Chapter 18: The Kitchen

Macy's POV

At six o'clock I opened my own front door with my own key and walked into my own kitchen.

Burke had fought me about it for two hours.

In the end we made a different rule, because I would not let Greta be the next post.

I would go in, but I would not go in unheard.

My phone sat in my back pocket with the line open to his.

He was in a van across the street with four officers.

"If I say the word pumpkin, you come in," I'd told him.

"Why pumpkin?"

"Because nobody says it by accident."

The kitchen smelled of coffee.

Peyton sat at the table in Carly's green cardigan with a mug in both hands.

It was my mug, the chipped blue one with the bees.

"You still keep them in the same cupboard," she said.

"Get out of my chair."

"It's my friend's chair."

"It's mine."

She stood up slowly and moved to the other side of the table, as if I had done her a favor.

I did not sit.

I leaned against the counter, where I could see the hall and the back door and her hands.

"You said you'd tell me what Carly said," I said.

"I will."

"Then say it."

"First, I want you to sit."

"No."

"Please." Her voice slid, and for a second it was Carly's voice, warm and low. "Macy, please. I've never once sat in this kitchen and been me."

I stood very still.

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