Page 108 of Wicked Heat

He didn’t much think about it. At least not until a minute later when an alarm chimed, flashing a message that said Open Me - 5721.

With curiosity and hope fluttering in his chest, he picked up the phone, silenced the alarm, and tapped in the code.

The lock screen disappeared, leaving him staring at her locator app.

And right there was the button to locate “Bestie Bree.”

“Aria,” he whispered as he tapped the link. “I owe you one.”

The dappled sun makes patterns on the walkway as I stroll through Central Park with my parents. They arrived yesterday, and today’s a good day for my dad. He’s telling me the story of how he and my mom met by the little lake with the toy sailboats. “And when you came along, we used to take you there,” he says. “Do you remember?”

“Of course. I loved it there. Still do.”

He pauses, then looks at me with a goofy grin. “Talia, Talia, it is so good to have you back.”

A few steps ahead of us, my mother pauses, then turns to look back at us, her sad eyes betraying what she overheard and the smile she’s forcing. “We should probably turn around and head home. It’s almost time for lunch.”

“Yes, yes,” my father says, then takes my hand. “Come, Talia. You heard Mother.”

I meet my mom’s eyes, both of us knowing he wasn’t referring to her, but to his own mother. And as for me, I’m his sister. My Aunt Talia.

“Come walk with me, Samuel,” my mother says, and my father obediently turns and goes to her. I send her a small smile, then face forward as I blink back tears. I’ve been home a week now, and my father’s decline has me feeling like I’m sliding down, too. I honestly don’t know how my mom has coped.

I hang back a bit as they walk past me, trying to clear my head of sad thoughts. My dad. Ash.

Ash.

I miss him so much, but I know I made the right choice.

I know, because that’s what I tell myself every night when I go to bed… and every morning when I wake up nightmare free.

Except…

I sigh, then relax, allowing the errant thought into my head. Except I miss him. Every night he visits my dreams, and sometimes he’s Rory and sometimes he’s not.

I want him—I do. But I fear that I don’t really know him.

And I still don’t trust my judgment.

I tell myself to stop it. I don’t want to reach the house only to have my mom look at my face and see what’s been weighing on me. She’s been trying to help, but since my mom is all about stability, her idea of helping is to tell me not to think about Ash and to instead focus on my writing.

Which would be great if I was one of those writers who is inspired by emotional turmoil. I’d be cranking out the pages like crazy.

But that’s not me.

I’m the kind of writer where my turmoil fills my brain, leaving very little room for stories, and forcing me to sneak out words when my otherwise overactive brain isn’t looking.

Fortunately, I’ve managed to get enough writing done to have a spicy excerpt from the upcoming book to read at the signing next week. Hopefully, readers will like it.

For that matter, hopefully readers will show up.

I roll my eyes at my torrent of negativity. The last time I remember truly smiling was when I was with Ash.

Stop it.

I pick up my pace and am close to catching up with my parents when my phone chimes an incoming message. I snatch it out of my back pocket, then sag a bit when I see that it’s Aria.

Because, yeah, I was hoping it was Ash.