getting off subject.
“And a handful of cats,” he replied. “Geoffrey is my favourite.”
I giggled so hard that I had to put the spoon down on the bench. Alex didn’t laugh. He was more interested in getting me back on subject.
“Tell me what she did with the bread,” he demanded.
I quickly told him the story. “It was ugly,” I said pulling a face. “Especially the way it squelched when Lily put her hand into the bag.”
Alex furiously shook his head. “So what am I supposed to do with her?”
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Just let it slide?” he asked doubtfully.
“Yes. Don’t even mention it. It was an act of vengeance, not malice,” I explained. “You must understand the difference.”
I turned around, picked up our plates and made my way over to the dining table. Alex followed closely behind.
“Vengeance for what?”
I made sure he was seated before telling him. Even then, I hesitated.
“Lily wrote something crass on Charli’s locker door,” I revealed.
He practically growled out the question. “What was it?”
“Charlotte the harlot,” I mumbled.
Alex’s mouth formed a grim line. “And how did she know it was Lily?”
I smiled, figuring he was going to enjoy my answer. “A couple of reasons. It was written in bright pink lipstick and it was spelt wrong.”
His shoulders dropped as he relaxed. I reached for his hand across the table. “She stands up for herself perfectly well, Alex,” I assured. “Not always in the right way but believe me when I tell you that no one gets the better of her.”
He nodded and looked down at the plate in front of him. “What kind of chicken stew is this?”
“It’s fish.”
He looked up at me, flashing me a cheeky smile. “Are you sure?”
“Shut up and eat your dinner,” I grumbled. “Then you can take me to bed.”
11. ART
Despite what I’d told him, Alex didn’t let bread-gate slide. He locked everything that meant anything to Charli in the shed and grounded her. His only hope for survival after that involved getting out of the house.
He found sanctuary at mine, lazing around while we read the weekend papers. His lazy mood didn’t last very long. Alex wasn’t exactly renowned for sitting around doing nothing.
He dropped the folded newspaper down on the coffee table, stood up and walked over to my easel set up in the corner of the room. After a quick minute of studying the painting, he turned back to face me. “Where is this?”
“It’s a place in France called Dieppe,” I replied. “There’s a grand old castle that sits high up on a cliff.”
He restudied the half-finished painting. “You’ve been there?”
I walked over and stood beside him. “Not for a long time.”
“And you remember this kind of detail?”
“Not all of it,” I conceded. “I had to reference a few books.”
“It’s amazing, Gabs,” he praised.
“It’s no Claude Monet. His painting of the Dieppe cliffs was so good that it was stolen – twice.”
Alex glanced across at me and smiled. “I think this is worth stealing. As soon as you’re done, I’m going to swipe it, just so you’ll know how good it is.”
A small giggle escaped me. “Thank you. I’d be honoured to have you steal my work.”
“Why aren’t you painting a place you can see?” he asked curiously. “There are plenty of places around here worth painting.”
“I know, but after a year of being here, I think I’ve covered the best ones.”
He glanced at me as if I’d just sworn at him. “Impossible.”
“It’s true. I’ve painted the cliffs, the beach, the fields, the ocean, all of it.”
Alex reached down and picked up and handful of brushes off the side table. “Pack you bags, sweetheart. We’re going on a road trip.”
I grinned widely, doing nothing to hide my excitement. “What do I need to take?”
“Paint, canvas and sensible shoes.”
***
He wasn’t kidding about the sensible shoes. If I’d known that our road trip would involve an