Page 23 of Tell Me Lies

“Yet, somehow, I think you’ll still polish off a few.” I poke him playfully, unsure of how or when we got to this place where we can joke around and feel comfortable doing things like that.

“Damn right I will,” he whispers before looking at his daughter, checking that she didn’t hear his swear word. When he sees she didn’t because she’s too distracted by the case of cookies and treats, he sighs in relief. “I’m fixing to be broke if she keeps calling me out on my mouth.”

“You could just not swear.” I shrug.

As I step up to the counter, setting Amelia down in front of me so she can look at all the cookies, Logan leans closer, bringing his lips to my ear. “You’re one to talk. You write that straight filthy stuff, Boston.”

The hairs on the back of my neck come to a stand, and my breath hitches. My cheeks grow hot just as the girl behind the counter, dressed like an elf, asks us what we’ll have.

Swallowing, I put my hand on the top of Amelia’s head, running it through her hair. “Whatcha think, girl?”

“One of those, so I can go over there and decorate it.” She points from the gingerbread men to the bottles of icing sitting at the tables.

Everything looks basically the same as it did when I was a kid, making my heart ache a little as I think about me, my sister, and my parents, all together.

God, I miss my dad.

“This little girl and I will each take a gingerbread man.” I smile before glancing at Logan.

Before I get the chance to ask him what he wants, the girl looks at me. “And for your husband, ma’am?”

“Oh, um … no—” I stumble over my words, as if it matters if I correct this woman I’ll likely never see again. But for some reason, I feel the need to try to correct her in front of Logan.

Putting a hand on my back, he smiles at her when I crane my neck to look at him. “I’ll have two of the gingerbread men.” He gazes down at me, his lips turning up, and I’m close enough to see that damn subtle dimple that I’ve come to love. “You know what? Make it three. They look pretty delicious.”

Even though I set Amelia down to pay, Logan all but shoves me out of the way and hands his card to the cashier. Gathering our cookies, we follow Amelia as she books it to a table, excited to decorate her cookie.

“What color do you want, sweetie?” I say, nodding toward the green, blue, white, and red bottles.

“I’ll take red, thanks,” Logan says with a smirk, knowing damn well I wasn’t talking to him.

“Care to make this a competition?” I raise an eyebrow, pulling my cookie, a white bottle, and some sprinkles in front of me. “I’m sure Amy would judge. Wouldn’t you, girl?”

By now, Amelia’s cookie is completely saturated with green icing. And when she seems happy with the amount, she sets the bottle down, only to grab a handful of sprinkles and dump it on the cookie. “Yes, I will pick the best cookie.” She nods before picking her cookie up and taking a bite. It’s hard, but her little teeth finally get through.

“How is it?” Logan says, carefully putting some green on his own. “Magical?”

She doesn’t say anything, just simply holds up her thumb.

Logan nods once. “That’s good.”

He glances at me, wiggling his eyebrows up and down. “You’re going down, Boston.”

We don’t have much to work with, and I’ll admit, I can bake a mean cookie or anything else that doesn’t need to look fancy. But when it comes to presentation, that’s not really my thing. But I do my best, carefully squeezing icing from the small tip of the bottle onto my cookie. I glance over at Logan every now and then, but he always catches me and frowns, covering his cookie up.

“All right, finished.” He proudly looks down at his masterpiece just as I finish my own. “All right, my love, who is the winner?”

I glance at Logan’s and can’t stop the snort from my nose. Mine might not belong in a famous bakery, but his … it’s downright awful. He attempted to put on eyes and a smile, but they ran into each other, making his gingerbread look creepy.

“Daddy … Ifinkyou did good. But I like Maci’s better.” She reaches over, patting her dad’s arm. “Sorry, Daddy.”

His mouth hangs open. “Little traitor, you are.” He looks over at mine, waving his hand toward it. “What’s so good about that?”

“It’s pretty,” Amelia says matter-of-factly.

I shrug, giving him a cocky grin. Picking it up, I take a bite, basically chipping my tooth in the process. “Yum.” I cringe. “So … delicious.”

“Daddy, can I decorate these?” Amelia says, pointing to the other two cookies in front of her dad.

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