Page 80 of Danger

He leads me outside and into the cool night air. I shouldn't like something as simple as holding hands this much. But I do. Maybe it's because he hasn't let go once or because everyone saw him take mine.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, breathless.

“Right here.”

He stops at what used to be an old storefront next to the bar, glass dusty. He kneels, lifts the mat, retrieves a key.

“Let me guess,” I say. “You have bodies buried here?”

He unlocks the door, pushes it open, and holds it for me. “Guess you’ll find out.”

Inside, the air is all new book smell, dust, and the faintest trace of wood polish. It’s nicer than you’d expect on the outside. The shelves lean, every surface blanketed with abandoned paperbacks. The counter is still littered with receipts and an unplugged credit card machine.

He walks me through. “It used to be a bookstore,” he says. His voice is more intimate now that we’re alone. “My grandmother owned it. Never really made money, but she kept it running ‘cause she liked having a place to read.”

“Does she know you break in here?”

He gives a soft laugh. “She left it to me. Told me not to sell it because it’s special, that one day I’d know what to do with it.” He gestures to the walls, the piles of books. “Some people have treehouses growing up, but this was my safe place.”

I wander, fingers trailing over battered covers, picking up titles at random. “I always wanted to own a place like this,” I say, thinking how we’re struggling to pay rent on our tiny bakery, and he has all this—just sitting. “Not just a bookstore, but it would make such a nice bakery, too. I’d have coffee and fresh pastries over there. People would come for the smell alone.”

He watches me, smiling. “Wanna see my favorite part?”

“Um, yes.”

He gestures for me to follow. He moves over to a large shelf, then pulls a book, which unlocks a hidden door. It leads to a narrow stairwell. He takes the stairs two at a time, reaches a landing, and flicks on the light.

Twinkle lights—they’re everywhere—strung along the ceiling, illuminating a space barely bigger than a dorm room. There’s a mattress on the floor, flannel comforter, a pile of blankets in one corner, and a window overlooking Main street. There’s a whitebookcase, half-full, and an electric fireplace. A beanbag chair. A shoebox stereo. The carpet is white and impossibly clean.

“It’s…” I have no words. “What is this place?”

He shrugs. “Used to feel a lot bigger when I was younger.”

I cross the space, sit on the edge of the bed, and let myself be impressed. “This is amazing, Danger. I can’t believe you have this little secret.”

He stands near the door, hands in pockets, not looking at me. “I used to come here when things at home got… bad.”

I’ve heard stories, pieced together from Trouble and rumors. Their father, a man so mean no one ever crossed him. People in town still talk about him like he was the boogie man.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.

He shakes his head. “We all go through shit.”

“I know,” I say, softer. “But you shouldn’t when you’re a kid.”

He shrugs. “That’s why I had this place. Used to bring my brothers here sometimes too, but I doubt they remember.”

“It’s honestly better than a treehouse.”

I look out the window at the view of the street. In another life, I’d live in a place like this, above a bookstore, a secret hiding place no one knows about.

“So, what’s the dare?” he asks.

I forgot about the dare. I pull the paper from my back pocket, flatten it on my thigh.“If your relationship with the outlaw has any rules, it’s time to break one.”

It’s written in Honey’s handwriting, looped and sassy.

“It actually says that?” he asks, and I hand it to him.