I narrowed my eyes at her. “No, little miss true crime.”
“You’re not even a little curious?”
“Nope, but I like that you are. It’s…cute.”
Her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink that made me think about what else I could do to put that color there. She schooled her expression and scoffed. “Don’t distract me with flattery.”
“Is it working?”
Her breath hitched slightly, and the space between us felt smaller than it should have. I could see it in her eyes—the way the corner of her mouth twitched, like she wanted to say something but held back instead.
She reached for the journal again, and I pulled it away. My mind reeled thinking of ways to get her to come back to Woodstone. She looked like she belonged here, and I selfishly wanted to keep her.
“Let’s make a deal,” I said.
She crossed her arms. “A deal?”
“Mhm.”
“Like our fake dating deal?” She cocked her head.
“Sort of, but this one’s different. We only read a journal entry when we’re together, here, in this house.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because if we read them all at once, we’ll jump to conclusions. We’ll miss something. This way, we take our time. Look at things objectively.”
Yeah, that sounds legit, right?
“You don’t believe that.”
“No, I really don’t. I just want to see you more often.”
She chuckled. “So this is your master plan? Lure me back to Woodstone?”
“Exactly.”
“I have one condition,” she said.
“Lay it on me.”
“Let me read one more. Just this once. Then, we do one entry each time.”
“Fine. One more, and then we put it back.”
“And if it turns out this is something bigger?” she asked. “If this journal points to something more than a tragedy, what do we do?”
“I’ll talk to my brother.”
“The detective?”
“Yeah, and he hates digging up old cases.”
“Well then, we’d better make this worth it.”
I held out my hand to help her up, already craving the contact before it happened. The moment her fingers closed around mine, my heart went absolutely feral. It was dainty, soft, warm, and fucking electric. Every nerve ending suddenly remembered what it meant to be alive.
For a moment, we just stood there. No words, just looking at each other. Her lips parted slightly, as if she was about to speak but forgot how. My thumb traced across her knuckles without permission.
