Page 58 of Once Upon a Lie

“So, important question,” I venture over my shoulder, gathering the courage to stop concentrating so hard on saying the perfect thing, as he follows me toward the counter. “Did you start Fourth Wing yet?”

He pauses mid-step, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I literally bought it yesterday.”

I gasp. “And?”

“And I’ve read . . . five pages,” he admits. “Maybe ten if I’m being generous.”

Not even the whole first chapter? How? How is that possible?

“Shane,” I chide, turning my back to the counter and hoisting myself up to sit on the surface facing him.

“What?” He laughs. “That felt like a solid effort.”

“I can finish that book in a day,” I tell him. “Two if I’m being responsible and eating meals.”

He lifts his coffee in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll speed up. But I’m rusty, remember? It’s going to take me a day or two to limber up.”

I snort, shaking my head as I move behind the counter. “You’re lucky it’s one of my favorites and I’m downright desperate to get everyone in the whole world to read it, or else I’d probably revoke your bagel privileges.”

“Not the bagels,” he says, deadpan. “My stomach couldn’t handle that kind of devastation.”

“Sit.” I gesture toward the stools at the counter and then move to sit on one, too, rather than lounging atop it like a stage performer. If I don’t, I’m afraid it’ll feel like I’m looking down on him and waiting for him to empty his pockets of singles. “You’re hovering like you’re waiting for permission.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, taking a seat and setting his coffee down. “Should I be nervous?”

“Only if you don’t trust my judgment in carbs,” I say, already reaching for a towel.

“My trust in you and carbs is untouchable. If bagels are the church, you are my Lord and Savior,” he says.

I narrow playful eyes at him. “Those are dangerous words, sir.”

“Well, I love to live dangerously, Teeny. You know that.” He winks, and it’s so charming I almost forget to fake rolling my eyes.

“All right, then. Prepare thyself for the gates of heaven, my son.”

After a quick trip to the back to prepare, I return to the counter and my guest with two plates—rainbow bagels slathered with brown sugar cinnamon cream cheese, still warm from the oven. I love the way colors swirl bright against the white plate, like something out of a kid’s imagination.

“I’d like to formally introduce you to our rainbow bagel.” I set one in front of him. “It’s a bagel delicacy, with our special recipe, of course, topped off with homemade brown sugar cinnamon cream cheese.”

“Rainbow bagel, huh? I thought I was an Asiago guy.” He eyes it with a little smirk on his lips. “This is . . . colorful.”

I laugh, sliding onto the stool beside him. “You are an Asiago guy. But when you Mission: Impossible onto my balcony, I owe you the most delicious thing on my menu, and this, my friend, is it.”

“It’s that good?”

“Honestly?”

He looks at me for a beat.

“It’s better.”

His responding chuckle is rich and stomach-flutter inducing. “Well, shit. I’m intrigued.”

“Less talking, more eating, Shane,” I tease, and there’s a smile on his lips as he takes a big bite.

Instantly, his eyes close in bliss. “Okay, this is ridiculous. Jesus, Teeny.” His eyes pop open to meet mine. “Like, holy shit, this is good.”

“Not to brag, but I know.” I sip the coffee he brought me from Dunn Coffee and take a bite of my own bagel, pretending not to stare at him.