Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday & Jennifer Fischetto

Author:Gemma Halliday & Jennifer Fischetto [Halliday, Gemma & Fischetto, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Published: 2021-03-22T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

To say I was not looking forward to dinner was an understatement. How had I gotten myself cornered into this? I should have tried harder to convince Mom otherwise. I should have contracted mono or broken a limb. Hmm…that last one wasn't too late…

I shook that thought out of my head and applied a layer of lip gloss in my bathroom mirror. It was dinner. A meal. Okay, so what if Chase happened to be present at it? We'd eat, he'd go, it would be fine. I mean, what could Mom possibly do in the span of one meal?

I paused, looking at myself in the mirror and watching the horror spread across my face as I conjured up all sorts of answers to that question.

Get a grip, Featherstone.

I capped my lip gloss with maybe a little more force than it deserved and shoved my feet into a pair of low-heeled boots.

Not, mind you, that I was dressing up for a dinner with a friend. I wasn't. Just, after a day of looking like a homeless person, I felt a little compensation was in order. For me. Not Chase.

I'd gone with a simple pair of jeans and a navy sweater, but I'd added a pair of silver hoop earrings with little crystal sparkles on them. After the long shower I'd enjoyed upon getting home from the con, I'd spent a little extra time blow drying my hair and attacking it with some mousse and a curling iron. The effect was pretty good if not straight-from-the-salon perfect. While the boots were new and had little rhinestone details along the top, I'd gone subtle in the makeup department, sticking with a little mascara, some blush, and lip gloss.

Overall, the outfit was casual with a side of bling that said I wasn't dressing up for a date but I wasn't a slouch either.

At least I hoped that's all it said.

I glanced down at my phone. 5:59. I could stall no longer.

I turned off my light and hit the stairs. Aromas of caramelized onions and garlic wafted toward my nostrils. It smelled good, but I knew that was a trick. It usually was. How many times had I salivated due to scent alone to discover Alfredo sauce made solely from cauliflower or chocolate cookies made from bitter cacao and dates?

I rounded the kitchen doorway and stopped short. Mom wore a knee length little black dress that dipped in at the waist, a pair of cute nude heels, and she'd tied a frilly pink apron over the top. She was bent at the oven, checking out whatever was inside. She looked positively housewifey.

She glanced over and momentarily frowned. She shut the oven door with her hip. "Jeans, Hartley? You couldn't find something a little nicer?"

I snorted. "Mom, it's dinner with Chase. It's not a big deal."

Too bad my knotted stomach didn't agree with me. I suddenly wondered if I should have changed. No, Chase would show up in a T-shirt probably depicting something gross or inappropriate in Mom's world.

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