“You think someone’s trying to send you to the lookout?” He shrugs. “Why? And who?”
I exhale, meeting his eyes. Only people close to us have heard this story—except for the spicy parts, which we kept for ourselves.
Oh boy, I’m getting flashbacks of the last time we asked ourselves these kinds of questions.
At the same time, we both say, “Someone we know.”
Paige, maybe, or Stella, her girlfriend. Theo. Basically, the usual suspects.
“Wehaveto go,” I say, grabbing the keys.
He grimaces. “Do we? Because if there’s a corpse at our lookout, I’m never calling itourlookout again.”
“Come on,” I say, already opening the door. “Let’s go.”
Panting, I stumble onto the patch of grass. If nothing else, this little adventure confirms what I thought—hiking and I will never be friends.
Rafael, looking maddeningly unbothered, crouches beside me and scans the area. “There’s nothing here.”
He’s right. I turn in a slow circle, eyes sweeping across the clearing. Just wildflowers, tall swaying grass, too many bugs for my comfort, and that breathtaking view.
I drift toward the edge of the bluff and peer out, hoping there’s something—anything—I’m missing. The town stretches in miniature below us, sun catching on rooftops, the river shimmering like a spilled bottle of mercury. The wind carries the scent of pine and something sweeter.
But there’s nothing weird.
Rafael’s arms wrap around me, his chest pressing against my back. “Not gonna lie, Freckles. I’m relieved as fuck. The last thing Willowbrook needs is another bookish serial killer.”
I squeeze his arms and lean into him. I’m relieved, too, though a part of me kind of liked the thrill of it. Since he opened his own agency, I’ve never meddled in his PI work—playing detective that one time was enough—but this… this is fun. The two of us, solving whatever-this-is together.
“You okay?” he asks, his lips grazing my ear.
I keep my eyes on the view and inhale deeply, feeling my back expand against the solid weight of him. “Never been better, actually.”
“Can you believe it’s been two whole years since we came here?” There’s a smile in his voice. I twist back to glance at him. “Actually,one year and…” He looks up, calculating. “Eleven months, twenty-four days… and eight hours?”
“Something like that,” I say, laughing.
“Three years together. It feels like yesterday—but also forever?”
I nod. “I’m not sure I even remember my life before you.”
“Afraid you’re stuck with me now.”
Oh, it could be worse. I could be hiking alone.
I start to turn back toward him when I see it. Just below the bluff, tucked into a narrow crevice between the roots of the same tree I once clung to while moaning Rafael’s name. “There’s a book.”
Not just a book, actually.Last First Kissisthebest second-chance romance I’ve read this year. I told Rafael the hero from that book was the only man who would ever top him, and I stand by it.
“What?” He leans forward. “Oh,damn.”
I crouch, but Rafael’s quicker, reaching for it and holding it like it might bite.
“I’ll open it,” he says.
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It could explode.”
