“What?”
“When we readThe Love Alibitogether? It was…” I look around and tug him closer. “Right here.”
“Okay?”
I turn toward the shelf—and there it is. A copy ofThe Love Alibistaring back at me.
I pick it up as Rafael mumbles, “Holy shit” beside me. Flipping to the first page, I find my name again.Scarlett.Then:Page 276, line 22.
“Seriously?” Rafael groans. “How many of these are we doing?”
He takes the book, flips through, and reads aloud, “There’s coffee on the counter, and the whiskey’s in the fridge.”
“Hmm… The Oak?” I say. “Maybe it’s a reference to the night we got whiskey and coffee—”
“—and you ended up drinking both.” When I chuckle, he takes my hand. “Worth a try.”
I follow him to the counter, and holding the book out to Dana, he asks me, “How’d you know it would be there? The book?”
“Because I don’t think this is about me,” I say as Dana starts scanning the stack. “I think it’s aboutus.”
“Us?” Rafael blinks, thoughtful. “Hey, Dana, did anything weird happen around here in the past twenty-four hours?”
“The past twenty-four hours?” I say before Dana can answer.
“It rained on Tuesday. The book at the lookout would’ve been soaked if it had been put there before that.”
Right. God, his brain is so hot.
Dana furrows her brow. “Weird? Not really, no.”
“No break-ins? Shady customers?”
“The most excitement I get in here is Scarlett,” she says with a smile. Then her expression shifts. “Although… Mrs. Brattle came by this morning. She usually only visits on weekends. Looked kind of frantic, said she was late for her post-Pilates gossip.”
“Mrs. Brattle?” I echo. Sure, she knows everything, but I can’t imagine her setting this up. Or hiking all the way up to the lookout with her bad back.
“Thanks, Dana,” I say as Rafael grabs the bag of books with an “Oof.”
We step out of the shop, tuck the books into the trunk of his car, and decide to walk to The Oak. The sun’s high, the air is finally bearable after a long winter, and… God, we haven’t done this in forever, have we?
“It’s good to be out,” I say, sliding my hand into his.
“We’ve been busy, huh? These past few months?”
So busy. Between the podcast taking off and spending weekends helping Paige get her event-planning business off the ground, I haven’t had a second to breathe.
I glance up at him, brows knitting. “Oh my God, are you mad at me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been so busy, and… did I put our relationship on the back burner? Are you unhappy? Oh my God, are you break—”
“Whoa, Freckles.” He stops short, gently hooking two fingers under my chin to tip my face toward his. “All I said was ‘We’ve been busy.’?”
“But you meantI’vebeen busy.”
“No, I’ve been pulling late nights, too,” he says, rubbing his hand down my arm. “But we have lunch together almost every day. I order takeout for you every Friday night. We spend nearly every evening together, and I get to tuck you in when you fall asleep reading on the couch.” He smiles. “I love your podcast. I love that you help everyone. And I love you. I only ask that you come back home every day and let me squeeze you in my sleep.”
