“The pies won’t all fit,” she said, giving up. “I can carry one over to your house.”
“Pies?” he asked, licking his lower lip. “As in we get more than one?”
She nodded.
“He better make you his wife or I’m gonna propose to you myself,” said Bill, causing her to laugh. “Hear me, Sput-Rurik? Don’t you fuck this up.”
“What a sweet offer,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re still on the market, Bill.”
He gave her a firm look. “You don’t know how hard it’s been fighting the women off me all these years. I’m kind of irresistible.”
She laughed more. “I can see.”
Liberty turned around, her intent to walk the pie to the living room. Instead, she slammed into an unmoving force, instantly flipping the pie forward as a soft gasp came from her. It took a second for her mind to catch up to what had happened, but when it did, she found herself pressed to Rurik—while the pie itself was pressed directly to his chest.
She’d not heard or sensed him moving around behind her. He was just there. Like magik. And now he was there with a pie smashed to his chest.
Rurik didn’t so much as flinch as he wore an entire apple pie. All the man did was stare down at her in an odd way. He began to lower his head as if he was going to kiss her. If he did, there was a higher-than-average chance she’d get naked and beg him to do her.
Bill appeared next to them and shoved a hand between them—scooping out a handful of pie. He then drew his arm back and proceeded to eat the smashed pie as he watched them with wide eyes. “Mm, this is really good too, Liberty Bell. Hurry up and work your charms, Russia. I want this stuff daily.”
Rurik groaned. “Sorry for him.”
Bill took another handful of pie and ate more. “Are you gonna kiss her again? I don’t know how this stuff works but seems to me that is part of the whole claiming-her thing.”
Liberty stopped caring about the man’s nonsensical ramblings. All she wanted to know was if Rurik was going to kiss her again too.
Rurik stared at Bill. “You keep saying that she’s my… That she’s…you know.”
Bill nodded but neither of them explained what they were talking about. “Frenchie hinted at as much. I got some good hearing too, you know.”
“Is this another case of you being a pain in my ass?” asked Rurik. “Or not? I can’t think straight when it comes to her.”
Liberty drew in a sharp breath but said nothing.
“It’s a case of me passing on information Gus thought you might want to have, but if you’re going to call me a pain in the ass, I’m not gonna pass on anything else,” said Bill with a huff.
Liberty stood there, pressed to Rurik, the pie still between them. “I feel like I should know what you’re talking about, but I don’t.”
Boldly, Rurik reached up and ran his fingers over her left cheek—touching her scars. His brow furrowed and he peered closer at her cheek. He skimmed his fingers over the faint scars once more.
That ripped Liberty out of her state of longing, causing her to back up hastily. The pie fell from Rurik’s chest toward his booted feet.
She reacted without thought, reaching out for the falling baked good, but not with her hands—with what she kept hidden from most everyone.
The pie stopped in midair about six inches from Rurik’s feet.
Panic welled in Liberty, bringing with it a loss of control over her curse. In the next breath, the potholders that matched her American flag apron flew across the room at Bill, who reached up nonchalantly and caught them. He tossed them on the counter and then bent, taking another handful of the still-floating pie.
He glanced up at her. “You’ve got to give me your recipe. Best pie ever.”
She stared from him, to the floating baked good, and finally to Rurik, before she then proceeded to panic more. For a second, all she heard was the sound of her heart beating rapidly as heat rushed through her and a sick feeling twisted in her gut.
Cookies began launching into the air as if they were being shot forth from a cannon, that just so happened to be aimed right at Rurik. One even managed to pelt Rurik in the forehead.
Taking a breath wasn’t an option because her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to draw in air. Her head was so full of fear that it was of no use in the situation.
All she could do was stare wide-eyed in horror at the scene she was causing.
There was no way flying baked goods could be explained away. No way to sugarcoat it or minimize what was happening. The unnatural side of her was there, laid out for all to see—all to judge—all to fear.
Bill darted forward with his hands out and caught one of the cookies before bringing it to his mouth and shoving it in. He mumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Don’t go wasting good cookies, Liberty Bell.”
Did nothing rattle the strange older man?
Was he really that out of touch with reality that having things flying around, defying logic and gravity, seemed run-of-the-mill? He did think his son was some sort of spy.
Rurik wiped his brow clean of crumbs and then took hold of his T-shirt and lifted it up and over his head, revealing a perfectly chiseled torso and upper body.
He tossed the shirt aside and focused on her, lifting his hands in the process. “Liberty, settle down. It’s all right.”
“Settle down!?” she shouted, making it clear relaxing was not about to happen. There was a high chance she’d never calm down again.
Bill shook his head and went toward the basket full of goodies, which had somehow ended up near the entrance to the hall. “I’m gonna go ahead and get this stuff over to Gus so he can taste it. He’s gonna love it, Liberty Bell. You
