Chapter Three

Matt worked a twenty-four-hour shift the day after the fire and Lexi didn’t go in on weekends, but they’d texted, and she’d seemed okay. Of course, that was easy enough to pull off in print. He realized a bit belatedly that he wasn’t sure what to expect across the breakfast table Monday morning.

Certainly not a stirring of interest when she walked past, trailed by the berry-melon scent of her shampoo. This was far from the first time he’d noticed how her hair smelled, but it was the first time he’d been so distracted by it that he’d almost burned the pancakes. Hastily, he scooped the food from the pan and piled it on a plate that he slid across the table. “I haven’t hit them with the fire extinguisher yet,” he quipped.

“Thanks,” she said, eyeing the dark one on top. He should have put that side down, like that would have kept her from noticing. “I’m good with just the butter and syrup, though.”

He grinned, and for a moment they had their routine back.

Breakfast harkened back to the morning after they’d closed on their homes, with their identical, mirrored floorplans on adjacent lots. Even then he’d known the world would be a safer place if he handled the cooking, and it had been kind of fitting that they’d start that new chapter together. They’d been sharing chapters for as long as he could remember.

In return, Lexi did his laundry, and seeing as how she left most of his stuff looking like it had been professionally cleaned and he was only a passably decent short-order cook, he probably came out on top of that deal.

Waffles wandered in, sniffed at Lexi’s plate, then walked past to his own bowl. Matt stifled a laugh. The mutt wouldn’t eat anything from Lexi—not even dry dog food poured straight from the bag. A person had to be pretty bad at food prep when word even had gotten through the animal kingdom.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked.

She gave a small smile over a forkful of butter, syrup, and pancake that threatened to dive off her fork at the slightest provocation. “Like I’m going to steal your pillows when I go back home.”

“That good, huh? I might need to remember that.”

She shot him a dirty look, though her eyes gave away her amusement. “No need. As previously stated, they’re going home with me.”

He grinned. “Your Airbnb guest rating is tanking, FYI.”

“Noted.” Her phone dinged, and his gaze automatically diverted to the screen. He didn’t see anything before she flipped it over—to be honest, he hadn’t really looked so much as glanced in the direction of the noise—but he couldn’t miss the troubled haze that filled her eyes.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Good.”

Well, add that to the list of awkward moments. Was she really okay? She was normally pretty straightforward, so he should have believed her, but for whatever reason he didn’t, and that just worried him more. But he didn’t want to push her, so he changed the subject.

“The guys were talking about hitting the diner tomorrow night,” he mentioned. “You in?”

She responded by stabbing her fork into about fifteen pieces of cut pancake, then not so much popping as lodging the pile into her mouth. After chewing for approximately two years, she swallowed and met his eyes. “I have a date tomorrow night.”

He stared, waiting for the punch line, but it didn’t come. “On a Tuesday?” he finally sputtered. “How?”

She polished off another bite with a flourish he appreciated. Over the course of his many first dates, he had gathered that women thought eating must be some kind of turnoff, because most ate very little. Lexi was not one of those women. She was, however, stalling. He was sure of it.

“What do you mean, how?” She asked, fully back in morning form, piercing him with a look that suggested he should keep her away from pointy objects. And justifiably. He cringed as he realized how his question had sounded.

“I meant…where did you meet him? Anyone I know?” His recovery sucked.

So did her news.

“I joined a dating site,” she said.

“You what?” He didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She met his gaze without flinching. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because serial killers are on those things.” His immediate response didn’t answer her question, but he had no answer. His thoughts trailed back to the fancy lace bra dangling out of her duffel—the one she’d said hadn’t been put there for Matt—and suddenly it made sense.

Terrible sense.

She frowned, the implication clear that she had gotten past any angst she’d entertained over her confession. “Serial killers do not provide all their personal information to a website so they can be tracked. Ted Bundy wasn’t on a website.”

He watched her pulse flutter at her throat and realized she wasn’t as comfortable as she wanted him to think. Did she think she needed his permission? Did she want it? “Ted Bundy never had the internet. Had that been a thing then, he probably would have created his own app,” he said. “And tell that to the guy who went on that dating show in the seventies. National television, Lexi. Had been killing people for a decade, and he puts on a really bad suit and wins the date.”

“I don’t actually want to know why you know that,” she said, the bluest eyes he’d ever seen meeting his in a defiant stare. “And surely you don’t background check everyone you go out with. You could be buying beer for serial killers left and right.”

“I doubt it. Statistically speaking, most are men.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Your dates?”

“No. Serial killers.” He sighed. “I just want you to be careful.” That much was true.

She wordlessly swept her last bite of pancake through a puddle of syrup on her plate, popped the dripping mess into her mouth, then carried her plate over to the sink and started rinsing dishes. Somehow she didn’t soak the front of her shirt like he always seemed to do, and he wasn’t sure if he found that annoying or intriguing. Either way, it wasn’t the time to ask for tips.

Finally, she put away the orange juice she’d left on the counter, easing his tension a notch. But only a small one, because he’d gladly let it sit there all day if she’d shelve her plans to meet strangers from the internet. Which bothered him almost as much as her thwarted intent to keep him from finding out. What was she going to do? Have some loser drop her off at the end of the block and hope he didn’t notice her coming home in her high heels and… Lexi didn’t really wear high heels. Would she start? He groaned inwardly but the effort to hide it was wasted. She was ignoring him, talking instead to the dog, who managed after a few of her soft murmurs to shoot an impressive side-eye in Matt’s direction. He didn’t buy the coincidence. Waffles had long preferred her for everything but his meals, probably because Matt insisted on walking him while Waffles and Lexi had more of a leisurely relationship. In other words, they watched rom-coms and shared bowls of frozen yogurt.

Only when Lexi grabbed her keys and purse off the counter did she spare him a glance. “No worries, Matt. What are the odds of me almost burning my house down and going out with a serial killer in the same week?”

She scratched the dog’s head, then breezed through the door and off toward work without a backward look. He waited to answer until he heard her car start.

“Anyone else,” he muttered. “Slim to none.” He left the rest unspoken, and feeling unsettled, he headed out for a walk with a reluctant nearly two-hundred-pound dog whose look of disdain when he saw the leash suggested he’d already taken sides.

And definitely not Matt’s.