Page 65 of King of Hollywood
“Rhubarb!” Felix held it out to me, looking incredibly proud of himself. “I didn’t bake it. I can’t bake—” he laughed, self-conscious. “Or cook. I never learned. Never had to. Always had staff on hand for that. Never had to learn to clean either. Did you know there’s such a thing as pie delivery?” I shook my head dumbly, reaching out to take the pie from him, shell-shocked. “The modern world never ceases to amaze me.”
“It’s full of wonders,” I echoed, only half-listening.
Because pie.
This blind-sided me even more than the murders he’d committed.
Bodies I knew how to handle. Pie? Not so much.
“A friend recommended it to me,” he said—still talking. My eyes narrowed.
“What friend?”
“No one special, caveman,” he snorted out. I eyed the label on the box curiously. I’d always had a sweet tooth. It was something I should’ve tried to curb—especially as I got older—but I’d never seemed to manage.
My three vices.
Murder, sugar, and Felix.
“Special enough they told you about pie delivery,” I wheedled. The box was warm in my grasp.
“Maaarshall.” Felix laughed, an almost guilty twist to his lips.
“Is this another of your secrets?” I cocked my head to the side, the sweet scent of fresh pie filling the air between us. Felix seemed to debate with himself, before he ultimately nodded.
“I feel like you’re lying,” I said, unable to bite my tongue.
“Okay, so maybe calling them my friend is a stretch. Acquaintance is more accurate.” Felix bit his lip. “A fan of my work? A guest.”
“What work?” I had never seen him leave his house. “Are you an artist?” That would explain…a lot actually. Perhaps he had one of those online shops where he sold his wares. His crochet-creations. The memorabilia he collected from the 1950s that littered his house.
“Of a sort,” Felix answered vaguely. “Depending on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you,” I frowned.
“Right.” Felix inhaled sharply, an almost forlorn expression crossing his face. “Then yes…I think what I made was art.” His lips tipped up. “I don’t do it anymore. I can’t.”
“Does that make you sad?”
“Sometimes,” Felix offered me a soft little smile. “It helps that you asked.”
“Oh. Well. Good for me then.”
“Good for me too.” Felix laughed, and it was the prettiest thing I’d heard all day.
I nodded, relaxing. “An acquaintance told you about pie delivery.”
“Yes.” Felix’s face was bright red. “I called him up and asked. Because you mentioned yesterday that you missed it.”
I would’ve rather he never called anyone other than me ever—but I suppose I couldn’t be too angry. Because he’d bought me a pie.
“You called up your acquaintance,” I repeated, trying to parse this together. “And what? Asked if he knew of any places where rhubarb was made?”
“Yes.” Felix’s splotchy flush was lovely. He licked his lips. “Was that…okay?”
He peered at me through his lashes, and I softened, unable to hold onto my ire.
“Of course it was okay. You may buy me pie anytime.”