Page 13 of Hex Appeal

“Nothing.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m enjoying this way more than I should.

“I have to go,” Valerie says.

“You do?” I ask.

“Yes. Unlike some people, I have a bar to open.”

She gives Welles one last assessing look. “Nice meeting you, Chief.”

“You too.”

“No, it wasn’t.” With that, she walks away.

I laugh.

Welles watches her go. “She’s friendly.”

“She likes you.”

“I’d hate to see what she does to someone she doesn’t like.”

“Oh, you’d know.”

His mouth twitches. And there it is again. That almost-smile.

I wonder what it would be like to see the real thing.

Which is annoying, because he’s still a pain in my ass. A very attractive pain in my ass.

The festival stays busy for the next couple of hours. Welles wanders off to do whatever official fire-chief things one does at a fall festival, and I sell candles.

Lots of candles.

By midafternoon, I’ve barely sat down. My water bottle is empty, breakfast is a distant memory, and I’m trying to decide whether the granola bar at the bottom of my bag is worth abandoning the booth long enough to find it.

My stomach makes the decision for me. Loudly.

“Was that you?”

I jump. Welles is standing on the other side of my table.

“Maybe.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“There’s a large, angry squirrel under the table. It could have been him.”

“Whatever it is, it sounds hungry.”

“He’s fine.”

“So are you, apparently.”

“I’m working.”

“So am I.”