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Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Not too long ago, Conrad had given me a foot fub, and while I felt touched then, it didn’t stir the feelings I was experiencing.

I couldn’t pin down the reason. Maybe it was the technique that differed.

As Ernest finished with my foot massage, Ethel’s voice, laced with fury, pierced the air from outside, “Listen up, everyone! If you dare mess with my people, you’ll have me, Ethel, to answer to. I’ll make sure you feel the wrath.

“What’s going on?” I asked lightly.

Ernest gently lifted my foot from his lap and placed it on another stone bench, rising to his feet. Then, I noticed his cheeks were flushed.

I thought maybe he was just hot, but the words that followed told me otherwise.

He said, “Maybe wear less of those skirts around here.”

I looked down at my skirt, a royal blue silk number that hugged my figure and sported a daring slit.

Sitting as I was, the slit had ridden up, revealing a bit of my thigh, and it seemed Ernest had glimpsed more than he bargained for.

My cheeks warmed, but pride wouldn’t let me lose face, so I feigned indifference and asked, “Does my skirt bother you that much?”

Ernest’s Adam’s apple bobbed quickly twice, and then, with long strides, he left the yard. Ethel’s scolding ceased shortly after.

Curious about the commotion outside, I hopped to the door and saw Ernest with his back to me, confronting his rumored flame, Fat Jean.

“This is deliberate harm. You’ll be legally liable if we report this,” Ernest pointed at the oil on the ground.

That was where I’d slipped earlier. It seemed my fall wasn’t an accident but a deliberate act.

“What proof do you have that I did it? Did you see me?” Fat Jean retorted.

Ethel interrupted, “I’ve asked around. People have seen you pouring oil here.”

Fat Jean fell silent, her eyes pleading yet fierce as she spat, “She shouldn’t have seduced you!”

Me, seducing Ernest?

Fat Jean sure had a knack for framing people.

1/2

Seeing Ethel and Ernest standing up for me, I felt compelled to do something. So, I hobbled over, leaning on the wall for support, and without making a scene, Hooped my arm through Emest’s, offering Fat Jean a smug smile, “Thanks for this drama. It showed me how great a quy Ernest is.*

Fat Jean’s face turned pale as I squeezed Ernest’s muscled arm, impressed by its firmness. “Let’s go. Cut me a slice of watermelon, will you?”

The sweetness in my voice gave me goosebumps. It was an unfamiliar tactic on my part, never used on Conrad.

Ernest looked at me, his gaze deepening, and the next second, he lifted me into his arms. His ease in holding me, as if I was no heavier than a handbag, left me flustered.

“Look at that. That’s how Ernest carries a girl home, not tossing her out like he’s getting rid of the trash,” Ethel seized the moment to taunt Fat Jean further.

Fat Jean’s attempt to trouble me turned on her, leaving her outsmarted and outplayed. Instead of gaining the upper hand, she lost, metaphorically spilling oil.

Back in the yard, Ernest’s cold voice floated down to me, “Do you want to head back inside or stay out here?”

“Let’s stay out here. Have some watermelon,” I nudged toward where I had been sitting. As Ernest set me down, his chin brushed against my nose, tickling me.

I caught his swift gulp and blurted out without thinking, “Ernest, are you trying to seduce me?”