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Chapter Fourteen

Lake

“Hey,” Baxter shouted from the living room. “Are you one of those weird people who like pineapple on pizza?”

I grimaced and checked my watch for the third time. “Erm…”

Baxter appeared in the doorway. He’d made himself at home and was barefoot. He showed no signs of the strain that had dogged him earlier in the day, which was good. No, better than good. It was great. He grinned at me. “It’s not that tricky a question.” He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “Would asking you about the history of pineapple on pizza be better?”

“How would I know something like that?”

Baxter studied me, eyes narrowing. Then he laughed. “You do, don’t you?” Reluctant heat crept into my cheeks. He raised one eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Well, it wasn’t created in Italy. Nor in Hawaii, like many people think.” Baxter lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged, his back propped against the doorjamb. I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting comfortably for my story.”

“Get up.” I hooked a hand beneath his elbow and tried to pull him upright, but he batted my hand away.

“Story first.”

“A Greek man created it in Canada.”

“Did this Greek man have a name?”

“Sam Panopolous. He had his own restaurant, where he and his brother used to experiment. The name came from the tins of pineapple they used.”

“What year was it created?”

I desperately wanted to claim that I didn’t know. Baxter didn’t really care; this was just about him proving he was right. “1962,” I mumbled.

He tipped his head back and smiled beatifically up at me. My cock chose that moment to register that he was a) hot, which I’d already known, b) at crotch level, and c) close enough that he’d only need to lean forward for his lips to brush my groin. I saw the moment Baxter plucked the thought straight out of my head.

“Oh,” he said, “I—”

“Don’t,” I said, holding up a hand. “Just… don’t.”

He climbed to his feet, nodding. “So… pizza? I was thinking about getting a delivery from that place on Tottenham Court Road. The one that won an award a few months back. Pineapple optional.”

I made the mistake of checking my watch again, Baxter immediately homing in on the gesture. “Am I keeping you from something?”

Lie or tell the truth? Except he’d know if I was lying. He probably already knew I was thinking about doing it. “Erm… I said I’d meet Glenn. We were going to see if we could do better than last time. Which, given that requires nothing more than me staying put and not chasing after someone else mid-meal, shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Right. Of course.” Baxter was already backing away, something in his eyes looking suspiciously like hurt. I only had a second to register it before he spun on his heel and disappeared into the living room.

I swore under my breath and followed him, finding him on the sofa, socks already on, and working on his shoes. “I can call him and reschedule,” I suggested. “I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll tell him something came up.”

Baxter glanced up at me from beneath his fringe. “You ran away from him on the first date. You cancel the second one. Is he really that understanding?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know Glenn well enough to say either way. All I knew was that it felt like I was deserting Baxter on what had to be the second-worst day of his life, the day of his murder presumably ranking first. In my defense, when we’d agreed to dredge up the past, I hadn’t known we’d spend most of the day in the place it had happened. And I’d organized the date with Glenn before that.

“If he is, you should probably marry him,” Baxter said.

“We’ve been on one date. I think it’s a bit soon to be talking about marriage.”

Baxter laughed as he stood, shoes now fastened. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve spent way too much time around necromancers and their damn fated mates.”

“Fated mate?” I followed him as he grabbed his jacket.