by Eryn Scott
I nodded. “She’s doing great. Thanks to you.”
I tried not to think about how close we’d come to losing her. Luckily, Stephanie had proven to be a true botanist below all of that anger and angst, and had wanted to try out a different poison with Fergie than she had with Dr. Campbell. She’d swapped that quick acting Western Water Hemlock, for its slower-acting cousin, plain old Poison Hemlock.
If she hadn’t wanted so badly to observe how the different poisons affected her victims, the stomach pump and IV probably wouldn’t have been enough. I shivered at the thought.
It hadn’t hurt that we had found her so quickly. Or that Alex had sent his dad our location as we’d been running toward the willow.
Alex shook his head. “You’re the real hero. I think my dad is secretly impressed.”
I chuckled. “If he is, he’s burying it pretty darn deep.” The stoic detective had seemed like he was about to burst a blood vessel when I’d recounted everything I’d done before leaving the station. “He wasn’t very happy about all of the accusing.”
Alex smiled. “To do a great right, do a little wrong.”
Gasping at the quote, I looked at the book Alex had been holding. “The Merchant of Venice.” A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth as I met his gaze. “You read it?”
He nodded. “I wanted to see what all of this Shakespeare hype was about.” He motioned to the paperback. “I picked it because I liked the sound of the whole ‘pound of flesh’ part.”
“And?” I asked.
“It wasn’t bad,” he conceded. “That Shylock guy was pretty awesome.”
I scoffed. “Shylock? Portia gives one of the most beautiful speeches in all of literature during the trial and you remember stab-happy Shylock?”
Alex’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Come on, mi pimienta. The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.”
My whole body hummed at the sound of that nickname again. A small squeak escaped my mouth as my lips parted. Okay, Liv had been right. He was totally lickable. Why boys didn’t spend all of their time memorizing Shakespeare was beyond me.
“What does that mean? Mi pimienta?” I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping it didn’t have anything to do with picnics.
He smiled. “It’s your name. Pimienta is Spanish for Pepper.”
He’d called me, my Pepper. “Okay, so you speak Spanish and memorized some Shakespeare.” I let my gaze drop to my boots. I tried to shrug, to feign indifference, but I was not above the sceptered sway of the sexy, self-satisfied smirk he was sporting when his eyes met mine.
“I’ve had a little time recently.” He tipped his head as he stepped closer, his hand still on my shoulder. “Needed something to keep my mind off certain things… and people.”
Swallowing, heart in my throat, I nodded.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Guess what else I finished.”
I had to take a measured breath to make sure my voice wouldn’t be all fluttery. My fuzzy brain managed to latch onto the title in the fugue of my feelings.
“A Tale of Two Cities? What did you think?”
He nodded, his dark eyes sparkling. “Lovely and heartbreaking, just like you said.”
I let out a little squeal and grabbed his hand, pulling him with me to the nearest table. I plopped down and rested my chin in my hands as I leaned forward.
“Who was your favorite?” I asked. “No, wait — don’t answer that. I want to guess.”
Alex laughed as I scanned the ceiling in thought.
“Well, there’s Sydney — of course.”
“Of course.” Alex nodded, watching me.
“But Madame Defarge is kind of wonderful in a terrible way.” I immediately bunched up my nose, at my own mention of the literary villain.
I had actually been thinking about the idea of villains a lot in the past few days. There was such a big part of me that felt sympathy for Stephanie. The woman had looked so broken when she’d found out the truth about the non-existent affair.
My voice sounded thin and small when I finally said, “Stephanie didn’t know her mother had started the conversation, she didn’t know they’d never gone through with any of it.” I shook my head. “She must’ve found Fergie’s letter somehow. Don’t you feel kinda bad for her?” I croaked.
Alex reached forward and took my hands in his. “I don’t believe anyone’s purely bad or purely good. Actually, I agree with you. Some of my favorite characters are flawed and do terrible things. It’s what they do in the end that shows their true selves.”
I moved my fingers against his, loving the feel of my skin against his. “You really think she’ll be okay?”
Alex scoffed. “I wasn’t talking about Stephanie. She’s literally the worst, Pepper. You remember when she held us at gunpoint, right?”
