Page 25 of Madness Blooms
He chuckles. “I will, dear,” he says, waving me off. “Now don’t let me keep you.”
I can’t help but beam as I scurry toward the shopping baskets and grab one. Pulling out the slip of paper from my pocket, I skim the list of ingredients and head down the nearest aisle.
I am no master chef, but I should be able to follow a recipe. Though I’m not as skilled as Luke, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the effort. I decided on something that’s mostly straightforward, something that borders on gourmet that I can’t easily screw up. At least that’s what the cookbook promised.
I gather the ingredients I don’t already have at home: chicken, mushrooms, cheese, heavy cream, and thyme. I’m grateful for the space this week to make my purchases. And as for the required white wine, I raided my mother’s stash; I’ll repay her later.
After checking out, I wait outside on the bench for Luke to pick me up. He mentioned he would swing by after handling some errands. I didn’t want the ingredients to spoil in the warmer weather, so I agreed to his offer. While I wait, I put on my earbuds and play The Smashing Pumpkins.
As I listen toDisarm, a car pulls up in front of me. A warm, honeyed voice greets me as I remove my headphones. “Hey there, pretty lady,” he says flirtatiously, waggling his brows. “Want a ride?”
I snort at Luke’s teasing, grabbing the shopping bags from the bench as he whistles. “Sorry, I don’t accept rides from strangers. Especially not the creepy ones.”
He laughs as I slide into the passenger seat. “Oh, harsh.”
As I shut the door, he tries to sneak a peek at the contents of the bags. “Excuse you,” I chide, shooing his face away. “This is supposed to be a surprise.”
“Sorry,” he says, shrugging. “Couldn’t help myself.”
I quirk a brow. “Right.”
He chuckles and drives out of the parking lot.
It doesn’t take long to reach my house. Luke helps me carry the groceries inside. I kick off my flip-flops and head for the kitchen. He tries to follow, but I nudge him with an elbow, shaking my head in disapproval.
“Go to the living room and make yourself comfortable,” I order. “And no peeking, okay?”
He hands over the bags, and we part ways without a fuss. Once I’m in the kitchen, I begin unpacking, ensuring all the ingredients are there. I even bought another package of meat for additional servings—or if I somehow make a dire mistake—and an extra bottle of olive oil, just in case.
Better safe than sorry.
I hear the television coming from the living room and consider turning on the one in here, but I decide against it to avoid potential distractions. Speaking of distractions, I’m glad it’s just the two of us here. I don’t need Mom dipping into the wine and Austin cracking some stupid sex jokes. Although the thought of him and Luke getting along and playing video games together causes warmth to bloom in my chest.
Before starting dinner, I gather all the pans and necessary utensils and wash my hands. With the cookbook clipped open in front of me, I adhere to the directions as closely as possible, separating the chicken breasts, pounding them with a meat mallet, and cutting them into pieces. I keep going, completing each step, and mentally assuring myself that I can do this.
I wipe my forehead with my arm and breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I’ll soon have some time to relax. I reduce the heat, cover the skillet, and allow the food to simmer. After setting the timer for twenty minutes, I retreat to the living room. Luke is on the couch, intently watching the evening news. I sit next to him and read the bulletin that scrolls past.
Breaking News: Body discovered in a landfill. Male, early 20s, Caucasian. Multiple stab wounds. Stay tuned for more details.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, the headline repeating in my head like a skipping record.
“Do you think it’s him?”
I almost choke on my saliva. For a moment, I think I don’t hear him right. “W-what?” I stutter, my stomach doing somersaults.
“The serial killer,” he clarifies. “The one that’s been killing people in the nearby cities. And the ones here …”
I look at him—and feel like I’m seeing him for the first time all over again. But this time, something is off. His eyes sparkle with something I can’t place. His breathing is shallower. He almost sounds …excited. It’s possible that he’s interested in true crime because of the wide publicity of high-profile court cases these days.
We all have our hobbies, but I prefer something less morbid.
Unless …My mind whirs with a million possibilities, all of them so utterly ridiculous that I almost laugh at my stupidity for even considering them in the first place.This is real life, not a movie, I think.Get a grip, Grace.
The seriousness evaporates from his voice as fast as it came. “You okay, space-case?” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “You look like you crash-landed on Mars.”
I need to stop this train of thought. Taking a deep breath, I compose myself and offer a weak smile. “The serial killer could be a woman,” I point out, trying to sound casual.
But honestly, thatreallydoesn’t make me feel better.