“Cool.” He nods along. “I dig it.”
We talk about the other thrillers we’ve both enjoyed—D.M. James is at the top of his list, of course—until we reach my store.
“Thanks for the ride, Dax. It was nice to meet you. Good luck with your gig.”
“Thanks. I can’t wait to tell my brother I gave you a ride. He’s going to be so jealous.”
I laugh, getting out of the car. This ride is getting five stars tonight.
I’m not naïve. I’ve been on the lawless free-for-all that is Goodreads and seen the mass of one- and two-star reviews for each of my books. It’s no secret that every reader won’t love every story. I do accept that.
But there’s also something freeing about being open about what I do—about baring myself and accepting whatever comes my way. Publishing is a vulnerable job. The pen name was meant to protect me. My suit of armor. I don’t mean to disrobe entirely now. But that was a cool moment, and maybe I don’t need to be quite so tight-fisted about who I share that part of me with anymore.
I feel lighter in more ways than one when I leave the car behind. But when I cross the street and reach the darkened doorway to Piper’s Books, my feet stall.
Because there, sitting on the front stoop, is Dorian.
The widthof the sidewalk remains between us as I stand frozen on the curb and he rises in front of the bookstore door. His eyes are wary, brow furrowed, and his hair is a mess like he’s tugged and pulled and run his hand through it for the last hour.
Hope fills every inch of my body. His presence has to be a good sign, right? He came after me. But I quickly remember what I did, and shame chases the good feelings away.
“I was going to text you,” I mutter, dropping my gaze to my purse and searching for my keys. “I just haven’t gotten home yet.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Dorian takes a step toward me. “Can we talk?”
“I apologized.” The unsaid words float between us—and you didn’t accept it. You let me leave.
He gives his head a small shake. “I needed a minute to process. Like I told you, this is hard for me. I know what I want to say, but the words don’t always come out right. They usually just refuse to come at all. It’s challenging to speak the things I’m thinking. It takes time for me to process sometimes, and by the time I know what I want to say, it’s too late. So I panic.”
“You leave.”
“Or I let you leave. But I tried to chase you down. I was just too late.”
He tried to stop me? The key fob digs into my hand as my grip tightens.
Dorian takes another step closer. The spring air has a bite to it, and I can see how pink his skin is, but I don’t want to move. We are alone out here, with the moon shining high overhead andthe street blessedly empty. All the shops along the strip are dark and quiet. It’s peaceful and still.
“I didn’t like having the rug pulled out from under me, but I get why you’ve kept the name a secret. I understand all that. How could I not?” He peers into my eyes, his own deep and dark and soulful. “These last few weeks have felt like a fever dream. I knew I’d be coming to your bookshop for the signing, and I was excited to see you. Elena mentioned you at one of our brunches and how great your store is, how you’re basically married to your job?—”
“Nice.”
“—and I couldn’t get you out of my head. I had to see you.”
“You couldn’t just stop in and buy a book like a normal person?”
“No, I thought setting up a huge event and revealing my pen name was a better idea,” he deadpans. “Honestly, some part of me clearly wanted you to see my success. Maybe I thought it would give me a better shot with you.”
“You always had a shot,” I whisper.
“I didn’t know that.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. It feels like a loss. They can’t touch me if they’re tucked away like that.
“But really, now that I know you’re the writer behind my favorite author, your chances have tripled.”
“Was that your master plan? Get with me so I’d beta read all your manuscripts?”
“Sounds like it’s working. Your thoughts about the mental hospital are on point. With your notes, I’ll surpass you in no time.”
He chuckles. The low rumble reaches my gut and silences me.
