Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
There’s a lot to process here. It all takes on another perspective. Damon shoving him away, Damon rushing out when he entered the tea rooms . . . he was protecting Troy, standing up for him, being his best friend.
My chest feels funny; my throat tightens with a lump. I meet Troy’s eyes, dark and endlessly deep. “I’m sorry.”
“Hm. Me too.” At least . . . at least he’s admitted the truth? Damon will be relieved, and hopefully Troy more so. Hopefully this means he can move on.
I hug him and he accepts the embrace, laughing gently. “Wait.” I pull back, paling. “If the blond brute isn’t the arsonist, who is?”
Troy’s eyebrows reach his hairline. “Why are you so eager to figure this out?”
I tell him about the torn up letter, about the black clad figure, the alphabetised books.
“By author or title?”
“Author. Does it matter?”
“Curious. It doesn’t sound threatening?”
I throw my hands up. “What comes next? They swap out our bread and muesli, make us think we’re going crazy?”
“You’re not already crazy? Just a little, Captain, Cook?”
I glare at him, and he laughs. “Look, I hear what you’re saying, but if Damon is promising you there’s nothing to worry about, maybe there’s nothing to worry about?” He pauses. “Besides, the book thing sounds like something a parent or a friend might do. Are you sure Mar didn’t come by to clean up a bit?”
This is . . . a horribly simple explanation . . . that has merit.
Um. But it doesn’t quite explain Damon’s frown? Or the letter.
Troy continues, “Or maybe you did it without thinking about it? Maybe you were caught up in daydreams?”
Like a lover.
Something about this thought has me holding my breath. A memory is pulling at me. I frown as I chase it around my head, and—
I stand abruptly and stare at Troy’s bewildered expression. “Oh my God. I’ve got to see Tai.”
“You’re running off already?”
“I’ll see you and Tommy later!”
It takes me less than ten minutes to reach the library, but it hasn’t opened yet. Right. I pace the width of the doors, bite my lip, then reach overhead for the spare key. It’s not Tai I need to see exactly.
Thousands of books witness me sneaking inside and behind the main counter. The last time I did this Damon was with me, the room drowned in darkness. I feel more exposed now, in the daylight, and my stomach is hopping like crazy. Not just at the thought Tai might arrive at any moment to open up, but . . . if my memory is right . . .
I find the long matchmaking box, set it on the counter, and open it. Dozens of cardboard slips and coloured separators wink up at me, like they’re not surprised I’ve come back. I finger through them carefully one by one. When I reach the end, I do it again.
Huh.
The ‘Damon Conroy’ card is gone.
Someone clears their throat, and I jerk my head up to Tai approaching, one massively arched brow aimed at me.
I pinch the card he created for me and wave it. “I don’t want to be in here anymore.” This is true. Even if Damon turns me down. And not because I’ve given in to the dire fate of getting a cat with my mother.
He comes around, takes the box, and puts it away. “I’ll change the lock on that door.”
I suspect he might have to. I’m not the only one who’s been rifling through his matchmaking box.
“Do you need anything else?”
I apologise profusely and scurry out of the library. It takes ten minutes of deliberation before I make a call, and then slump back to the tea rooms in a right mood. Troy does a double take and tells Hailey to make me a coffee, pronto. “I thought I wouldn’t see you back so soon?”
I set my phone grumpily on the counter. “Ugh. Karl’s on his way. This day is driving me up the wall.”
Troy delivers me a look that tells me to keep talking.
“Damon!” I say. “He’s impossible.”
“What’s he done now?”
“This whole week I’ve done all the bingo-prize chores while he flirts with baby boomers, and now he asks me to polish his surf board for an afternoon surf? I’m not his wife. Even if I were, we’re not in the fifties. He even has the audacity to think he’s cute! I refuse to do it. It can rot in the backyard. I don’t care how happy he says it’ll make him.”
Lively laughter hits my nape from behind, and the devil himself slips onto the bench next to me. Hailey delivers my oat cappuccino and Damon slides it away from me and starts sipping. “Another, please, before I perish under my boyfriend’s glare.”
Troy tells Hailey he’ll do it this time and begins grinding coffee with an amused smile. He’s eyeing the two of us, and there’s something like ‘huh’ going on in his expression. I scowl towards my stolen coffee, and Damon takes a slow sip before casting me a lingering look. “So. You’re refusing to wax my board, I hear?”