Page 7 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“The one where you leave the room without moving.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re lying.”

“Professionally speaking, I’m good.”

His expression stays mild. “Avoiding the truth doesn’t become healthy because you phrase it like a police report.”

I shoot him a look that should end the conversation. It doesn’t

Roman’s thumb brushes once over the inside of my wrist. The contact pulls me fully back into the bakery, along with his cardamom and cinnamon. The warmth of him has meant home longer than any address we’ve shared.

“You slept wrapped around me last night,” he says.

“That is irrelevant.”

“You also stole the blanket.”

“You run hot.”

“You had your face buried in my neck.” Roman’s expression is perfectly innocent, but affection runs through the bond between us, warm and familiar. Roman has never been afraid of loving me.

I lift his hand and press my mouth briefly to his knuckles before letting it go.

“Better?” he asks.

“No.”

“Liar.”

A quiet laugh comes from somewhere near the counter.

I look up.

The redhead is trying not to smile.

Junie sets one of the cold brews in front of Roman. “Are you visiting for the festival?”

“Work,” I answer.

Roman gives her an apologetic smile. “We’re investigating some incidents in the region that may connect back to Sweetheart Haven.”

Junie’s hands pause for half a second before she keeps pouring. “Incidents?”

“Bond related.”

The bakery hushes in that small-town way where nobody actually stops talking, but everybody starts listening. The redhead’s fingers tighten around her lavender drink.

“We’re trying to understand why cases involving GatorX are showing signs of permanent bond damage,” I say.

At the drug’s name, Junie’s face closes.

The curvy blonde loses every trace of her earlier playfulness. “No one here takes that trash.”

“I’m not implying they do.”

“So what exactly are you implying?” Junie asks.