Or am I letting paranoia win?
“Do you remember that time we thought the treehouse was going to fall down with us in it?” Laney suddenly says, quiet but urgent.
She has a better view of the questionable customer, and I don’t like the tone in her voice.
At all.
Nor do I like that I don’t remember the time the treehouse almost fell down with us in it.
This is making my heart pound and my hands shake andI don’t like it.
“Totally hair-raising,” Sabrina says. “I still wish they’d reinforced it instead of tearing it down.”
My legs are trembling too.
Be strong, Emma. Be brave. They can’t hurt you.
Both of my friends are watching me, casually carrying on a conversation about something I don’t remember, which means they’re trying to tell me something in code, andI don’t know what it is, but I know I want out.
I don’t care if that man’s a tourist or a reporter. I don’t care what Sabrina and Laney are trying to tell me.
I care that Iget out of this place right now.
It’s hard as hell to look Laney in the eye, say a polite, “May I?” and reach for her scone as Jonas instructed, but I do.
I trust him.
That’s what he says I need to do.
And so that’s what I’m going to do.
“Of course,” Laney says like this is natural.
Which it is.
We share food all of the time.
Thisisnatural.
Jonas is right. He’s got me.
I think.
Nothing happens immediately.
Nothing other than Willa bringing the man his coffee. And muffin.
In a ceramic mug and on a plate becausehe’s not leaving.
It’s not to-go.
Graham doesn’t rush the front door.
I don’t see him outside, but I don’t have the best view.
I feel something though.
Like the hairs on the back of my neck standing up while the man takes a seat at the lone table in the café that I can see clearly.
