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Movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention to a tall, slender blonde hurrying for a black BMW. The lights flash as she unlocks the doors, and my heart stops.
The black BMW that followed me to campus the other day.
I can only make out her profile, but the Roman nose, delicate jawline, and blonde ponytail aren’t familiar in the slightest. Who the hell is she?
My heart races. What if she’s FBI? A private investigator? Someone the cops sent to trail me.
She takes off before I can chase her down and demand to know why the fuck she’s following me.
“Briar? Did you hear me?” Trevor’s brows are furrowed in concern.
“Yep. Thanks, Trev,” I blurt.
He accompanies me across campus. “Everything good?”
“Mhmm. Just thought I saw someone.” I come to a halt outside of the Fine Arts building. “I’ll take these back. I’ve got to get to class.”
He nods. “See you later. Remember to call me if you see him. And Imayhave some brownies for you if you catch me at lunch.”
“You’re the best!” I hurry off, definitely late for class now.
I beat Dr. Barrett to class and nearly sigh with relief. I drop all the binders and papers on the desk, shoving the background check on Saint into my bag before he waltzes in and finds it.
My finger lingers on the spine of my copy ofThis Book Will Haunt You.
S.T. Nicholson.
Trevor said Saint’s grandparents lived in a small town called Nicholson, New York.
S.T. Nicholson. Like Saint Nicholson.
My heart beats harder. Saint’s words echo in my ears.If I could imprint you on my brain, I would.
I assumed he memorized the line while reading the book.
But maybe he didn’t simply read my favorite book. Maybe he wrote it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SAINT
Briar’s motheris in town to visit her only daughter. If Briar is as close to her mother as she claims, I know exactly how to get her to open her heart to me.
Cecilia Shea is an easy woman to follow. Completely oblivious to the nondescript sedan following her from Briar's house to the local grocery store.
I pull in at the opposite end of the parking lot and wait for her to finish digging through her purse before she pushes her sunglasses up on her head and strides into the store, clutching her purse to her stomach.
Briar is the type of woman who doesn’t give second chances. I’ve got one chance to make her fall for me. One chance to earn her trust.
I find my future mother-in-law in the produce section examining a shriveled white onion.
Quick. Which is the best onion?
I grind my teeth for the thirty seconds it takes Zayden to respond.
Depends on what you’re cooking. Yellow is the most flavorful.
“I suggest a yellow onion. Adds more flavor.” I hold one out to Cecilia, and she blinks big doll eyes at me. The same as my muse’s, but a soft shade of brown rather than Briar’s vibrant blue. She must’ve gotten her pale irises from her father.
