Page 81 of Once Upon a Lie

“Came in for a visit . . . and a rainbow bagel if you didn’t sell out.”

Teeny and Sunnie both laugh. “We already saved one for you! I was going to drop it off tonight,” Valentina says. “I know you love your rainbow bagels.”

“They taste different, I swear.”

She puts a finger to her lips. “Shh. You’ll give away my secrets.”

“So they are different. I knew it.”

She laughs and then winks. “A little extra vanilla.”

“Ahhh, so that’s what I like. They smell more like you.”

She snorts. “I smell like cream cheese and butter, and you know it.”

A second later, she notices the book in my hand and claps excitedly. “You’re reading Fourth Wing!”

“Don’t get excited,” I say. “Slow reader, remember?”

“Shane.”

“I’m trying, but I do really like it.” Honestly, I hate to admit how much I’m loving the story.

“Yesss!” She squeals in delight and her eyes sparkle like a diamond ring. “I knew you’d love the dragons and Xaden. Did you get to the Threshing yet?”

“Shh,” I chuff. “No. Don’t spoil it.”

Her giggle is melodic as Sunnie fights to keep up with customers, and when her wide eyes turn back to us, Teeny gets up on her toes, and I bend down, touching our lips together. “I better get back to work. Hang out and read in the shelves if you want. I’ll bring your bagel out as soon as I get a chance.”

I smile. “With brown sugar cinnamon cream cheese?”

She laughs. “Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem, baby.” She winks. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

No problem, baby. I’m glad you stopped by. Meanwhile, I’m on my way back from feeding information about her to the Feds.

Yeah. I am definitely getting in over my head.

No doubt, I should leave it there. I should walk out and let the moment settle. Make up some excuse of needing to do some stupid odd job helping a buddy fix a toilet and give myself the space to get my head right.

Instead, I pull my phone out to flirt a little more.

Because apparently I’m a fucking masochist.

She’s behind the counter again, laughing with Sunnie, flour dusting the front of her apron. She looks happy and safe and completely unaware that I’m actively unraveling two feet away from her.

I type before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: ​​So . . . about that date I’m planning. You free tonight?​​

My thumb hovers over the screen.

This is a bad idea.

And it’s a really bad idea because I want it.