“It was you. You’re the one who broke into my house and took my journal.”
He glanced over at me again. “Yes.”
“You scared the shit out of my sister.”
But I couldn’t help the relief that flooded through me. Because if Nicolas had broken in, that meant Eric hadn’t. His text messages were just his attempts to bait me into communicating with him again. He hadn’t escalated.
“But why would that calm you?” he demanded, sounding puzzled. He shot me a sharp, disbelieving look. “I would have expected the opposite to be true.”
I stared back at him, trying to make my tired brain grapple with the strangeness of this conversation. “If you thought it would freak me out, why would you tell me in the first place?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question,” he said immediately. Then, after glancing over at me again, something in his expression softened and he sighed. Grudgingly, he added, “I don’t lie.”
“Ever?”
“Correct. I detest liars.” He paused. “You can expect nothing but honesty from me.”
We both fell silent for several long minutes as the blocks passed us by.
I yawned again, fighting to stay aware and vigilant. The problem was, my body kept trying to relax—as though I was safe in my bed and not sitting next to someone who had been following me and had just admitted to breaking into my home.
After the silence had dragged on far too long, Nicolas said, “Why would knowing I was the one who broke into your home be comforting?”
I frowned at his certainty. How on earth could he even know that? “Who says it is?”
“Eli,” he said reproachfully. It caused a jolt to shoot through me as I realized I liked the sound of my name on his lips. “Come now. Please tell me.”
I hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure I can keep up.”
“I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?”
“That’s not—I don’t want to talk about it.”
He sighed, his brows pulling together. “That’s very frustrating.”
I glared at him. “Oh, is it? You can’t just drop into my life and expect total honesty from me!”
“Actually, I can,” Nicolas said.
I opened my mouth to protest some more, but instead I yawned again, my eyes drifting shut. The passenger seat felt far too comfortable, and the interior was warm and smelled like cinnamon and cocoa.
I blinked, jolting awake.
“You feel safe with me,” he breathed, staring at me, stunned. I realized we were stopped on the street in front of my house. I hadn’t given him any directions—but of course, he knew precisely where I lived. Because he had already broken into my home.
“No,” I said immediately. “I donotfeel safe with you.”
“I don’t like lies,” he warned.
“That’s what you say now,” I replied, trying to muster an appropriate amount of outrage to keep him at bay. “But then I’ll find out you have this whole other persona.”
He snorted, that bemused smile returning, as if I’d said something funny.
“Are you married?” I demanded.
