Hush, Hush: Bonus

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It was an unseasonably hot afternoon at Old Orchard Beach. Colorful umbrellas poked out of the sand, and the humidity was on the rise. I was stretched out on a beach towel, the sun baking so fiercely I could feel sweat beading behind my knees, in the crooks of B my elbows, and on my nose where my sunglasses rested. If I didn't move into the shade soon, I was going to get a headache.

I heard Patch approach before I saw him. He was whistling the main score to Disney's Robin Ноod. I loved when he did that. It meant he was in a good mood. Of course, I hadn't seen Patch in anything but a good mood for weeks. Chauncey Langeais was dead, there was a pleasant shortage of vengeful killers pursuing us, and my end-of-year finals were over as of two hours ago. What more could a girl ask for?

Patch balanced an ice-cold can of Minute Maid Lemonade on my stomach, and I squealed.

“Thirsty?” he asked, grinning as he stretched out on the sand beside me. I had on a turquoise tankini, but Patch looked completely out of place at the beach. Dark jeans, dark T-shirt, dark eyes. Just like always.

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