Page 134 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“I regret nothing.”

A phone buzzes somewhere near the worktable.

Wes checks the screen. “Pizza.”

I lift my head. “You ordered pizza?”

“Before you came upstairs.”

Roman looks impressed. “Confidence.”

“Planning.”

Wes goes downstairs and returns carrying a pizza box, bottled water, and napkins. He sets everything on an empty section of quilt, safely away from the archive materials.

We eat cross-legged beneath the stars. My dress is crooked, Roman’s hair is a disaster, and Wes has the expression of a man who believes he has completed a difficult assignment to an exceptional standard.

I steal the last piece of pepperoni from his slice.

His eyes narrow.

“You were too slow.”

“You can barely sit upright.”

“That doesn’t affect hand speed.”

Roman lifts his water in a toast. “To Scarlet’s remarkable survival instincts.”

Wes takes the pepperoni back from my fingers and feeds it to me.

I glare while chewing.

He looks pleased again.

Roman folds the empty pizza box. I brace one hand on the floor and begin to stand.

Wes catches me around the waist before my knees finish objecting. “What are you doing?”

“There are four unopened boxes.”

“They will remain unopened.”

“I have momentum.”

“You have jelly where your legs used to be.”

Roman lies back on one elbow, watching us. “Technically, she has enthusiasm. Momentum requires movement.”

I try to step around Wes, but my thighs tremble.

He lifts me. The room shifts as he gathers me against his chest.

“I can walk.”

“No.”

“We have discussed your relationship with authority.”