“Is that your professional opinion, Alicat?”
Her laugh makes me glad I suggested this. “That’s my personal experience talking. Though I probably read too much. Madison says I use books to avoid real life.”
“And do you?”
“Sometimes.” She fidgets with her glasses again, and I notice she does this whenever she’s admitting something she thinks might be wrong. “Is that bad?”
“Not at all. We work highly stressful jobs. If we didn’t have ways to decompress, we’d lose our minds.”
The library director taps the microphone, and we find seats in the third row. Alice settles beside me, and I catch myself watching her more than listening to the author. She’s completely absorbed in the reading, her expression changing with each twist in the story excerpt.When’s the last time I was that present in a moment that wasn’t about solving someone else’s problems?
“She’s good,” I murmur during a pause.
“Really good. I’m definitely buying this.”
The Q&A session begins, and I’m half-listening to questions about the writing process when I notice Alice tense beside me. Her entire posture changes—shoulders pulling up, hands gripping the arms of her chair, glasses sliding down as she ducks her head slightly.
“Ali?” I keep my voice low. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew.” But her breathing has quickened, and she’s scanning the room like she’s looking for an exit.
I follow her gaze toward the back of the room and spot a man in expensive casual clothes, scanning the crowd with predatory focus. His dirty blonde hair is perfectly styled like he prepped specifically for this event. When his eyes find Alice, he smiles, but something about it makes my jaw clench.
The event ends, and people begin to move around. I’m hoping we can slip out quietly, but the man moves through the crowd with purpose, heading straight for us like a missile locked on target.
I'm cataloging details without meaning to—exits, crowd size, who's paying attention to what. Old habits. Even on a date, I can't fully turn off the cop brain.
“Alice.” He says her name like he owns it, like he has every right to be here.
“Lance.” Her voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear the tremor underneath.
If I wasn’t standing right beside her, I wouldn’t have caught the name. Whoever this guy is, Alice clearly doesn’t want him here, and that’s enough for me. My job is to protect people. Right now, that includes her.
I step slightly closer to Alice, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. She’s holding herself like she’s bracing for impact.
“I’ve been trying to get more involved in local cultural events. Expanding my horizons, you know.” His gaze shifts to me, looking me up and down like he’s cataloging weaknesses. “And you must bethenew boyfriend.” Every instinct I have is screaming that this guy is dangerous. Not just annoying ex dangerous. Genuinely threatening.
New boyfriend? How the hell does he know anything about Alice's life?
“Sawyer Edwards,” I say, extending my hand while stepping even closer to Alice.
“Lance Carlston. Alice and I havequitea history together.” He shakes my hand with unnecessary force but keeps his eyes on Alice like I’m not even here. “Don’t we, Alice?”
“We used to date,” she says simply, but every line of her body screams that she wants this conversation to end. She pushes her glasses up her nose again.
That explains the tension, but not why he's here or how he knows where she lives.
“Used to,” Lance repeats, like the words amuse him. He glances around the library with calculated casualness. “Funny how you ended up in a place like this, Alice. You always did love those old buildings with character. Like your grandmother's place on Maple Street.”
It takes everything in me not to step between them. Not to tell this asshole to get the hell away from her. But Alice needs to handle this her way. My job is backup, not bulldozing in.
Alice goes completely still beside me. The comment sounds offhand, but the way Alice reacts tells me it’s anything but. There’s something deliberately invasive about it—like he’s letting her know he knows exactly where she lives. My fist clenches in the pocket of my jeans.
“I need to go,” Alice says, her voice barely steady.
“Oh, I’m thinking of sticking around Pine Hollows for a while. Really getting to know the community better.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and there’s a threat buried in the pleasant tone. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other againsoon.”
He walks away, and I memorize everything about him. Height, weight, build, and clothing. The way he moves like he owns every space he enters. The expensive watch on his wrist that doesn't match "getting involved in local cultural events."
