Theo chuckled at my smug secretiveness.
Monroe huffed. “Do we not get the friendship sneak peek? Come on.”
The friendship sneak peek. That sounded nice. “Well …” I heaved a dramatic sigh. “Since it’s you, Icantell you that Juno will live.”
“We know that! It’s the Juno McLeod series.”
Chuckling, I leaned into Theo. “Should I tell them?”
“Herrings,” he whispered in my ear. “Tell them just the red herrings.”
“Don’t listen to whatever he is whispering in your ear. I can tell he’s not on our side.” Sloane pointed a pretend angry finger at Theo.
Theo chuckled. “She knows me well.”
“Not as well as I do,” I murmured.
“No one knows me as well as you do,” he offered with casual surety.
I stared at him in awe, disbelieving that this once closed-off, cynical aristocrat’s son could make me feel like I was the most important person in the world and do it every day. As I stared up at his handsome face, with my friends begging to know more about my books because they were genuine fans, I didn’t think I could get any happier than I was at that moment.
ONE WEEK LATER
Gairloch,Scottish Highlands
“In other headlines this evening,”the radio newscaster announced as we drove the winding, dark roads toward Gairloch, “serial killer Quinn Gray, sentenced to life in prison back in May of this year for the Hangman murders, died today from multiple stab wounds. Paramedics were unable to resuscitate him as he succumbed to his injuries before reaching hospital. Police have yet to name suspects but have released a statement confirming Gray was attacked by a fellow inmate.
“In entertainment news, crowds gather at Wembley tonight as global star Koda kicks off her UK tour …”
Switching off the car stereo with trembling fingers, I noted Theo’s hands clenched tightly around the wheel. “Are you all right?”
“The bastard’s dead,” he replied hoarsely. “He can’t harm anyone else. So, yes, I’m all right.” He glanced at me. “Are you?”
“Is it wrong that I’m relieved?”
“No. No, it’s not wrong.” Theo reached over to squeeze my hand before returning his to the wheel.
We drove in silence for a while, lost in our thoughts at the sudden and strange news until the headlights lit up the sign for Gairloch.
“‘When the moonlight’s on the mountain / And the gloom is on the glen, / At the cross beside the fountain / There is one will meet thee then,’” Theo recited softly as we drove along the winding coastal roads into Gairloch.
The moon cast a glow over the loch below and the snow-topped hills made me shiver with anticipation. It had been a year since I’d stayed at the cottage. With Theo.
It would forever be our place, and I loved the idea of us staying there for a few weeks every year.
“What’s that from?” I asked, wanting a distraction from the news that had dampened my excitement with dark memories.
“‘When the Gloom is on the Glen,’ by William Makepeace Thackeray. It’s a love poem.” He glanced at me. “Have you never heard it?”
“No. It’s pretty. We should write a poem about us and a glen.”
“Hmm, how so?” he asked.
“We had to climb mountains to get here. To have this.” I gestured between us. “It took us a while to find the glen that would let us pass through.”
He flashed me a smile, but I couldn’t tell if it reached his eyes. “How very poetic, my love. And very true.”
I reached over to smooth a hand down his arm. “I’m here if you need to talk about this.”
