The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

I exited The Mystic Willow with a flourish, oblivious to the impending catastrophe ahead.

My feet moved faster than my brain, which failed to activate my natural reflexes.

In an instant, I went from being focused on the task at hand to plummeting towards the ground.

Fortunately, before I could make contact with the floor, a pair of strong arms encircled my waist and saved my fall.

I knew without looking that my saviour was Royce. I had that same tingling sensation in my stomach whenever he was near.

Royce's arm tightened around my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulled me upright. "Careful," he rasped in my ear, and the fluttering sensation of butterflies came alive in my chest. "I'm starting to think that this penchant for falling in the dirt is a ploy to get attention."

Goosebumps.

In my peripheral vision, I could see Drew eyeing us suspiciously. His searching gaze went to Royce's hand splayed across my tummy, lingering there, then slowly drifted upward to obtain eye contact.

"I am so glad you are here," I said, a little too enthusiastically. "There is something I must show you."

When I twisted in Royce's arms to face him, he took that as his cue to release me, to step back once and give me some space.

"It's just down there..." My finger pointed blindly down the alleyway. "Please, I would not ask if it was not of the utmost importance."

Royce frowned at me, his dark brows drawn together in concern. I could sense his scepticism, his awareness that I was not being entirely truthful.

He glanced at Drew, and they exchanged a wordless message. Then, he nodded curtly, giving me his tacit permission to proceed.

"Great." Before second thoughts could take over, I seized Royce's hand and, ignoring his friend's inquisitive gaze, dragged him down the alley, hoping the new, handmade cosmetics store was open. "You are going to love this place. I saw it and immediately thought of you."

"Liv..." He snatched his hand out of my hold like the innocuous touch was some form of allergen to his skin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

The quirky little corner store, with its brightly coloured awning and whimsical window display, was thankfully open for business.

I had passed it many times during my travels, but I had never stopped to go inside.

That was about to change.

A cheerful chime greeted me as I entered the shop, and a melody of aromas immediately assailed my senses: the earthy musk of patchouli, the sweet citrus of orange peel and the warm spice of cinnamon.

The shop was a quaint, cosy haven, its shelves lined with jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes, like a miniature version of the Ross' mystical apothecary.

The walls, adorned with colourful tapestries and artwork, depicted the eccentric scenes of nature and fantasy, and the floor, covered in soft, plush rugs, invited visitors to linger and explore.

In the centre of the room stood a large, sturdy wooden table worn smooth by years of use.  A woman stood behind the table, her hands deftly mixing ingredients in a mortar and pestle. She wore a simple white apron over a long, flowing dress, her hair in a neat bun. Her face was serene and focused, her eyes sparkling with passion.

I hurried to the back of the store, unsure of the reason for my actions but instinctively feeling that it was the safest place to be. I quickly and discreetly scanned the shelves for an item that might appeal to him.