Page 41 of Hidden With You

“No,” I say, leaning into his hand. “It’s not so bad at all. Would I have suggested a repeat if it was?”

“But you’re right,” he continues. “It was out of character considering my job here. Tonight we stay in.”

“That sounds great. If you want, we could go over everything that happened ten years ago. Like I said, we could look at it as if we were plotting a book. Martin King solves a cold case.”

He bends forward and kisses my forehead. “It’s sweet for you to offer, but I don’t know that I want that day in my head. Not when I have you beside me. Does that make sense?”

I nod; it does make sense. But I want him to be able to talk about it with me. I want it, I realize, because that would prove that he’s actually moved on. That he knows that his wife and daughter are in the past.

And I’m the one in the present.

The nature of my thoughts—of what my desire to investigate his family’s murder means—comes over me like a crashing wave. I frown, then slide off the bed.

“Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Just had to stretch my legs. Maybe we should go for a walk this evening. Just around my property,” I add quickly. “Get out. Fresh air.”

“That’s not a bad idea. But I was thinking maybe we should invite some of your friends over.”

“Oh. Well, we could, but that would be a very small group of zero.”

He laughs. “I think you’re exaggerating. I know you’re friends with Leah. I figured she’d be on the guest list.”

“I’m not exaggerating that much,” I tell him, my lack of social connections making me feel more than a little lame. “I told you I don’t make friends easily. And when I do, they all seem to disappear.”

“Zelda…”

“No, it’s true. Most of the friends I’ve made live halfway across the country now, and I don’t think they’re going to fly in just for wine and cheese. Especially since we’re not close anymore. I mean, Camille and I barely have a thing in common now.”

I shake my head, remembering our last awkward conversation at brunch.

He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “There are some online folks I chat with while I write, but they’re scattered all over the globe, and we mostly talk plots and writing schedules.” I shrug. “It’s not a big deal. It is what it is.”

Except, of course, it is a big deal. I sigh, thinking about all the opportunities I’ve had over the years to make friends through local writing groups or people that Evelyn introduced me to. And there were a couple of girls at my yoga class who mentioned getting together to explore all of LA’s parks.

But all those opportunities petered away because I was too scared to get invested. I don’t tell him that, though. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever told myself that before now. Something about being with Jasper Kent has made me take a closer look at myself. And I’m starting to wonder if I like what I see.

“Hey, it’s no problem,” he says, with the kind of cheeriness in his voice that is reserved for people who are just a little bit on the edge. He takes my hand, and I glance up at him. “We’ll just drag people in off the street,” he says dryly, and this time I really do laugh.

“Yeah. We’ll just make sure that your random people aren’t inclined to shoot me.”

“I’ll do a thorough investigation.”

“You’re going to walk, too, aren’t you?” The words that have burst out of my mouth surprise me. “Once this is all over. You’re gone. You won’t be a friend I can call over for an evening. And you won’t be the guy in my bed. Not anymore.”

He looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights. “I’ll always come over. But for drinks and a movie. Or to sit around playing Trivial Pursuit. Nothing else.”

“Not even friends with benefits? The benefits are pretty awesome.”

He looks at me, and for a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer. Finally he says, “No. Not friends with benefits. Not after this is over.”

“Oh,” I say as a lump forms in my throat. “Well, thank you for the truth.”

But as I hold that truth in my hands, I honestly don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad one.