren. “Wait. No. Logan, I need you to pick up some fish.”

“Fish?”

“Yeah. The freezer shut off last night during the storm and—don’t you smell it?”

He shrugged. “I grew up running around the docks. That smell doesn’t faze me.”