"What should Marco and I make for you when you get back? Do you want chicken parmesan? No, wait. I'm sure you're sick of Italian by now. Are you in the mood for anything in particular? How was Florence, by the way? Did you end up closing the deal?"
"Florence was beautiful, honey. Even better in the spring. I think you'd love the—"
"Oh, I know!" I jumped. "How about Japanese? We haven't had Japanese in a while. Do you want sushi? I read that sushi's pretty challenging to make, but I'm sure Marco can teach me. What time does the jet get in tomorrow, anyway? Just so we know when to start making the food. I hope the weather's okay for take off. It's been fine over here. Do you think—"
"Lyra, slow down before you pass out!" My father's low chuckle sounded through the phone. "I don't want you going blue on me before I get back. Who would I have dinner with then?"
I laughed, taking a seat on the edge of our pool, and dipped my feet into the warm waters. The pool extended over to the edge of our yard, giving the slight illusion of being connected to the ocean just beyond it. The very tip of the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon now, staining the skies above and the waters below in soft hues of pink and gold.
It was 6:20 AM in Veranda Grove, which meant it was roughly 3:20 PM in Italy. Dad would be leaving for his flight in less than twenty-four hours.
"Well, I'm sure Gina wouldn't mind going to dinner with you," I said. "I heard her divorce was finalized just yesterday—if you're catching my drift."
"How did you . . . " My father cleared his throat, the subtle shift in his tone hiding nothing about his feelings towards our next door neighbor. "I mean, good for her. Jack was a nasty guy. She deserves someone better."
"You mean someone like you?"
"Lyra, please don't start with this again."
"You've got to start dating again, Dad. Mom's moved on." I tried—and failed—to hide the bitterness in my tone. "Why shouldn't you?"
He sighed. "Me being hundreds of miles away right now is not the right time to have that conversation."
"I'm just putting it out there."
"I know, and I love you for it. But I don't think relationship advice from my seventeen-year-old daughter is something I need right now."
I shook my head.
"Don't shake your head at me."
What?
I shot up instantly, glaring at one of the many cameras installed in our backyard. "So you get security footage all the way out there too? Are you kidding me?"
"Lyra . . ."
I turned away from the cameras to hide my expression from him. I was too bad of a liar—and unfortunately for me, my dad was too good at reading me. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you," I said in between deep breaths. The breeze coming in from the ocean suddenly felt cold. "You don't have to explain."
"I think I do." I could hear my father struggling to find the right words. "You know I've always tried my best not to play the scary and over-protective dad. But after what happened last year, there are just some precautions we have to take. Being this far away from you all the time, leaving you home alone, I can't help but worry—"
"I'm not alone. Marco and Elise are here with me," I said, referring to our house chef and maid.
"You know that's not what I meant."
"I know, I know. Look, Dad, I get it. I really do. I'm not blaming you for worrying about me." I bit my lip. "I just—is this all really necessary?"
"You already know the answer to that."
I sighed. Why had I bothered to ask?
"I have to get to work soon. Just get home safe, okay? I'll figure out dinner. It can be a mystery surprise or something," I said, forcing myself to give a slight laugh to lighten the mood. "I'll talk to you when you land?"
"Sure thing, honey. A mystery dinner sounds perfect. Have a good day at work, and give Ethan my best. I love you."
"Love you more. Have a safe flight."
After hanging up, I showered and rang for Ethan to meet me on my driveway. I was ready half an hour earlier than I'd planned, but the conversation with my dad had drained me of my energy, and if I was going to get through my eight-hour shift, I needed to stop by the coffee shop before I got to work.
"Hi, Lyra. How's it going today?" Ethan greeted me with a wide smile as he opened the door to the Mercedes, wearing his usual uniform of black jeans and a simple black tee, as requested by me. It was worlds better than the suit-and-tie ensemble my father had arranged for when he'd first hired Ethan. After all, a muscular six-foot-something man dressed as if he were in the secret service (and following me around like the secret service) would've attracted attention that I most definitely didn't need.
After weeks of convincing on my part, my father and I eventually came to a compromise. No suits, no walking behind me and no following me around like hounds, but Ethan and Lukas—who traded shifts with Ethan—were to keep track of my whereabouts at all times. They would also remain within my immediate vicinity whenever I wasn't at home or at school, even if it meant sitting in a parked car half a block away.
