They reached the bakery booth and Levi paid for two funnel cakes. He quickly maneuvered to the edge of the market, away from the bulk of the crowd. “I’m starving,” he admitted as he handed her a plate. “I am too.” She took a big bite. They had left in such a hurry, they hadn’t thought to eat a quick lunch, and she certainly hadn’t had time to pack one. The flower booth had been so busy that taking a break hadn’t been an option. The sinfully delicious concoction of deep-fried dough and sweet powdered sugar seemed to melt in her mouth. She hummed in delight. “Rachael was right. These are appendlitch.” Levi said nothing for a moment. His eyes seemed to be glued to her mouth. She belatedly realized she must’ve made a spectacle with all that powdered sugar. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” She quickly swiped at her face. When his lips quirked, she realized she’d used the hand that had been holding the powdery funnel cake. “Here,” Levi said. “Let me help.” He gently brushed one cheek, then the other. He hesitated a moment before saying, “You have some…here.” His finger gently brushed the corner of her…

WHEN THE POUNDING STARTED, Ryan Sorensen glanced from the television to the front door and then back again, settling deeper into the faded recliner. Rain beat against the roof of the cottage situated a few blocks from the beach near the town of Magnolia, North Carolina. The Carolina Hurricanes were up by one goal against Detroit with five minutes left in the second period. He was warm, dry and as comfortable as his injured leg would allow. Nothing good would come of answering an insistent knock on a stormy night. His jaw tightened as he imagined what his father would think of him ignoring a person potentially in need of help. Ryan had been taught from a young age that he owed the world something, no matter what the world handed him in return. The lesson had led, in a roundabout sort of way, to a bullet in his leg a month earlier and a colleague and friend dying in his arms. It had been one hell of a difficult pill to swallow. He figured whoever was outside his door would give up eventually. Minutes later the door rattled on its hinges as the pounding increased in intensity. “Hello?” a…

MARTHE Chavaniac-Lafayette December 1940 “She was only fourteen when she married?” Anna asks, as she helps me cart a box of research books into the tower chamber with its crystal chandelier and abundant natural light. I’ve been telling her about what I’m learning for my new series of sketches, and she asks, “Can you imagine being ready for marriage at such a young age?” I don’t even know that I’m ready now, I almost say. I might not have accepted Henri’s proposal if not for the war. I certainly wouldn’t be taking on a project to make the preventorium over in Adrienne Lafayette’s image. And I wouldn’t have a fancy studio like this. I wouldn’t want to sculpt stone here—the dust would get into every crevice of the canopied bed and antique furniture—but it’s a perfect place to sketch. It looks like the preventorium’s president took most of her belongings with her when she returned to America in the summer of ’39—but she left behind some books on the shelf, old hatboxes under the bed, and framed photographs on the wall. The books are a mix of Shakespeare’s plays, Balzac’s novels, and Anatole France’s poetry. The hatboxes are filled with…

The announcer started the final countdown, and a buzz went up among the hovering guests. Claire smiled at people as they stepped in front of her, but then looked around them to lay eyes on one of three extremely pricey items up for auction. Items that were small enough for someone to walk away with. A man stood in front of the pair of diamond earrings. The woman with him smiled as he wrote his name slowly. Next was a sapphire-and-diamond tennis bracelet where a lone woman was also writing her name. Then there was a Victorian brooch that was previously owned by some famous woman Claire didn’t know. The starting bid was twenty thousand dollars. But at last look, the bid was nearly double that. It, too, was where it needed to be. “Three, two, one. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to step away from the auction to enjoy the rest of the evening.” With the final direction from the announcer, she heard the first chords of a guitar strummed from the stage. The band hired for the evening welcomed everyone. The coordinators for the event started to push in as the guests dispersed. Her gaze ignored…

Joachim set about tidying up the plates and glasses for the housekeeper, who’d arrive the following morning, and encouraged the Graham siblings to get the last few dances out of their system in the salon. He carried an over-heavy armful of crockery backward through the swinging door to the kitchen and nearly dropped the entire load when he caught sight of an unfamiliar blonde man draped over the old oak kitchen table. The chap gave a rude hand-gesture. “För i helvete. Du lämnar.” “I beg your pardon,” said Joachim, bluff and friendly, pretending as though he hadn’t nearly had a heart attack. “I didn’t know any guests were still here.” He lowered the stack of dishes into the sink without incident and wiped his hands on a tea towel before turning back around. But there was no one there, nor was the door to the kitchen still swinging. Peculiar. There was no time to be concerned because a howl of indignation came from the living room came such that Joachim would have run to see what was the matter—if his ankle was willing to be run on. An old battlefield injury precluded that, but Joachim was still quicker than most—even…

