Free Hide & Seek by Aimee Laine Page A

rocker’s arms, pushed until she made it to her feet. Lexi put the couple in their eighties, maybe even nineties, if not older—she didn’t know and never cared to ask. One of the many photos in their entry showed Marge in a nineteen twenties style dress, though with the most recent return of the style, it could have been taken a day ago.
    She held out her hand. “Mr. Fox … it’s so nice to meet you.”
    Tripp took it, brought it to his lips and offered a kiss upon her wrinkled skin.
    Marge’s cheeks pinked up like a school girl at her first dance. “Now that’s how you treat a lady.” She twisted to her husband who widened his eyes as if to say, ‘it’s been eighty years, why do you need more now?’
    Lexi couldn’t contain her smile; she never could when she visited. The Fergs brought out the best in her. Her heart flip-flopped at the idea they would sell to Tripp.
    “Let’s go in.” Marge shuffled toward the door as slow as Moxie, who padded her feet and swung her floppy ears.
    Tripp opened the screened frame for her and held it.
    “That nice young man behind you can hold it, son. Anyone gets shot gets at least two weeks reprieve.”
    Lexi’s gaze whipped to Tripp’s.
    Ian took the door. “I will hold this door until I am told otherwise, ma’am.” Ian mocked Marge’s southern accent but her good-natured chuckle suggested she took no offense.
    “Now, Mr. Fox—”
    “Please, Ms. Fergs, call me Tripp, and my friend at the door is Ian.”
    A tray of cookies, piled on small plates, and a pitcher of lemonade laid in wait on the counter. “Ian, won’t you come get this tray?”
    “I can get it—” Lexi started, but Marge stopped her with a quiet stare. She sat at the table, motioned for Tripp and Lexi to follow.
    Ian brought the tray over, a giant smile across his face. “You’re one demanding grandma,” he said. “Kinda like my own.”
    “Don’t you know it.” She patted his hand, pulling him down into the chair next to hers. “So you want to buy my house?” Marge picked up a cup, held it out to Ian. He poured with a smile across his face. “You’re a good boy, Ian. Your friend there did right by you when you were kids.” She nodded to Tripp. “Silly candy bar.”
    Tripp and Ian exchanged furtive glances and matching grins.
    What does she know about Tripp and Ian?
    “I appreciate the compliment, Mrs. Fergs,” Tripp said.
    Ian set the pitcher down. He took a cookie from the plate for himself.
    “Now about my house,” Marge started again. “Do you want it or not?”
    “Well, I haven’t seen it yet—”
    “Lexi has. Don’t you trust her?”
    Please say ‘no’, then I’ll buy it no matter what. Under the table, Lexi crossed her fingers.
    Tripp turned to her. “Yeah, I trust her.”
    Lexi widened her eyes without thought and forced them to normal.
    “Like I told her already, I feel like I’ve known her—”
    “Yet, you think you’ve just met her.” Marge smiled.
    Think?
    He shook his head, grinned. “Exactly. How—”
    “You gonna do right by her?” George scraped a metal chair along the vinyl floor, plopping his heft onto the seat.
    “I’m sorry?” Lexi blinked, switching her attention from Marge to George, thoughts of the house gone with the path of the conversation.
    “Oh, honey.” Marge patted Lexi’s hand from across the table. “We’ve been waiting for this moment for thirty years—since the day you were born.”
    George pounded his fist on the table’s end so the cookies jumped. “And it’s about damn time.”

8
    “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Fergs, I don’t understand what’s going on.” Lexi’s pained expression and worried tone killed Tripp’s immediate excitement at Marge’s little announcement.
    They know way more than we do.
    “Oh, honey.” Marge patted Lexi’s hand like a grandmother who consoled her grandchild, but in a non-patronizing way. “George and I? We know all about your gifts.”
    Tripp slid his hand under the table, took