Page 13 of Accidentally Yours
As Ethan scanned the clue, Paige launched into her analysis. She thought it pointed to Gino’s—the candlelit tables, the deep-dish pizzas, the old wooden booth top in the entry etched with customer names.
“It’s got to be here,” she insisted. “But I’ve searched this place like a weirdo all afternoon. This is my second pizza. My fifth Coke. I’ll probably be up all night with caffeine jitters . . .”
Ethan barely heard her. His grandpa’s handwriting. The careful slant of each letter. It clicked.
His gaze snapped up to Paige’s. “I know where it is.” Relief surged through him, for the first time in days. “It’s not here.” He grabbed his jacket. “Come on.”
Paige blinked. “Wait—what?”
Ethan was already sliding out of the booth. He tossed a few bills onto the table and jerked his chin toward the door. “Trust me.” His pulse hammered as he turned to her, excitement buzzing in his veins.
Paige exhaled, grabbed her bag, and followed him.
Chapter Six
PaigewalkedbesideEthan,her tennis shoes scuffing against the uneven pavement of the dark alley. Brick buildings loomed on both sides, fencing them in. The sun had set, and the crevices around dumpsters and back doors stretched wider in the dim glow of distant streetlights.
There was no way she would have walked down this alley alone.
Her writer’s mind spun with possibilities—a heroine in danger, a villain lurking in the shadows, a well-timed escape, or a deadly mistake.
“You know,” she said, glancing at Ethan and his six-foot, athletic frame, “if you kill me, the cops will figure it out. You’ve got a motive now that I’ve shown you the clue.”
Ethan turned his head, amusement flickering across his face. “I’m not going to kill you,” he replied smoothly. “We’ve got a book to write, remember? Contract’s signed.”
Paige narrowed her eyes, trying to look intimidating. She wasn’t serious. Of course she knew Ethan wasn’t a threat, but the eerie setting made her nerves hum, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. The alley felt like the perfect backdrop for a suspenseful chase scene.
But unlike the scenarios playing in her head, the contract was real.
During the Uber ride from Gino’s Pizza, Ethan had called his editor, negotiated the changes Paige demanded, and within minutes, she’d electronically signed. Like it or not, they were in this together now—writing a book and navigating a scavenger hunt.
She only hoped Ethan actually knew where he was leading them. And that it wasn’t straight to their demise.
“We’re almost there,” he said, as if sensing her spiraling thoughts.
Paige shot him a skeptical look. “The clue is in this creepy alley? Are you sure? What does this place have to do with a hearth or pizza pies? I’m doubting your riddle-solving skills.”
Ethan nodded toward a staircase that disappeared underground. “The clue never said anything about pizza.” He grinned.
Paige stopped short. “Where are we going?”
Ethan halted and turned to her. He gestured toward the black metal railing framing the stone stairwell. Paige followed his gaze, looking down the stairs and expecting a dead end—or worse. But she spotted a wooden door, its small glass window aglow with warm light from inside.
“We’re going down there?” she asked incredulously. “Into the basement of some random building?”
“Trust me.” Ethan’s grin widened, a little too Cheshire Cat-like for her comfort. And no one should trust the Cheshire Cat. “It’s not some random building. It’s Midnight Sweets—a bakery that only opens in the evenings. My grandparents used to come here every Thursday for pie.”
“Pie? Like . . . dessert?” Paige hesitated. Her pulse picked up. Alice had been right. The clue wasn’t about pizza. It was talking about sweet pie. Paige had been researching every pizza place in the city, running down the wrong path the entire time.
“Every kind of pie you can think of,” Ethan replied just as the door swung open. A couple stepped out, laughter trailing behind them. Warmth and the hum of conversation spilled into the dark alley.
Maybe Ethan wasn’t leading her to her death.
“How long has this been here?” Paige asked, giving in and following Ethan down the stairwell. She gripped the metal handrail as she descended. “Why are there no signs?”
“Used to be a speakeasy during Prohibition,” Ethan said over his shoulder. “The bakery plays on that. No signs. No advertising. It’s strictly word of mouth.”
Ethan held the door open for her, and they stepped inside. The scent of buttered sugar and warm spices wrapped around her. The restaurant had exposed brick walls, wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and soft candlelight flickered over white-clothed tables. A glass case displayed an array of desserts—pies, cupcakes, cookies—while a bustling kitchen behind the counter churned out more.
