Chapter 24
“What’s wrong with you?” Gabi asked after our book club meeting the following night. “You hardly said a word all night.”
“Nothing,” I said.
She raised her eyebrows at me. “Liar.”
We stopped at her car, but Gabi wasn’t ready to let things drop. She crossed her arms over her chest and pinned me with her mom-of-a-teenager stare that usually worked. Not today. Today I was too confused to put words to my inner turmoil.
Thatcher came out of Hyperbole’s and locked the door behind him.
“Thatch,” Gabi called. “Come over here and help me with Lacey.”
Thatcher strolled over and slung an arm around my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. I’m fine. I just want to go back to my apartment and sink into my newest books.”
By the looks on their faces, something in my voice must have given me away.
“Methinks she doth protest too much.” Thatcher squeezed my shoulder and steered me away from Gabi’s car. “This calls for chocolate.”
Gabi checked the time. “I have thirty minutes before I have to get Shane from practice.” Not waiting for us, she strode down the sidewalk toward Frenchie’s Chocolate Shop. She opened the door and ushered us inside. “Find somewhere to sit. I’ll get the usual.”
Thatcher turned to look at her. “No—”
“White chocolate,” Gabi said, interrupting him as she turned for the counter. “I know.”
The scent of cocoa and caramel made my mouth water. I’d walked dogs during dinner, and I couldn’t remember what I had for lunch. Over the last week, I’d taken on as many dog-walking clients as I could handle. Whenever I had an idle moment, I obsessed over Beckett. It was better to stay busy.
Thatcher led me to a booth under a chandelier shaped like an octopus. Tiny paper hearts hung from the glass tentacles. Just in time for Valentine’s Day. I should get Beckett a pair of socks in honor of the holiday. Where would I find a pair of crazy socks?
Tears welled in my eyes. I blinked them back with a snort. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
Thatcher grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it to the booth. He turned it around backward and straddled it, leaning forward on the table. His blue eyes settled on mine, calm in the wake of my storm.
“Does this have anything to do with a certain author?” he asked.
My jaw fell open. “What are you talking about?”
“Summer let it slip about her uncle.”
I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Jesus, Thatcher! No one is supposed to know. He wouldn’t be happy that Summer is telling people.”
Thatcher gave me a hurt look. “I’m people now, huh?”
I waved a hand at him. “This isn’t about you. Beckett is private about his writing. You haven’t said anything to anyone, have you?”
“No. Why would I? It’s none of my business. I know how to respect a man’s privacy. And she made me swear not to tell.”
“You just told me.”
“I figured you already knew.” He stood as Gabi approached the table. “I figured right, didn’t I?”
I grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t say anything, okay?”
“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”
Tears welled behind my eyes, and I struggled to blink them away.
