Page 112 of The Candlemaker

“So, it was good news?”

My half-brother and his partner at GC Holdings were reviewing my offer and would be in touch within the week to finalize the details. The last three years of my work had been for this moment, but for some reason, the news didn’t feel as good as I expected.

But I didn’t want Frankie to worry, so I reached for her hand over the console, pulled it to my lips, and murmured, “Yeah.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Frankie

“I’d like to make an accusation.”

Everyone turned to Chandler, his narrow eyes moving around each person seated on the living room floor.

“Be careful, Chandler. This group is very clever,” Gigi warned from her perch on the couch, excluded from the game during the last round because of a wrong guess.

“I think it was Mrs. Peacock in the dining room with the lead pipe,” Chandler forged on, his tipped smile confident as he reached for theTop Secretfolder in the center of the Clueboard.

I knew he was wrong before he slid the cards out; I had the lead pipe card in my hand.

“Shit,” he muttered a second later and shoved the cards back in the small envelope while Lou and Harper high-fived, Max and Violet shook their heads, and Jamie and Mom just stared each other down, their competitiveness almost ascomical as the way Gigi was always the first one out. “I was so sure…”

I bit into the side of my cheek to keep from smiling. Failure looked adorable on him. Everything looked adorable on him. I swallowed a groan, wishing I could blame these thoughts on pregnancy. I did—I would, but I had a feeling in another five months, I’d look at him, the big, bad billionaire sitting on the floor of my mom’s living room, agonizing over a game of Clue with my family, and still think the same.

I was in love with him.

The man who didn’t believe in my ghosts. The man whose touch gave me an out-of-body experience. The man who made candles for me when the scents made me sick.And the father of my baby.

“All right, Frankie, you’re up.” Jamie kept order during game nights.

“It was Mrs. Peacock in the dining room with the candlestick,” I declared and reached for the envelope, Chandler’s gaze pinned hotly to me. A second later, I smiled and laid out the three cards in the center of the board. “I win.”

“Of course you do,” Chandler muttered, a small smile toying with his lips. “With the candlestick, no less.”

I stuck my tongue out at him playfully, but the look in his eyes when I did it made my skin feel like tinder, catching aflame on the heat of his want. Nothing like feeling as though I were on fire in the middle of the living room, burning in front of my entire family.

For him.

Because I loved him.

“Winner cleans up,” Harper said and pointed to the large charcuterie board next to her; it was one of three that had been passed around during game night, everyone picking as we played.

“Yeah, yeah.” I grabbed it with a winning smile on my face, but before I could make it to the other two, Chandler had already grabbed them.

My pulse fluttered. Like my cards, I’d kept my emotions close to my chest. I’d let them swell and strengthen over the last two weeks since he’d said the words to me, but every time they felt about to burst, something held me back.

We went into the kitchen, followed by Gigi, who’d asked Lou to help her with some jam in the basement.

I went to grab Ziploc baggies from the drawer when Lou came rushing up the stairs and darted through the kitchen, her distress as explosive as a firework.

“Lou, wait!” Next I knew, I was following her into the hall and grabbing her arm.“What is it?”

She shook her head and tried to tug her arm away. “Nothing.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Not nothing. Tell me.”

Her lips pulled together, the flutter of her eyelids exaggerated underneath her glasses. It took a few seconds, but finally, her shoulders dropped, and she said quietly, “Now I know how you feel.” Before I could ask, she lifted her arm and unclenched her fist, a crumpled paper in the center.

No, not a paper.I took the label from her hand, my chest tightening as I unfolded it and read Gigi’s handwriting, the single word stained with a tear.

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