“Snickerdoodle?” I said, holding the plate out to me.
“Thank you,” he said, taking one and then holding up the book. “How come you had me sign it to Elle? And when did I sign this?”
I blushed.
“It was a few years ago. I came to the event in disguise.” I pointed to my baseball hat, then the pair of glasses on my coffee table. “And I didn’t want to say Lior, just in case.”
“So you said L, like the letter, and didn’t correct me when I spelled it out.”
I nodded.
“I owe you a new copy.”
“I like my copy,” I said, taking it from him and hugging it to my chest.
“Are any of the others signed?” he asked.
“Just one. I didn’t want to come off as a complete stalker.”
“Are you a stalker?”
“Nah. But I am a fan. Have been for years. Which was why I was extra mortified by that article.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s funny now. Addie nearly bust her stitches laughing when she realized I was the Meet-Poop Girl. She will never let that go. And for that reason alone, you shall remain my mortal enemy.”
“And here I thought we were getting along so well.” He looked down at the cookie that was nearly gone. “Wait, is this poisoned?”
I took a large bite of the cookie in my own hand.
“Nope,” I said with my mouth full.
He pointed at the shelf filled with books on writing.
“Are these yours?”
“The books on my bookshelf in my house?”
He laughed. “Sorry. You said the house used to belong to your dad so I thought maybe they had been his.”
“That’s the second time you’ve insulted me since coming inside my house,” I said, glaring playfully at him. “Who’s stepping in it this time?”
He dropped his head comically and then reached for one of the books.
“I love this one,” he said, flipping through the pages that were heavily marked up by a highlighter. "I see you do too."
"It’s my favorite.”
“So… you write then?”
I chewed my lip, wondering how much I wanted to divulge to this man that not so long ago I’d thought was my enemy. I couldn’t imagine he was like the users of my past. He certainly didn’t have Jared-level vibes. But with my track record, that didn’t mean much of anything.
But despite the warning bells going off in my head – Don’t trust! Turn back! – I found myself reaching for the three-ring binder he’d yet to set his sights on, cursing myself as I handed it over, and wondering what the hell I was doing, because none of this was like me.
Lior Flynn never asked a guy into her house. Lior Flynn definitely didn’t share her desserts – and certainly not the fresh-baked cookies she only made a dozen of at a time, because at some point her metabolism was going to fail her. More importantly, Lior Flynn didn’t talk to herself in the third person. But Lior Flynn was freaking out right now because she’d just handed Graham Forrester a binder of articles she’d written herself.
His eyes widened when he opened it, and as my heart thudded in my chest, a light sheen of sweat rising on my upper lip, he took a seat and started to read.