Welcome to LEARNED REACTIONS, the second in my Higher Education series. You got a chance to meet Carlton and get a brief glimpse into Deion in LEARNED BEHAVIORS, but there’s a lot of emotional turmoil mixed up in their almost twenty-year friendship. Carlton is convinced all he wants from Deion is friendship…until Deion takes him at his word. Playing like everything is okay is the name of Carlton’s game, and as you can see below, Deion’s not sure whether to pay attention to Carlton’s words or his actions. Enjoy! Excerpt: He must’ve gotten lost in the conversation, because he didn’t hear the door open until Carlton dropped his keys in a bowl. Deion startled and dropped the phone. It landed face-up, the profile picture of the guy smil­ing up at them. Carlton frowned, crossed the short distance to the couch, picked up the phone and glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly. “Everything okay?” Carlton asked, his hand outstretched. Deion snagged the phone and sat up to make room for Carlton next to him. “Yeah.” His voice sounded like he’d gargled with glass. He coughed, trying desperately to clear his throat, then spoke again. “Yeah, I’m fine. Really.” Carlton’s disbelief…

My cell phone rings and I tear my gaze from the darkness to eye Chuck’s number on caller ID. “What do you have for me?” “I emailed you an encrypted file that has a lot of random data you should find helpful. As a point of interest though, I cross-referenced a connection between Roberts and the victim and found nothing.” Nothing means nothing with Chuck. He’s that thorough. “I went further than requested,” he continues, driving home that thought. “I cross-referenced his family, his ex-wife, his cases, looking for anything that matched up to the Summer case. There’s nothing there.” “There was a ‘professor’ noted in the file. Do you have anything on him?” “Yes, I saw that and checked it out, but there’s no one that I can connect to Summer or Roberts who fits that title. Not obviously at least. It could be a nickname.” A nickname’s an interesting premise, I think, but we need to rule out the real deal at this point. “Look up professors with a literature and/or poetry connection. I’m sure you noticed, but we don’t have much of a description.” “Right. I have the description in the file, which is pretty nondescript and…

She was being as silly as Laura. Dorothy frowned as she placed the hat on her head for what felt like the hundredth time, tilting it ever so slightly to the left. It wasn’t as if she were about to meet the president. All she was doing was going for a walk. There was no reason to fuss so much over her appearance. Today was the fourth day since Brandon Holloway had come to Mesquite Springs, and it seemed that both he and Laura had fallen into a routine. Each day Brandon came to Polly’s Place for his midday meal. Each day Laura kept peeking out the kitchen door, almost as if she didn’t trust Dorothy to tell her when he arrived. And when he did, she insisted on taking Brandon’s meal to him, returning to the kitchen with the same report: there was no question about it; he was the man she was meant to marry. Finally satisfied with the angle of the hat, Dorothy secured it with two of her prettiest hatpins, then descended the stairs. Once a quick look confirmed that nothing in the kitchen needed her attention, she opened the back door and stepped out into…

Lily reached behind her and held up a Ziploc bag. “I put these aside specially for you.” “Score!” Fist-pumping, Noah jumped off the stool and plucked the bag from her fingers. He then grabbed her waist and started twirling her around the kitchen. “You totally rock!” “Put me down, you idiot, before you injure yourself or me,” Lily laughed breathlessly. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” Dante’s tone was mild, but the brittle edge cut through the light-hearted atmosphere like a warm knife through cold butter. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Lily disentangled herself from Noah and stepped back to the counter, although she had no reason to feel guilty. Dante had no claim on her. Besides, there wasn’t the slightest spark between her and Noah. The man who made her pulse race wasn’t the one whose arms she’d just been in, but the one watching her with a muscle twitching in his jaw. She picked up the squeeze bottle and began icing again. Her hand shook a little, making the white lines of the ‘M’ a little wobbly. Unwilling to show how rattled she was, Lily gritted her teeth and continued with the…

Ava was still daydreaming about her lunch with Hunt and didn’t think to check the rearview mirror before heading home. It wasn’t until she was pulling up into her drive that she caught a glimpse of red and then a car pulling in behind her. When she realized it was Vince, her heart stopped. She had a moment of sheer panic, and then anger washed through her. The fact that he was an utter jerk was no longer in question. He was stalking her and it made her mad. She reached beneath the seat, grabbed the old baton her dad had given her years ago when she began working nights at the hospital in Savannah, and got out with it in her hand. Vince got out, holding up his hands in a joking I-give-up gesture when he saw what she was holding. “There are laws against stalking,” Ava said. Vince took a step toward her, grinning. “Aw, come on, Ava. I’m not stalking you. I just wanted to clear the air. I didn’t mean anything back at the grocery store. I was just surprised to see you and—” “You weren’t surprised. You were looking for me or you wouldn’t be…