Page 7 of Harvest Maze

I jerked back at his terse tone. Jeezes. Did he have to sound so grumpy? It was just a friendly offer.

“Okay, well then, have a nice night,” I called out and stabbed my finger against the phone screen to play the show.

Rory had her nose in a book again, but even Lorelai’s antics couldn’t hold my attention.

My gaze kept shifting to the dark windows of the opposite house. Somewhere in there, the renter was eating his steak with the lights off. Alone. Like a barbarian.

Well that just won’t do….

What kind of welcome had the Cove given him if he preferred to sit in the Airbnb instead of going out on the town? It was Saturday night!

I told myself it was because I wanted the Calhoons to have a five-star review on their listing as I clambered out of my nest. The popcorn tipped and spilled in the blankets. But I hurried inside, silently promising myself I would clean it up later.

In reality, I would probably sit on the sticky kernels, forgetting they were there.

But that was a future me problem.

Right now, I was on a mission. San Pietro Cove was a tourist hotspot! The summer crowd vacationed on the Delaware River or the lakes. We had festivals for everything, promising charm and a laidback escape from the big East Coast cities, while letting the forests keep the Ravello secret.

I loved our home.

And the thought that anyone visiting here didn’t share that appreciation just didn’t sit right with me.

I grabbed a cute plate shaped like a maple leaf, put some of the still-hot apple cinnamon rolls on it, and poured the brown butter frosting over the top. I wasn’t going to frost them until morning, for the exact reason that the stiff butter cream now ran in melty rivulets over the side. But this was an emergency!

Arming myself with the food, I pushed back outside and marched to the back door of the rental property. But as I lifted my hand, a gust of wind huffed against my back. I was suddenly cold. My knuckles fell against the screen door, colliding and making a weak sound before my body could heed the otherworldly warning.

This is silly.

But the autumn wind begged to differ.

I’m just being neighborly!

The macabre image of the dead guy on my front porch flashed before my eyes. I half expected to find another body with how badly I shook.

“Just because he’s big and surly and eats in the dark, doesn’t mean he’s a killer,” I reminded myself firmly.

Not everyone was connected with the criminal underworld. And even if he was unpleasant, my cinnamon rolls were famous! They would cheer him right up.

Or so I hoped.

Chapter 5 – Demyan

The knock on my back patio door had me reaching for my gun. Svätých! I’d been too busy scrolling through posts after the agonizing process of signing up for a gods-accursed account. My steak sat untouched, cool by now. And someone had snuck up to the house.

My head was not in the game.

I took a deep breath and tuned my focus into the situation. The repeating rap-rap was from small, light knuckles. An intruder wouldn’t bother to knock. I pushed from the sofa, setting my laptop on the coffee table and closing the lid. That was the easiest way to make sure no one saw I was looking at pictures of Ivry Ravello.

Parting the blinds, I peered out the window, and my heart fucking jolted. Her. The bubbly neighbor. She was here. A delicious buzz flooded my veins. She was so cute in those fingerless gloves, plush sweater, and orange plaid jammies.

I groaned as I noticed her perky tits weren’t being held by a bra. I should ignore her. Pretend I wasn’t home. But my body had a mind of its own, and my feet tripped over themselves to make it to the back door.

The hinges creaked as I ripped it open.

Pretty little Ivry stumbled back.

I stood stock-still, drinking in the sight: hair cut stylishly short, eyes the size of saucers and free of makeup, and olive skin that still glowed from a summer spent in the sun.