I laughed, wobbling my head from side to side. I had to give him that.
“No,” he said. “I was talking about Madame Defarge. Actually, my mom thought she was really interesting, too.” My face must’ve crumpled in confusion, because after a few silent moments, he added, “She read a lot of classics. Had a list of the ones she’d finished and notes on how she liked it, which characters were her favorite, which scenes she loved or hated. That’s why I’m reading through them. Makes me feel closer to her.”
It had been a long and emotional few days and Alex’s sweet confession about his mother almost brought me to tears.
“She would’ve liked you.” His deep voice folded around me.
He leaned forward across the small two-seater table and reached his hand up to brush gently across my cheek. My eyes locked onto his, then his soft lips met mine, making my eyelids flutter closed and my shoulders relax. I couldn’t resist my feelings for Alex any longer and honestly, I didn’t want to.
The kiss only lasted for a few glorious seconds, but they were enough to make all of those sappy Shakespeare sonnets suddenly feel totally justified. When he pulled back, his lips were quirked up into a grin and I couldn’t help but do the same.
The room was still feeling slightly wobbly, though, and my brain searched for an anchor, something to ground me. That was when I noticed the lamp. Small Dark and Red. We were at my perfect-date table. Everything was perfect.
“I’m sorry.” Alex’s voice was a little hoarse, which made me feel better. At least I wasn’t the only one reeling. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I whispered.
But there was a pained expression marring Alex’s face and he shook his head. “I am. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Suddenly it all came back to me: why I didn’t want to date guys from college, Michael moving on, everyone leaving me behind. My heart felt like a book cracked right down the spine. Oh no. I’d gone and done it all over again.
“You’re leaving?”
His jaw tightened as his eyes scanned my face. “Yeah.”
I pulled in a deep breath. “Well, that sucks.”
Alex chuckled. “No Shakespeare quote for this situation?”
Oh, just about a billion. No one did angst better than The Bard. But at the moment, I didn’t feel like quoting anyone, which spoke volumes about my condition.
He sat back, appearing to take my silence as a “no.”
“When?” I asked.
“Two and a half weeks.”
I felt hope deflate from my body, leaving me a sagging mess. That was even sooner than I’d feared. “But the end of term isn’t until December.”
“The only classes I’m taking are online and they’ve got an opening at the academy, so… I have to head south for a few months.” He pursed his lips to one side, making the corner of his mouth disappear into an adorable dimple.
“A few months?” I blinked.
His face fell. “I know, it’s terrible timing.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “No. I mean – you said, ‘a few months.’ You’re coming back?”
I had just assumed he’d be leaving like everyone else. But he was planning on coming back! Toes scrunching in the wool socks I’d bunched into my boots this morning, I felt a quote fill my mind like color returning to pale cheeks. “Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.”
The sly look on Alex’s face made me wrinkle my nose.
“Sorry, I thought that was going to sound less… like an innuendo,” I said.
He laughed.
I shook my head. “It’s also from Othello, which is really not the vibe I think we’re going for here.” I motioned in between us with my hand.
Alex didn’t seem to mind my less than eloquent wording and his grin only widened. Then his hand was slipping behind my neck and he was leaning forward again, letting those Sonnet-worthy lips meet mine. I breathed him in and closed my eyes.
It was a kiss worthy of the end of a story. But I hoped it was the beginning of a new one, instead.
Don’t miss the next installment of the Pepper Brooks Cozy Mysteries, Literally Murder.
A Farewell to Blondes
When a young woman shows up dead in Campus Creek, amateur sleuth Pepper Brooks is warned not to get involved. She’s fine with that. The last thing she needs is to upset her maybe-boyfriend Alex, the newly minted cop.
It’s her final quarter of college; she’s immersed in Hemingway and planning her future. But when two more fair-haired women show up drowned, Pepper literally can’t stay away. Especially when her best friend may be the next one For Whom the Bell Tolls.
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About the Author
Eryn Scott lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their quirky animals. She loves classic literature, musicals, knitting, and hiking. She writes women’s fiction and cozy mysteries.
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www.erynwrites.com
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