Page 75 of By the Book

“You can have anything you want,” I said. “Just name it. My fortune. My land. My literary estate.”

“Anything?” Bobby asked and nuzzled closer.

“Oh. Um, yes. Definitely. Anything.”

“Great,” he whispered. His breath was hot on my neck. “I signed us up for a Labor Day 5K.”

I shot backward, breaking free of his grasp.

“You said anything,” he told me with a shrug.

“Bobby, that’s not—you can’t—there wereimplications!” I lowered my voice. “About sexy times.”

“I’m serious about the 5K,” he told me as he turned me toward the house and steered me inside. “And if you thought this was bad, wait until you meet my parents.”

“Uh, was that supposed to sound as ominous as it did?”

“It was supposed to sound reassuring,” he told me. “Because we’re in this together.”

“Yeah, reassuring isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind.”

Laughter came from the billiard room, and when I glanced over, I caught a glimpse of the room on the other side of the pocket doors. Keme had stolen Millie’s hat—which was bafflingly enormous—and was playing keep-away. Millie was shouting, “GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!” in a way that threatened the structural integrity of the house, and Fox, in a hat that was only slightly smaller (and which featured a beekeeper’s mesh net), was shouting almost as loudly, “I’m trying to watchTeen Mom!” Indira was saying something to Keme—probably about not teasing Millie—but I couldn’t hear her for all the noise.

Instead of heading straight into the melee, which is what I’d been expecting, Bobby turned me toward the den. When we stepped inside, he shut the door behind him.

“Okay, this is even more ominous,” I said. “Wait, are your parents here?”

“Are they in this small room that we’re currently in?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man.” I lowered my voice. “Would they like it if I said something like that?”

Bobby looked like a man drawing on inner reserves of equanimity. He reached past me to the mantel and picked up an envelope resting there. Then he held it out—but something in his face warned me not to take it yet. “I understand that I have a tendency to, uh, take more ownership of relationship problems than might be healthy.”

“Oh my God, Bobby, what did you do?”

“Nothing. Yet.” Then that goofy smile slipped out. “I didn’t get a job as a night watchman. I didn’t tap into my surfing fund. I didn’t even sell any of my sneakers.”

“Uh, were you seriously going to do that stuff?”

“I know it’s a mistake to believe that I can fix things if I work harder. The same way I know it’s a mistake to believe I can do everything on my own.”

“But I’m not trying to do everything on my own. That’s what’s so genius about my plan.”

“You keep talking about this plan,” Bobby said. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m going to turn Hemlock House into a bed-and-breakfast.”

Bobby stared at me.

“I got the idea from Stewart. Before I realized he was a murderer.”

“Stewart suggested making Hemlock House a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Well, not exactly, but it was in the ballpark. I mean, he probably wouldn’t think it was in the ballpark, but that’s how genius works—free association, you know.”

One of Hemlock House’s big, expensive clocks ticked away the seconds.

“Dash,” Bobby said.

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