“That’s terrible,” I say sincerely. “But I know how to handle—”

“You have one fully functioning arm,” he argues. “How would you defend yourself?”

Totally beyond rationality, I swing my arm and wave it around, hating myself as pain pulses in my shoulder socket. I definitely bruised it, if not something worse, when I ran into him. “I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.”

The truth is I am fine. Or I was, until I crashed into Christopher. While I did break my shoulder back in Scotland, as I told my family, the truth is it happened two months ago. I had to pass on jobs while it healed; my finances dwindled; and when it came time to try to pick up work again, I couldn’t seem to catch a break. So when Mom told me Jules and Bea’s predicament, I had the perfect solution for all of us. I offered to swap places with Jules for a while; conveniently neglected to say when I busted my shoulder, only that I had; and made sure to wear the sling when I showed up this morning.

Yes, it’s dishonest, and no, I don’t like deceiving my family. But I knew without a legitimate injury as an explanation for my uncharacteristic return home, Jules wouldn’t take me up on my offer and Mom might get her hopes up that I was home for good, and then where would we be?

Christopher stares at me, eyes narrowed. Suspicious.

Dammit, I had to bump into him while not wearing the sling and I just flailed my arm around to show him I’m fine. Now I have to figure out how to keep him quiet about that when everyone else in the family thinks my shoulder’s freshly busted.

I’m so tired, so annoyed, so sore, I can’t think straight. This conundrum is for Future Kate to solve. Present Kate needs a hot shower, a cozy bed, and a pumpkin pie eaten straight out of the baking tin.

Catching him off guard, I wrench the pies out of Christopher’s hand. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a walk as well as a couple pies to enjoy by myself.”

Breezing by him, I round the corner and stomp the remaining five long blocks leading to the apartment. I don’t once look back, but I feel his eyes on me the whole way.

As the foyer door of the building drops shut behind me, I scowl down at the pastry boxes in my hands. “You had better be the best damn pumpkin pies of my life.” Wrenching open the inside door, I traipse up the stairs, anger a white-hot inferno burning through me. “Nothing less would make what I just suffered worth it.”

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