A Teeny Bit of Trouble Read Online Free Page B

tonight.”
    “Can lawyers give advice to their girlfriends?” I swallowed. Was I still a girlfriend?
    “I’m not worried about an ethics violation. Barb told me she was going to leave the little girl. I believe she went through with that threat. I don’t know how the masked man figures into it. Maybe we’ll find out when Barb turns up.”
    I looked into his eyes. Why was he so calm? Normally he was a worrywart. Always scanning for danger. He kept a stash of extra batteries in the pantry, paid his taxes before they were due, and stopped at yellow lights. Hurricane instructions were taped to his kitchen wall. I didn’t know what had made him this way, but I knew he longed to be different.
    He stared back at me, his irises changing to pure gray. His gaze said, Stick with me, Teeny. I’m trying to change . Just last week, we’d driven to the Battery and traffic was backed up. He’d swerved down a one-way street, knowing full well that his truck was going in the wrong direction. He’d gritted his teeth, ignoring the honking horns. When he’d finally turned off King Street, he’d flashed a one-sided grin. “See?” he’d said. “I can break the rules.”
    But I just wanted the truth, not a whole different man.
    “Let’s get Emerson settled in the guest room.” He stepped closer, and his sweatpants brushed against the front of my rubber suit. “Then you and I will sort everything.”
    Sort everything? Coop had lived in England for several years, and he’d picked up weird phrases from his ex-wife, a gorgeous British archeologist. I’d found out about Ava O’Malley the same way I’d found out about Emerson—by chance.
    “Sort it yourself,” I said, pulling away from his grasp. “I’m going home.”

 
    three
    Fifteen minutes later, I was back on Rainbow Row, barricaded on the third floor of the Spencer-Jackson House. Sir was nestled beside me, the burglar alarm was set, and a walnut dresser blocked the bedroom door.
    But I still didn’t feel safe. I’d never been comfortable in this mansion. It’s real pretty, a pink stucco with gray shutters, one of the most-photographed places in Charleston. Inside, the rooms were filled with priceless objects that dared me to break them. I was clumsy, better suited to a house with muddy floors and battered furniture. But I knew one thing: beauty isn’t the secret ingredient of a warm, welcoming home. I didn’t know what that ingredient was, but I was determined to find it.
    Sometimes, though, when I baked supper for Coop, a sweet, butter-crust aroma wafted through the air, shimmering like notes in a gospel song, and a peaceable feeling wove through me. During those moments, I felt right at home in the Spencer-Jackson. Smells are real important to me.
    Tonight, those fragrances were gone. The bedroom had a closed, musty odor. Lightning shivered behind the windows, showing a glimpse of shape-shifting rain, then the sky turned dark again.
    I shut my eyes and imagined myself in The Picky Palate. If I bought it, I’d add a new recipe to the menu: I’m-Scared-to-Try-New-Things Tilapia would go nicely with Orange-You-Glad-You-Took-a-Risk Marinade. This sauce calls for 1 cup orange-flavored liqueur, ½ cup blood orange juice, and ½ cup peach juice. Whisk until smooth, then add: ¼ cup blood orange zest, ¼ cup finely chopped, skinned peaches, 4 garlic cloves (peeled and minced), 4 tablespoons stone-ground mustard, ½ cup safflower oil, 1 teaspoon sea salt, and 2 tablespoons chopped fresh pepper. Add ¼ cup chopped herbs, such as Italian parsley and lemon thyme. Serve over pan-fried tilapia.
    Coop loved tilapia. But he was on Isle of Palms and I was on Rainbow Row.
    Get a grip, Teeny . I opened my night-table drawer and pulled out my emergency stash of Reese’s Cups. As my teeth sank through layers of peanut butter, I reminded myself that food had brought me and Coop together. When I was an itty girl, Aunt Bluette had taken me to an Easter egg hunt at the Bonaventure