Because Ethan and Lukas traded shifts, I was never really alone. Even when I was home by myself, I was still surrounded by those cameras. It had been nearly a year now since it all started, and I still wasn't quite sure what to make of any of it, how to feel. Safe? Suffocated? Perhaps a bit of both.
"Just a little tired," I answered. "My dad says hi by the way."
As I passed Ethan, I noticed he was wearing a different, more expensive-smelling cologne than usual. That's when I looked up and realized his normally shaggy blonde hair was slicked back today, bringing out his sharp cheekbones.
"Somebody looks nice today," I teased. "Got a hot date or something?"
He brought his hand up behind his neck and blushed.
"Oh my god, you do!" I squealed. "Do I know 'em? Where are you going?"
What's his name?
"Ah, well . . . it—it's not really a date. Just, uh, we should get going. Don't want to hit traffic, right?" He quickly closed the door behind me and hopped into the driver's seat.
I narrowed my eyes at the bodyguard. Since when was there traffic at 7:30 AM on a Saturday?
"Anyway," he said, clearly itching to change the subject, "did you want to stop somewhere before work? I'm assuming that's why you called me in early today."
"Fine, Ethan, we don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to." I laughed. "But I will get details from you eventually."
He sighed audibly—but when I looked over, he seemed to be fighting a smile.
"Anyway," I continued, "sorry if I woke you earlier this morning. I didn't realize how early it was until after we'd hung up."
"No worries, you didn't wake me. I'd just gotten back from my run when you called."
"Oh, perfect. To answer your question then, yes—can we stop at the Lux Cafe on the way? I am in serious need of caffeine. Plus, they have the best breakfast muffins. You've got to try them. My treat!"
Ethan gave me a knowing glance. Where there was food involved, he was always happy to oblige. "Say no more."
***
After getting my fix of caffeine and Ethan his not one, not two, but three breakfast muffins, he dropped me off in front of Crooked Shelves—and with ten minutes to spare. As I walked through the front doors of the bookstore, I was greeted, expectedly, by an overwhelmingly eager Hannah.
"God, your friend is H-O-T hot." My coworker linked her arm through mine as she dragged me further into the store. "And that all black thing he's got going on?" She pretended to fan herself with her hand.
I rolled my eyes, handing her the caramel macchiato she asked for. "You're so dramatic, Han."
"Oooh, you got my text! Lyra Callaway, you are an absolute goddess!" She kissed my cheek and quickly took the cup from my hands. She cursed when the hot liquid hit her lips.
"Shit. Sorry, Hannah. I should've warned you—"
"No worries. I'm just an idiot. As if I couldn't feel how hot the cup was." She laughed it off, setting the cup down on the front counter to let cool. "But seriously, Lyra. What's the deal? Have you guys hooked up yet or what?"
"Me and Ethan?" I scoffed. "God, no. He's like ten years older. And anyway, he's just my . . . "
My what? My chauffeur and bodyguard? "We're good friends," I said. "That's all."
"Nope—you hesitated, which means you guys are totally screwing!" She jumped, her fiery red curls bouncing like coiled springs. "And besides, hasn't anyone ever told you that age is just a number? He drives you here every single time you have a shift. Only guys who like you do that kind of shit."
Or guys who get paid to.
"Ethan is not into me," I said. "Trust me."
"Doubt it. You're effin' gorgeous. Why wouldn't he be?"
Because, apart from a handful of other reasons, I'm pretty sure he isn't interested in women.
"Because he just isn't. Plus, he's really more like family than anything—but thanks for the ego boost." I winked as I drew another sip from my latte.
"Like you didn't already know it." She rolled her eyes. "So . . . are you into him?"
I nearly choked on my drink. "Ew, Hannah. I just told you he's like family to me!"
I wasn't going to deny that Ethan was a handsome guy—I'd seen the way people looked at him. Hell, Hannah was the prime example. But even if he was straight and the age gap between us was smaller—and even if he wasn't hired by my father as a precaution, I really had come to know him as more of an older brother; I couldn't fathom thinking of him in any other way.
"I think he's seeing someone, anyway," I added, once again wondering about Ethan's mystery date.
"Oh." Hannah's face fell. "Well, there went my chance."
