My throat tightens, and I force a smile that probably looks like it’s been through a war.
“I’ve learned a lot about love,” I say finally. “Enough to know I didn’t have it when I thought I did. But I believe in it. The love stories I write might be imaginary, but I believe love is real.”
I feel dizzy as the words spill out of me; they are thick like goo, as if they’d been stuck somewhere inside of me for too long.
“That’s a beautiful sentiment, Rachel,” Melanie intercedes. “To believe that love is real. Obviously, you have a lot of fans that believe that, too. Let’s open questions to the audience. If you have a question, please line up behind that microphone there.” Melanie gestures over toward where the microphone is situated in the middle aisle closer to the stage. There’s already a handful of people lined up.
The first voice crackles through the speakers.
“Evan,” a woman in a fuchsia minidress purrs through the mic, “I’d love for you to investigate me…in every way.”
The word “every” is a landmine, and she steps right on it. The crowd titters. Everyone knows exactly what she means.
I groan, not even hiding it, and glance at Evan.
Of course, he’s smiling. Because she’s gorgeous and knows how to pose like she’s shooting the cover ofGlamour: Mic Stand Edition.If I were standing there in comparison, I’d be featured onWhat Not to WearorThe Princess Diariesbefore Princess Mia’s hair was tamed and the glasses came off.
“That’s a generous offer,” Evan says smoothly, “but I’m not looking to open any new cases right now.”
Cue laughter. It keeps going like that—women with come-hither eyes, tight dresses, and too-sweet smiles, all hoping to land a flirt that sticks. But Evan, while polite, doesn’t budge.
And the more I watch, the more I realize something—if Evan wanted romance, he has no shortage of options.
Me? Not quite the same story.
Then I seehim.
A man steps up to the mic wearing a too-bright blue shirt. His eyes lock on mine like he’s been waiting.
“BarrettBeyondTheBadge,” he says, and his voice makes my blood freeze. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You’re beautiful in the flesh.”
The way he saysfleshmakes mine prickle with goosebumps. My chest tightens. My pulse quickens.
KillerPlotTwist.
He said he’d be in blue.
And his eyes—something about them dulls as he speaks, like the light behind them switched off. Or maybe it was never on.
“Whoever hurt you, I’m sorry,” he continues. “I would never hurt you, Rachel Perry.”
I flinch, and I hate how he says my name out loud. I feel exposed, like I need a coat, or a bodyguard, or a secret identity.
“Do you have a question?” Evan’s voice cuts in, sharp and low like he’s giving a warning.
I look at him. His jaw is tight. His eyes, locked on Blue Shirt Guy, are full of fire—but none of it is for me.
“I wondered if she got my message,” the man says as he tilts his head like a curious bird. “If her heart bleeds the way I think it does in her words.”
My breath catches.
The room doesn’t laugh thistime.
But the man’s not smiling. He’s just watching me. Waiting. Like he’s already writing the next chapter of this moment, and he’s waiting for me to keep reading.
I feel Evan’s eyes on me.
I swallow. The room feels small suddenly, like it’s just this man and me as he continues to stare. I nod my head slowly.
