Free Fool's Gold: A Kisses and Crimes Novel by Natalie E. Wrye

today.”
    The attempt at appreciation captures Bishop’s attention. He looks up as he rounds the kitchen counter towards the fridge.
    He reaches inside, and I don’t even notice the two things he pulls out securely with both hands.
    He places them on the counter, and I think of nothing else as he stares me down. I let his hot gaze almost warm me up.
    “You had your phone on you, right? I could have gotten a hold of you whenever. Besides, I know you …” He narrows his amber eyes. “I knew there were only three places you could possibly be.”
    “And where’s that?”
    He motions towards the counter with one empty hand.
    “Anywhere there was bread, booze or books. I took a chance that you’d be at the latter one. Figured I’d take care of the other two.”
    I look down—at last—at the items he’s laid out: two bottles of red wine and a jumbo-sized baguette.
    I smile when I think of my visit at Amelie’s and how right Bishop’s been so far.
    I frown at the thought that it took me two days to figure out.
    At this point… it’s more than safe to say that he knows me better than I know myself, and to be honest, I just don’t know how that makes me feel.
    I turn my back to him.
    The clink of the wine bottles lets me know what’s happening and before I can look back up, Bishop is heading past me towards the living room. He sits his items down in front of the fireplace.
    “You might as well get yourself some of this heat I’m about to start. And while you’re at it, grab some glasses. I’ll pour you a drink while you tell me how much I suck at starting fires.”

AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER
 
    DANI
     
    Bishop was right.
    He fucking sucks at starting fires.
    I’m not really in the mood to care now that the fire’s lit, but it literally took him thirty minutes.
    My hair’s almost dry already and so is some of my shirt. My jeans are still wet through, but I can hardly tell. I’ve drunk half of the bottle of the red Claret since we sat down.
    The rain begins to quicken, and so does the urgency within me.
    I let Bishop step away from the fire and soon as he does, I launch into a new set of questions I’ve been dying to ask.
    He settles in beside me, stretching his long legs out on the floor-length rug.
    “What was it like when we first met?” I peer at him behind the edge of my half-empty wine glass.
    He squints. “You mean the very first time?”
    I nod. “Yes.”
    “Well…” he hesitates. “It wasn’t pretty…”
    I lean in.
    “Gold decorations. Champagne flutes filled with pink lemonade. A hardwood dance floor too sophisticated for sixteen year-olds… And there you were. Decked out in red. I remember you told me that’s what real women wear—that’s what heroines did. The second you stepped out onto the dance floor, I couldn’t see anything but you.”
    I nearly choke on my wine.
    Bishop describes a scene that’s so much like my first dream that it’s scary. So scary because in that moment, I almost remember it.
    The lady in red. That’s what I’d called myself.
    The party was real.
    I realize it now because it suddenly hits me as clear as day.
    “The party was mine.”
    Bishop simply nods. “Sweet Sixteen.”
    “Oh my God.” I sit up straighter.
    “Rings a bell, doesn’t it? It should… It was the most extravagant Sweet Sixteen I’d ever been to, though there was nothing sweet about you that night.”
    He smirks.
    I look over at him, lowering my glass.
    “ Why ? I wasn’t nice?”
    “Oh, you were. Just not to me … I’d shaken your hand and not kissed it. Apparently, that’s not what ‘gentlemen’ should do…”
    I laugh, feeling strangely giddy. “Well, that was bitchy.”
    “Nahhh,” he grins, shaking his head at me. “That was just you . You’d had high expectations from an early age. At twenty-three, I wasn’t so sure that I met them.”
    “Twenty-three?” I assess Bishop with curious eyes. “At a Sweet Sixteen?”
    “I a-was… a friend of the family.” A