“You can’t be serious. Did Willow get—”
“This isn’t about Willow.” Except it is. I can see in the flicker of his eyes that she’s already gotten to him. “This is about your safety around a dangerous man. I’m worried about you.”
“Can’t you trust thatI’mnot worried? If you just met him, Dad, you wouldn’t feel—”
“I already know everything I need to. I’m not falling for whatever trick he’s pulling off here.”
“That’s not fair and, frankly, that’s insulting to me and Zander. I promise you he is not the evil person this town insists he is. He’s as much a victim in his own story as—”
“Adelaide.”
I know the conversation is over. My name, in such sharp intonation, is always the telltale sign I’ve lost the argument. I just can’t remember arguing with my dad in the last ten or so years.
I sigh, reach into my bag, and find my keys on the first go.
“Okay, Dad. See you later.”
Chapter Twelve
Zander
I’m sitting in a back corner of the library, minding my own business, watching a pigeon strut along the cobblestones outside the window. The words in my brain are not making their way onto the page and waiting for Addie isn’t helping. My fingers twitch with pent up nerves, because fuck, I can’t believe this incredible woman listened to my story and still decided she wanted to hang around me. I’m terrified she’s going to show up, come to her senses, and visibly cringe away from me.
But as I turn away from the pigeon, as if called to do so, and spot a frantic redheaded blur, I’m convinced this won’t happen. Addie rushes toward me, a goddess in a dinosaur skirt. I can’t help but grin. By the time she reaches the table, I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Be cool. Chill.
Addie slides a coffee cup from Dam Good Coffee across the table and leaves another in front of her spot. She pulls a laptop and her bright pink notebook out of her bag before settling into the wheeled office chair. I bring the coffee cup to my lips. Tea. Just the way I like it.
“Hey.” I tip the cup her way. “Thank you.”
She waves me off. “Don’t mention it. I figured if we’re going to get some work done we need some writing fuel.”
“What’re you working on?” I ask.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says and opens her laptop with a delicious smirk.
She’s going to kill me. She cannot do this to me in public.
“Two can play at that game,” I say and angle my computer further toward myself. “I won’t give you any clues, either.”
“Isn’t it your job to give clues?”
“That depends. Do you think I’mgoodat giving clues?”
“I do.” She sips at her iced coffee and I stare at her lips. Fuck. Me. “I promise I’ll stop joking about being mysterious because I really do have something I want to know. And I like talking about my writing; it helps me figure things out. I just like throwing it back and forth with you. You keep up with me.”
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I also play with my coffee cup.You keep up with me. Hell yeah, Addie, I will for as long as you’ll let me. I peer at her over the rim. She looks up from her keyboard and meets my eyes with the most intimate eye contact I have ever experienced in my entire life. I have the sudden urge to slam the cup down on the table and kiss her senseless, which then turns into a much more specific vision of us up against the stacks. Defiling each other.
Stop.
Not here.
I swallow tea that barely registers as anything on my tongue. But at least my mouth isn’t dangerously dry anymore.
I clear my throat for good measure. “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you choose to write thrillers? I mean, you’re so talented with what you do. I had no idea it was Michael until you revealed it inMidnight,and then I felt like an absolute idiot,becauseof courseit was him. That’s why he moved to Vancouver in the first place. Sorry, you’re good. It’s just quite a departure, you know?”
