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“It’s Mrs. Brooks,” I corrected with a smug smile.
“Maybe she kept her own name,” he suggested.
“She didn’t,” I called out as he walked toward the foyer and approached the door.
But instead of calmly opening it, the damn thing flew open like a storm had just blown in. Hurricane Blue. And clearly, I was the poor bastard in her projected path.
"You’ve got some nerve!" she shouted, stomping toward me like she’d been rehearsing this confrontation in the car.
Marshal followed behind her, hands up like he was trying to wrangle a loose animal. Marcus lingered, watching to see if I needed backup, but I gave him a small nod for him, and Marshal, to get lost. I could handle Blue alone.
Barely.
Without realizing they’d left, she got up in my face and started firing off again. "Do you even know what you’re doing? Do you even care? Did you do this on purpose?"
I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her. I wanted to calm her down, not because I was some saint, but because I hated seeing her so riled up.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
No I didn’t. But judging by her reaction, my confused silence only made things worse.
“Yes, you do!” she yelled before I could reply. “This isn’t some wild coincidence, it can’t be.”
"Was everything okay at the bar today?"
Wrong question. She flared again.
"Of course it was!” she snapped.
“What about your dad? Is he–”
“My dad’s fine, too. This has nothing to do with the bar or my dad. Stop trying to play dumb!”
I blinked once. Twice. Hell, I might’ve blacked out for a second because I had no damn clue what she was talking about.
She turned in a slow circle, breathing hard, looking out the window at the lake. Then she stared up at the ceiling fan, watching it spin like her thoughts were doing the same, and finally landed on me again.
“Who decorated this place?”
“Tammy Davis?” I offered carefully. Was that a trick question?
“From the fabric shop downtown?”
“You know her?”
“I may not be from Harmony Haven, but I’ve been crossing the tracks my whole life. I know a lot of people.”
She didn’t say it as a brag; it was more of a warning.
“She did an okay job,” I said, glancing around at the decor, wondering if they were friends and this was a set up. “Didn’t really care what it looked like. Just needed it furnished.”
She looked around a little more, her nose turning up at the pillows Tammy had picked out which matched the brown leather couch, which was definitely not stylish. After a minute of silence, she dropped onto the couch with a huff.
“This is my house,” she muttered.
“Well, dear wife,” I said, sarcasm in full force, “I guess for the next month or two, this is your house. If you want to redecorate, be my guest. You already want the pool table out of my library in Atlanta.”
