“He’s clearly disturbed.”
“Or devoted.”
I scowl.
“If he ever comes back, I’ll rip that bill into confetti and garnish his tiramisu with it.”
“Or we could accept the money.” Maria shoves the bill to the tip jar and shoots me a sly look. “Did you know he studies restorative justice?”
No, I did not know that.
It’s probably a lie anyway.
A decoy.
Something rich people claim to study so everyone thinks they’re good.
“I’ve never heard a single relationship rumor about him,” she muses, and I hate the illogical surge of satisfaction it gives me. “Although I’ve heard that—never mind.”
“Exactly,” I say in a huff. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
My sister barrels on anyway, listing charity runs, mentoring programs, elderly neighbors he’s helped. Baby goats he’s saved in slow motion.
Okay, maybe I imagined the last one, but I wouldn’t put it past him.
I grab a rag.
“All I hear is blah blah privilege,” I retort.
Smirking, Maria starts cleaning tables.
I follow suit, scrubbing aggressively.
None of this makes sense. I’m confused. And angry. Mostly I’m furious at him for being so distractingly, stupidly charming—and for looking at me like that.
Like I mattered to him.
“I’m not letting hazel eyes rewrite history,” I mutter, and scrub harder.
CHAPTER 19 – CASPIAN
I can’t get him out of my head. That waiter from the trattoria.
Every time I close my eyes, he’s there, scowling with fire in his eyes. I want to kiss that scowl away. Turn the fire into a different kind of heat. But it’s more than that. There’s this other feeling—dangerous, gentle, almost terrifying. Something I’ve never experienced before. I don’t have a name for it yet. Just a suspicion that some essential part of my brain chemistry has been permanently altered.
A frantic knock rattles the door at 8 p.m. I open the door, and Earl bursts inside like he’s Simba and Scar’s hyenas have just spotted him.
He’s clutching a bulging tote bag, and the look on his face is even more urgent than usual.
“Caspian!” he wheezes. “The underworld has come to Baywood!”
“The what?”
I take the bag from his hands before he drops it on his toes and guide him into the living room.
“The underworld!” Earl repeats. He tries to steady his breathing. “A crime wave has swept over Baywood.”
“Okay,” I say carefully. “Do you need a sherry?”
