Page 73 of Windlass

“I don’t see it. Oh. Okay, here we go. What part do you need?”

“The vinaigrette dressing.”

Stevie listed the ingredients while Angie snatched them from the granite countertop and measured. All the while, the temptation to navigate away from the recipe to Angie’s messages grew stronger and stronger.

If she was wrong and the picture was old, she’d have betrayed Angie’s trust. If her fears were right and Angie had sent that picture after they’d started their . . . arrangement, she’d have betrayed Angie’s trust and hurt herself in the process. Looking was a lose-lose scenario, and yet . . . Her thumb hovered. She read off the next instruction. Something about whisking.

She didn’t need to read any of the messages, just confirm the photograph. Angie couldtalkto whoever she wanted; Stevie couldn’t bear sharing her body. She couldn’t. The thought made her want to scratch off her skin like a reptile.

“Stevie?”

“Huh?”

“What next?”

“Actually, Ange . . .” She set the phone down and tried to breathe normally. There was still time to drop it. She didn’t need to drag them into this. Things were good, and that was what mattered. “Never mind.”

Angie set down the whisk and searched her face. Those hazel eyes were so lovely in the evening. “What’s up?”

“It’s not important.” Why, why,whyhad she said anything at all? She was such an idiot.

“Then tell me.”

In one breath, merging some of the words, she said, “Lana showed me a picture you’d sent her.”

Angie’s face paled. “What picture?”

“Just a topless shot. But she implied it was recent.”

“I have not sent her anything.”

“Okay.”

They stared at each other.

“I’m not trying to control you or anything,” Stevie began, “I just want to know if I’m—how invested I should let—” she broke off. “I’m not phrasing this right. It’s your body. I know that.”

Angie picked up the phone. Her thumb flew across the screen, and then she was standing beside Stevie, scrolling through her messages with Lana.

“You don’t need to show me,” Stevie said, feeling shittier and shittier.

“This one?” Angie paused and flashed the screen at Stevie.

“Yup.” Resisting the need to curl in on herself was taking supreme willpower. “Ange—”

“May thirteenth,” Angie read, and flipped the phone for Stevie to confirm. She saw the time stamp. Relief poured down her spine.

“You really didn’t need to. I trust you. I would have believed you.”

Angie shoved the phone into her pocket, and Stevie read the suppressed anger in the motion. “That’s not true.”

“Have you ever lied to me?” Stevie asked Angie. “About something big?”

“Yes.”

Stevie flinched. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“I’ve lied to protect you, you idiot.” The last was said tenderly, and Angie approached her, anger dissipating.

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