Page 69 of A Taste of Vanilla

“I’m succeeding,” he says.

Oh.

A laugh slips out of me, too breathless to be casual, and his eyes drop to my mouth.

The laugh diesimmediately.

For a second, we just look at each other across the small distance between us.

Then, my phone buzzes in my purse.

I jump before digging it out with clumsy fingers.

OLIVER

Alive?

Yes.

A second later:

Upstairs?

I look at the man whose name I still haven’t gotten, and part of me wants to ask him again.

The other half wants to continue not knowing. He doesn’t know my name. I don’t know his.

So in my head, I decide his name is Roman after the mafia leader in the romance book I just finished.

I look at him. He’s still watching me.

Yes.

With him?

I huff a laugh.

You know the answer.

I hate that answer.

I’m okay.

The dots appear, and then disappear, before appearing again a few seconds later.

Door locked, drink water, phone on.

My throat tightens.

Yes, dad.

Say that again and I’ll change the locks.

Love you too.

No answer to that.

Then,