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She searched his eyes—the same grey orbs that had met hers that night so long ago, promising escape. They hadn’t exchanged pleasantries. She’d caught him staring and nodded towards the restroom. He’d met her there.
“I do. You need to know. That man is Zoey’s father. I never knew his name. I couldn’t look for him.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
She trembled. “You really don’t remember me?”
His brow furrowed. “Remember what?”
“We met at the Pink Drink bar, four years ago, in April. You’re Zoey’s father.”
He shook his head, face paling. His arms dropped to his side as he backed away from her.
She slid off the counter, reaching out to him. “Atlas—”
He jerked from her touch, running a hand through his hair and tugging.
“I didn’t tell you right away because I wanted to make sure you were a safe person for Zoey.”
He blinked before settling his gaze on her. His eyes narrowed, turning to ice. “I was never in New Hampshire four years ago.”
Her phone chimed in her pocket, signaling that someone had come into the inn. She blinked. She was sure. There had to be a mistake. He had to be confused. Maybe he’d been too drunk?
Footsteps thudded closer. The new arrival entered the room. She looked up at the figure standing in the doorway and gasped. Her eyes flicked back and forth between carbon copies of the same man.
Atlas was an identical twin. And if Atlas wasn’t Zoey’s father, then that meant . . .
The wall behind Atlas’s grey eyes slammed shut. His expression was unreadable.
