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But instead, Elliot walked in.

“Morning, light of my life,” he greeted cheerily.

“Good morning to you too, Eli.”

“Oh, Molly. Nice to see you. I was just saying hello to Pawntès here.”

“Sorry to rush you, Eli, but I have work soon,” Molly said. She had the prickling sensation he was up to something. Which, to be fair, was consistent with what she’d experienced in nearly every interaction she’d had with him thus far.

Eli swept Pawntès into his arms and moved to the treat jar, completely ignoring Molly.

“Do you feed him treats every time you see him?” she asked. “It’s no wonder he likes you so much. You’ve bought his loyalty.”

“There’s nothing wrong with leveraging what motivates people,” he said, then looked pointedly at the animal in his arms. “Or cats.”

Molly glanced at the clock.

“I have to leave in ten minutes, Eli. What do you need?”

“Ah—yes, about that. You see, I’m actually very close with the owner of your place of employment, and I’ve told them you’re taking the day off.”

Molly gaped. “Eli!”

He shrugged again.

“I—wait, you what? I haven’t even met the owner yet.”

“It’s a very casual establishment. Very understanding. It’ll be slow today anyway. Your boss was perfectly fine with it.”

“As trustworthy as I’m sure your word is, I think I’d like to hear that from my actual employer before I fail to report to work.”

Eli shared a conspiratorial look with Pawntès. His next statement was an obvious diversion. “Have you been burning a particularly unpleasant candle in here? It’s like coffee and . . . eggs? Oh no, is it the dumpsters again? I did call and ask about them.”

“Nice try; you’re not distracting me.”

Molly pulled out her phone and called the bookstore. An automatic message picked up, announcing the shop would be closed for the day. It also provided a menu option to forward the call in the event of an emergency. Molly pulled the phone from her ear and aggressively jabbed the keypad. “Eli, they’re closing so I can have a day off? That’s not necessary at—”

From his pocket, Eli’s phone began to ring. “I would like to take this opportunity,” Eli began, releasing Pawntès and silencing his cell phone, “to congratulate you on the beautiful little independent bookstore that you’re a part-owner of.”

“Elliot, what? Please don’t make me contemplate violent crimes this early in the morning. My head is already aching.”

“There wasn’t a great way to tell you, alright? We were supposed to introduce things slowly. So being in business with me and Justine—which, hi, I’m the primary investor; Justine is your real business partner—wasn’t all that easy to explain. Then there was that whole kidnapping adventure we went on, and then we ran into Justine, and what with not telling Aster about it . . . things got a little messy. And this time, our whole thing is reversed because I begged him to wait to tell you until I could find the right time. I realize it’s not a good look, and you probably won’t believe me, but I was planning on telling you. Today, actually.”

Molly gaped at him. “So this is my connection to Justine?” She clutched the counter, unsettled by the absurdity that even after all this time, there were still such huge parts of her life left to learn. Entire business partnerships, even. “Are you telling me that all those afternoons you’ve spent pestering me while I was working were actually just . . . you also being at work?”

“It wasn’t me not being at work, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Eli.”

“You and Aster both really have that tone down to an art. Chills down my spine every time.” He shivered dramatically. “Regardless, since you’ve seen my house, I’m sure you can understand why it’s alright to close up for a day.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please tell me my career is more than a hobby for you.”

“For me? That’s questionable—hey, no poking. I’m just being honest. Justine is definitely invested with more than her trust fund. She might take it more seriously than you.” He offered her an arm.

Molly’s head tilted entirely of its own volition, heart beating wildly in her chest. It was anger pumping through her, she realized. And something disturbingly close to betrayal. “Wasn’t it you who said I shouldn’t be hand-fed censored information about my own life?”

“Ah—yes. Yes, that was me.”