Page 50 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

When I get back from dinner at Quin’s house, Jake and I need to talk.

24

SEQUIN

Chime sprinkles cheese on top of the macaroni with a flourish.

“Bonjour, bonjour!” she says, and kisses her fingertips.

I smile. “Is that what chefs say?”

“Yes, it’s French.” She takes the spoon from me and stirs the pasta haphazardly, until some of the macaroni oozes outside the rim of the bowl. Moments like these always make me appreciate my omega mom. She let me bake constantly when I was Chime’s age. I remember how messy I was, and she never got upset. She used to put her finger in the flour or sugar or whatever I spilled, and then press it to the tip of my nose.

I scoop up the macaroni with my fingers and bring it to Chime’s mouth. “You have to test it to make sure it isn’t poisoned.”

Chime grins. We’ve been “testing” food for poison since she was old enough to hold a spoon. She opens her mouth and eats the macaroni right off my finger. “Mmmm. Not poisoned, Daddy.”

“Oh, good. We wouldn’t want to poison our guest.”

She jumps down off her stool. “I’m going to wear my best dress.”

“Chime, that’s just for weddings and funerals.”

“And parties. It’s a dinner party, right?”

I sigh. That dress is getting a little small for her anyway. She might as well get a few more uses out of it before she can’t wear it anymore.

“Fine. But only if you spin around for our guest to show him how it swooshes.”

She gives me this knowing smile that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world. It’s always been just her and me. My moms and brothers were a close second, not to mention Aunt Emerald, who I love as dearly as my moms, but at the end of the day, Chime is my everything.

It’s strange to think that someone else could join this little family we have.

She leaps toward the living room and dashes off, disappearing down the hallway. I do a quick check of the kitchen and dining room, picking up crayons and cups as I go. I stop when I get to the box of crystal goblets I bought while I was in town making deliveries today. I should take them out and wash them. Otherwise, we won’t be able to drink out of them when Slade gets here. I thought it would be nice to have something formal for the dining room table. But I’m not quite ready to open the box yet.

Instead, I get out the same old glasses we’ve been drinking from for years and set the table with those.

The doorbell rings. Chime scampers across the living room, still zipping up her dress in the back. Her long hair flies behind her, along with the ribbons of her dress.

“Hello,” I hear her say.

“Hi.” Slade’s deep voice makes my heart race.

“You can come in. My dad is in the kitchen. He’s cleaning up because you’re a guest. We have to clean the house when guests come over.”

The two of them walk into the dining area. Chime is holding Slade’s hand, guiding him toward the kitchen. He has a plate with a mysterious pink object on it.

What is that thing? It’s leaning to one side, and whatever is coating the outside looks more like a stain than frosting.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding out the dish to me. “In my defense, I didn’t know that you’re not supposed to frost a cake right out of the oven.”

I cover my mouth with my hand. “Oh. That’s a cake?”

His lips quirk up in amusement. “Something like that.” He looks into my eyes, and for a moment, I forget about Chime, and the murder, and all my worries about adding another person to our family. The pull Slade has on me is like a drug. I want to inhale deep and get lost in him.

But we can’t. I look away, nervously tucking my hair behind my ear. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Quin.”

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