Page 59 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“You chose the longest bread emoji available.”

His mouth twitches. “Coincidence.”

“Sure, Cannon.”

He grins, and I hate how much I like seeing it. Not the bread joke, obviously. The ease behind it. Gage has been letting me closer by inches for weeks, and now he’s opening his home to me, bargaining over cat footage, and making dick jokes with bakery emojis like this is normal for us.

Maybe it is.

He waits, phone in hand, head tilted, so genuine, I know if I asked him not to post anything, he’d shut the phone off and never mention it again until I decided. Marzipan rubs against my leg, then flops dramatically onto my feet.

“Fine,” I sigh, crossing my arms. “But if your subscribers make it weird, I’m blaming you.”

“Princess, it’s just emojis. No names.” His features turn wicked. “Not weird—feral. They’ll spend all night trying to figure out who you are.”

CHAPTER 16

Gage

No names. That should make this safe. Relatively speaking.

I glance down at the six emojis beneath my thumb and reconsider several recent life choices. Not Jubilee. She remains an excellent life choice. But giving sixty-seven thousand people even the smallest hint that a woman is standing inside my house…

My house has always been the line. The internet gets the kitchen, cats, chickens, garden, and whatever fits inside the frame. They don’t get to know who walks through my front door.

Mostly because no one does.

Other than contractors and delivery people, only one person has ever been inside my house as a guest. And she insisted I shut off every camera before she crossed the threshold. I have a hundred and twenty-five pounds and two years on her, and she still scares me more than any monster I’ve ever faced down.

I could teach master courses in compartmentalization.

Now Jubilee York has walked in with half her life in a suitcase, stolen my most judgmental cat, and somehow already seems less like a guest than she did ten minutes ago. It’s dangerous—because I like her here.

And now I’m about to tell sixty-seven thousand people my life has changed without telling them what. Perfect.

I hit post.

+ Something is brewing…

Jubilee peers over my arm. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

She bends to rub Marzipan’s belly. The diva has offered it to me exactly once in four years. It was a Tuesday in February.

“And you think they’re going to make that weird?” Jubilee asks while the Persian purrs loud enough to make a Harley jealous.

Sweet summer child. “No, Princess. Feral. Prepare yourself.”

Within four seconds, my phone vibrates against my palm. Then again. Then continuously, notifications stacking too fast to read.

Jubilee rises and reads over my arm as comments flood the top of the feed.

WHO THE FUCK IS ?

Gage Cannon, who is the PRINCESS?

Is this a recipe or a WOMAN???