Page 51 of The Roommate Lie

And all of them are Very Fun but Not Allowed.

I rein myself in. This is a rescue mission. I saw how upset Carrots was earlier, and she’s counting on me.

I shrug like I need to mull it over, but Alice already has a few ideas of her own. She pulls our list toward her and slides the pen out of my hand before tacking on her own little to-do list at the end of mine. A very different list.

1. Infiltrate the Old Birds

2. Unmask the Victorian

Treachery. Sheer out-of-towner treachery. I quirk my eyebrow at the formerly sweet redhead across the table. I didn’t think she had it in her.

“Alice Kilpatrick, what kind of a to-do list is that? Aren’t you supposed to be the good one? Have I corrupted you already?”

She suppresses a smile, but something lingers in her eyes. It’s an intensity I’m not used to, a little bit of anger laced with awhole lot of hurt. As if that newest scandal sheet upset her even more than I thought.

Alice can tell I’ve noticed the shift in her mood, but she tries to play it off. In big bold letters, she scribbles a breezy subheading above my portion of our list,Nice List, before adding a different title above her own.Naughty List.

My pulse skips. It shouldn’t—Alice doesn’t mean anything by it. The way she’s using them, those are holiday-song words. The kind you sing about Santa Claus in your elementary school auditorium while wearing fake reindeer antlers. They aren’t half as indecent as they sound.

Yet my entire body hums with electricity, as if Alice has placed a live wire under my skin. She doesn’t realize how those words sound until she sets down her pen, a hot-pink blush flooding her cheeks. She hesitates before looking up at me, and no one has ever glanced away faster or looked more guilty than Alice “Naughty List” Kilpatrick.

Which means I should probably let her off the hook like a gentleman.

Probably…

Chapter Twenty-Six

CHARLIE

“So”—I lean across the table toward Alice, not one ounce a saint—“tell me more about this naughty list.”

A deeper blush creeps down her neck, spreading across her arms as if all her freckles have caught on fire, and I’m a little too proud of myself for having that effect on her. A little too happy about the triumphant return of Bad Charlie.

But then I just feel guilty.

Thankfully, Alice ignores everything I said. Clearing her throat, she gets us back on track. “The Victorian lied about me. That stuff she wrote today, some of it wasn’t even true. I want to find out who she is—and I want to know why she lied.”

I must look confused. Alice reaches for the scandal sheet on the table, flipping to the part about us.

“The Victorian said we went to the Harris House together and bingo at town hall—which is true. But then she said we took a ‘moonlit stroll’ in the ‘wee small hours of the morning.’” Alice jabs the paper. “But all we really did was walk across your yard together from your art studio. And it wasn’t the wee small hours of anything. It was barely ten thirty at night. She lied about us on purpose. I just don’t know why.”

Because that’s what gossip columnists do.

They make everything sound as scandalous as possible. That’s their job. It’s nothing personal.

I should say that to Alice, but I don’t. She’s too upset, and I don’t want to make it worse by acting like it doesn’t matter, by pretending her pain isn’t real. She takes a second to collect herself, face flush. “I want to find out who the Victorian really is, and I think the Old Birds might know. They know everything about everyone; you said so yourself.”

I don’t know how to respond. In the entire history of the Lilac Hedgerow, I’ve never heard anyone utter those words. Nobody has ever talked about unmasking the Victorian, not even the Sharps. And those two are always up to something.

Alice keeps going. “She made it sound like you were up to no good, like you were some kind of town rake. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Sure,” I admit. “It bothers me a lot. I’m trying to get a full-time job in town, and the Victorian isn’t doing me any favors. But?—”

I trail off, not sure how to say this next part. How to admit I always feel like I deserve any bad press I get in Ponderosa Falls. I caused trouble here for years. Of course, the Victorian’s going to say those things about me. If everyone else is thinking it, she might as well write it.

It’s different when it comes to Alice, though. She just got here, and she hasn’t done anything wrong. If I feel bad for anyone, it’s her.

She hesitates, gesturing to our list. “I want to have fun with you while I’m here. I want us to do everything on that list, but what if spending more time together is a bad idea? What if the Victorian keeps writing about us, and it costs you that job?”

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