“Oh, shots fired,” I say.

As she dips her hand into the tool belt for a screw, she says, “You think just because I’m a woman I’m not handy?”

I scoff. “That’s the last thing you can pin on me, sweetheart,” I say, and then I stop. Sweetheart? I don’t usually call her that. But, you know, it fits her.

She aligns the screw into the wood then says, “For your information, I learned from my mom.”

“Your mom, the surgeon?”

“Yeah. Funny thing is, surgeons play with tools, too. Scalpels, scissors, even, get this”—she pauses, and her eyes glint with wicked playfulness—“drills.”

I pretend to shudder. “Anyway, I’m impressed. I knew you could do the basics, but you’ve been keeping the extent of your handywoman skills a secret. Then again, you didn’t tell me for months you were a ninja.”

She laughs. “Not a ninja. Just a black belt, third level. And besides, I’m not trying to pretend I’m a master carpenter like you. I can get by, but I can’t hammer like Wyatt Hammer. You’re a master at hammering, right?”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “Like I had any other choice for a career.” I grab a drill bit from the toolbox on the floor. “Anyway, you cool with going to Vegas?”

She nods. “Absolutely. I’ve never been. It sounds like fun,” she says, then quickly adds, “I mean, not that we’re going to sightsee. We have work to do.”

“Hey, I’m sure we can find time to ride the rollercoaster or Ferris wheel or whatever you want. Play roulette, see a show. By the way, I meant it the other night when I said you deserve a raise. If this new job comes through, I’m giving you a ten percent pay increase.” I line up the cabinet door. She’s doing the same with the one next to me, when out of the corner of my eye I see the door start to slip.

On a fast track for her face.

In an instant, I’m behind her, my hands shooting out on each side of her, catching it before it swings wildly off the hinges.

“I got it,” I say, gripping the cupboard door in place.

“Shit. That almost whacked—”

“Your head,” I say softly.

She nods, her hair brushing against my cheek. That feels better than it should. Like, too good. “That would have sucked to have my face flattened by a cupboard,” she says, trying to make light of it, but she takes a deep breath, and her shaky voice gives her away.

“But you’re okay,” I say, since now’s not the time for jokes.

“Thanks to you. You moved fast.”

“Didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

My chest is sealed to her back. My crotch presses against her rear. My face is in her neck, and as I breathe in, the scent of Natalie floods my brain. I’ve never been this close to her, and she smells exactly like I’d expect her to. Fresh. Clean. Like sunshine.

Like I’m lying in a hammock in the yard, the grass newly cut, and she wanders over as the golden light of late afternoon halos her face. She slips into the hammock, yanks off her shirt, tugs down my zipper, and we fuck. A lazy, unhurried afternoon screw, with this woman who smells like sunshine.

I inhale her one last time, and her breath catches.

She makes a little sound, a soft oh, and that sound does something to me. Makes me start thinking. Start wondering. Start tripping down the dangerous trail of maybe Natalie’s hot for me, too. Maybe I’m not the only one nursing some lust. I swear I feel a shudder move through her body like a ripple in a lake.

“Be careful,” I whisper, and I’m not sure if the directive is for her or me.

“I will.”

“No face pancakes on the job, okay?” I say, and now I’m the one trying to make light of things.

I lower the cupboard door to the counter and back away. She turns around, looks down, sweeps a lock of hair from her forehead.

Neither one of us says anything more as we finish.

I reason if I can survive a day with her working beside me, I can handle a weekend trip.

What could possibly go wrong on a business trip to Vegas?

4

I’m counting down the days till we leave, but I’ve got enough to keep me busy. Like seeing my little sister and brother on the way to my volunteer shift at the dog rescue the next morning.

“It’s time to nix Elizabeth Lecter,” I tell Josie as I bite into the seven-layer bar she gives me.

Josie’s green eyes widen, and she slashes her hands through the air. “Does that mean you’re done? Like totally done?” She takes a seat across from me at a lemon-yellow table at Sunshine Bakery. This is our mom’s bakery, but Josie pretty much runs it now.

I point at the bar. “This shit is good,” I tell her.

She hands one to Nick, my twin brother, and shrugs happily. “I know. I rock at baking.”

“You might even be better than Mom,” Nick says out of the corner of his mouth, as if he’s whispering. “But don’t tell her that.”

Josie mimes zipping her lips, then points to my phone. The Facebook profile of one fake “Elizabeth Lecter” is on the screen. “You’re really ready to get rid of our pretend friend Elizabeth? Even considering what she accomplished after Sunday night’s episode?”

I slash a finger across my throat. “Time to kill her off, and all the others, too.”

“Go out on a high note,” Nick says, agreeing, as he rips off a chunk of the evidence of Josie’s unparalleled talent in the kitchen.