I Knew You Were Trouble - Cassie Mae Page 0,17
from Australia.”
I bark out a laugh and ease toward the front door. “I see.” My glove slips on the door handle. “And spiders were what color again on your list?”
“Blue.”
“Perfect.” I give her a grin. “This’ll be lesson one for you, then.”
Her brow furrows at me, and she stops her pacing. “Blue is up there in the danger zone, Pete. It’s a degree below indigo.”
“Which is below purple.”
“Violet.”
“Whatever.” I push on the door handle and open it for her. “It’s low enough for you to go in there and kill the beast.”
Her eyes turn to perfect circles, and I hold in a laugh at how adorable that expression is. She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t want to kill it.”
I lean against the doorframe, the warmth from her house relaxing my shoulders. The scent of apple pie hangs in the air, and boy am I craving some of that.
“You want to be its friend or something?”
“No.” She frowns and cranes her neck to peek inside the open door. “I just want it… out of my house.”
“With this weather it’ll just climb right back in.”
“You can release it by the gate.”
“Me?” I bring a hand to my chest. “No, no… This is your assignment.”
“I can’t carry a spider all the way to the front gate.”
“Can you carry it outside?”
“No.” Her voice takes on a high-pitched squawk that gets a bolting laugh out of me. She takes a quick step forward just to smack my arm before she jumps away from the open door.
“Look,” I say, rubbing the spot she hit, “I’ve been out in this for a good twenty miles.” I gesture to the falling snow. “I’d really like to get inside.”
She makes a face, showing all her teeth and all her worry wrinkles. Her gaze drifts slowly to the door, her breath fogging out in quick bursts. “You first.”
I’ll take that as an invite to go on in. I kick my shoes off just outside; she probably doesn’t want my muddied up boots all over what I’m assuming is a pristine interior. My socks are pretty damn soaked as well, so I slip them off and lay them out. They’ll either dry or freeze by the time I leave.
“He’s in the kitchen,” she says over my shoulder, pushing up on tiptoe to get closer to my ear. I startle from the warmth of her breath and the warmth of her house, my fingers burning as soon as I get inside.
“Cool house,” I say, taking in the farm and cabin vibe. The rug looks freshly vacuumed, the wood floors without a speck of dust on them. I’m grateful for my instincts, because no way in hell would my muddy boots be allowed in here.
“Yeah, yeah,” she chatters behind me, her body tucking in awfully close. “Go get it.”
I chuckle. “But how will you learn?”
“Pick anything else off the list.”
“You want to talk about sex?” I snorted coffee through my nose when I saw the number one fear on her list, coded in the ultimate fear color, purple.
Sorry… violet.
Her brown eyes bug out at me, and she shakes her head hard. “I meant more of the red-orange range.”
“Can I ask why red is used for the lowest danger and violet for the highest? Kinda backward, don’t you think?” I shrug my coat off and reach over her to set it on the horseshoe themed coat rack near the door.
“That’s how I do things.” Her gaze juts to the side, and I follow it to the kitchen.
“Well, either it’s the spider or we chat about the beast with two backs.” My mouth splits in a wide grin, knowing exactly what she’ll choose. “Tick tock, Miss Rebel.”
“You’re so not playing fair.”
“I was hired to push you out of comfort zones.” I put my hands on her shoulders and twist her toward the kitchen. “So… push.” I lightly shove her forward, her feet stumbling over each other. A squeal escapes her, and I stifle a laugh so I don’t get a swat in the arm again.
“Oh gosh,” she breathes, shaking her head and taking a voluntary step toward the kitchen. She snatches the decorative bowl with wooden balls in it and dumps the contents onto the red and tan couch.
“Is that gonna be big enough?” I tease.
“Shut up.” Her head swivels left and right before her gaze lands on the piano. She rushes over, plucking a single piece of sheet music from the bench. She faces me, armed with a music page and a wicker