“And?” Holt probed.
Simon exhaled heavily, rubbing his eyes. “I woke up, and Violet was gone.”
“What do you meangone?”
“You’re a writer. You should know the definition.”
“She’s dead?”
“God, no. Fuck.”
“In my writing, that would’ve been the plot twist I would’ve gone with,” Holt defended.
“You need your head examined, man. No, she’s alive and well. At least, I think she is. She just wasn’t there. Her cats were, but her car wasn’t. She’s not answering the phone or returning my texts.”
“You didn’t wake up in a puddle of blood, did you?”
Simon’s eyebrows slammed down. “No. Why?”
Holt shrugged. “Then you’re not a character in one of my books.” He smiled. “Did you check the bakery? Maybe she went to get you a cronut.”
“What’s a cronut?”
“Only the most amazing thing since sliced bread,” Bailey offered, coming into the room with a cup of coffee in her hands. “Want some?”
Simon looked at the cup but shook his head. “I think I’m gonna grab a shower first.”
Bailey smiled at him before walking over to sit on the couch.
If this was a dream, Simon really hoped he would wake up.
Now.
Right now.
With every step to the second floor, he waited for something weird to happen. When it didn’t, he realized something.
He wasn’t asleep.
And the woman he’d spent the night with, the woman who’d etched herself under his skin in a matter of hours, had snuck out to get away from him.
Of her own fucking house.
Chapter Nine
“Okay, girl. I tried to wait untilSpencer got back but screw him. I want the deets. Now!” Elana announced when she walked into Shelf Help.
Violet’s gaze darted to her best friend as she shook her head and pointed toward a row of books, letting her know they weren’t alone.
Elana popped two thumbs up, drew a heart in the air, then pointed toward the back of the store, which translated to: she understood and would be waiting in the romance room.
Not that it was an actual room. Nor did romance take place there. It was a section of the store that Violet had created for the customers who preferred to linger when they weren’t ready to go back to the real world. There were three sections, in fact. One for her romance readers, one for the fantasy buffs, and the other for the fairy tale enthusiasts, each with a mural reflecting as much.
She’d painted the three-dimensional murals herself—a hobby she rarely had time for these days—before the storeopened to the public a few years ago. Each mural resembled a large window overlooking a scene dedicated to that genre. The one on the right was the fantasy illustration, depicted by the dragon flying high over sparkling water. With help from her cousins Leif and Lance, she’d built shelves resembling a tree. The “branches” reached all the way to the ceiling and held a variety of fantasy-themed books.
The middle section’s window was her interpretation of a fairy tale. In the distance were snow-topped mountains, the perfect backdrop for the princess talking to a prince in a meadow. The gauzy curtains added some flair to the design. She’d been a little less dramatic in designing the shelves but had opted for ornamental decorations to adorn the area where she kept a variety of fairy tales and fairy-tale-themed books.
Last but not least was the favorite among the moms who frequented her store. They were often drawn to the fall theme that was there year-round. She’d painted the scene to reflect a cozy courtyard just beyond the window, with leaves in reds and golds fluttering about on the breeze. The shelves held flameless candles among the variety of romance books, and little plug-ins provided a subtle scent of pumpkin. Violet had adjusted the overhead lights to be less intrusive in that section, plus she added some comfortable chairs. The other sections were meant to be fun with their bean bag chairs and smaller, kid-size seating.
