Page 66 of The Murder Club

“Say hello to Pauline for me.”

* * *

The next morning Dom was showered, dressed, and seated at the kitchen table consuming a large slab of cake when Bailey made her entrance. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a Pike High School sweatshirt with her hair pulled into a ponytail. She did nothing special to attract his attention, but Dom felt as if the world had transformed the moment she appeared.

Suddenly, the morning sunlight was a bit brighter. The chocolate on his tongue tasted a bit richer. And the caffeine from his morning coffee was racing through his blood a bit faster. Then she smiled and he melted.

Just like that.

The only thing that was marring her intoxicating beauty were the shadows beneath her eyes. They revealed her night had been as restless as his own.

Reaching the table, she gazed down at his plate with a lift of her brows. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious about cake,” he assured her, licking his fork.

“For breakfast?”

“You eat doughnuts,” he pointed out. “And pancakes.”

She considered his perfectly reasonable response before giving a nod of her head. “True. I’m a convert.”

“That was easy,” he murmured as she headed to the counter to grab a plate.

“It’s cake,” she said, cutting a large slice before grabbing a fork and joining him at the table.

“Not just cake. A celebration.”

She scooped up a large bite. “What are we celebrating?”

“Being here. With you.”

A hint of color brushed her cheeks as she tried to pretend she wasn’t pleased by his words.

“Hmm. I suspect you would find any excuse to eat cake.”

Shoving aside his plate, Dom folded his arms on the table and leaned forward.

“Actually, I always had a very specific purpose,” he confessed. “When I was young my mom would bake a chocolate cake when my father took off with another woman. She thought we were missing him and she wanted to give us a special treat.”

She took another bite. “I’m guessing you weren’t missing him?”

Dom prepared himself for the usual discomfort in discussing his past. He’d rather walk over hot coals than reveal anything about his childhood, but with Bailey it was easy to share. Probably because she was studying him with genuine curiosity and not the condescending pity that set his teeth on edge.

“Not only did I not miss him but for me, the cake was a celebration of freedom. Without Remy around I didn’t have to worry about some new disaster forcing us to flee our home.” He paused, recalling the nights he would lay in his bed, dreading the sound of pounding on the door. “The only disappointment was when he returned and my mother welcomed him back with open arms.” He grimaced at the harsh edge in his voice. “That sounds terrible when I say it out loud.”

“It sounds honest.”

Dom shoved aside the painful memories. He wasn’t going to ruin this moment.

“It’s also honest when I say that chocolate cake will no longer remind me of my life in France. It will now forever be connected to Bailey Evans dancing around this kitchen with frosting on her chin.”

The color in her cheeks deepened as she sent him a chiding frown. “That’s a lie. I might have been dancing, but I didn’t have frosting on my chin.”

“You did.” He reached out to scoop a glob of frosting from her cake and smeared it on her chin. “It was right here.”

“Hey.”

The word had no doubt been intended as a protest, but it came out as a breathy invitation.

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