We both busted out in laughter just as Rudy, our manager, approached.
"Good morning, ladies! I see we're in good spirits this morning. Excellent!" He clapped, the belly pinched beneath his waist-high khakis jiggling with the movement. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled. "We'll want to keep up those positive attitudes because it's going to be a very busy day. Martin Roves is doing his signing later this evening. As you girls know, a celebrity author means lots of customers. And lots of customers mean we need to be prepared! So . . . we're going to be stocking all day!"
Hannah and I groaned in unison.
"Not to worry! Olivia and Tyler are scheduled at noon today, so we'll have some extra hands. Just remember what I said about those positive attitudes!" He sang, bouncing off to his office as usual.
"You know," Hannah said, "sometimes his cheeriness can be so disturbing."
I agreed.
***
After what felt like hours of sorting through new shipments, I pulled five boxes from the back room and began to go down my list of what needed to be shelved under the Fantasy/Science Fiction section of the store. Hannah busied herself with tending to customers for the most part, which was fine by me. Customer interactions had always been more of her forte, whereas I found comfort in the silence of the shelves. In the breaks between helping with the customers, she spent her time helping me stock.
We were shelving a few copies of The Gunslinger when she nudged me with her elbow.
"Okay," she whispered, looking past me, "don't look now, but that guy over by How-To's has seriously been staring at you for, like, the past thirty minutes."
For a moment, it felt as if my heart had completely seized. And then—it doubled in speed, pounding in tandem with the words that suddenly pillaged my mind.
I'll find you. I'll find you. I'll find you.
"What does he look like?" I said, keeping my back to him while slowly taking my phone from my pocket. I pulled up Ethan's number, set to dial—and then I reached for the thickest, heaviest book I could find, ready to use as a weapon against the bastard if I needed to.
Hannah didn't seem to notice my distress. She was still looking past me—at him.
"Hmm, let's see. He's tall . . . even taller than the shelves. Dark hair. Kinda brownish-reddish, I'd say. Actually more on the brown side."
My knees nearly buckled with relief.
I released a breath, my iron grip on A Song of Ice and Fire turning to jello.
Hannah continued, still oblivious, "I can't really see his face that well. Only his eyes from above the shelf. Oh—no, wait. Now he's moving. He's going into the next aisle. I'm about to see his . . . holy crap."
"What?" The book was back in my hands before I realized it.
"His muscles are ridiculous! And his face? Jesus, he looks like he belongs on the cover of a sex novel!"
I closed my eyes and willed myself to calm down. I counted my breaths slowly, though somewhere in the distance, I vaguely heard Hannah continue speaking.
What was I thinking? I was in a public place. A bookstore, for crying out loud. Nothing was going to happen to me. Besides, Ethan was close by if I needed him. I needed to get a grip. I was fine. I was safe.
I was safe.
"Lyra?" Hanna prodded.
"Sorry—what did you say?"
"The hottie? Do you know him or something? Why does he keep staring?"
I turned from where I stood and was surprised to find that I did know the guy, or at least knew of him. Standing across the store was Desmond Warren, Lincoln Valley High's own superstar athlete.
I could see why Hannah had freaked out. Dez was blessed with the face of a Greek God and built with a body that I was sure even the most talented sculptor could only hope to recreate. Rumor had it he was shooting for the Ivy Leagues, so he had to have been somewhat smart—or at least extremely ambitious.
It was a shame he also happened to be the school's biggest, most arrogant player.
I faced Hannah and shrugged. "He goes to my school, but we don't actually know each other. Maybe he's just wondering if I look familiar. It's a big school."
"Well, he is sex on legs." She pulled down her dark green v-neck to better emphasize her cleavage and pinched her round cheeks. "How do I look?"
"Ridiculous."
"Good." She flipped her wild curls over one shoulder. "I'm going to see if he needs help finding anything."
"Just be careful," I warned, gesturing towards where Dez stood. "I've heard a few things about him. And it's a pretty big school, like I said."
"Maybe you've heard about him 'cause he's so goddamn sexy."
"Not good things, Han. I mean from what I've seen of him, he's just cocky. And everyone knows he's a player, but for some reason everyone is still in love with him—"
"And you're not?" Her brows raised. "I've only been looking at him for one minute, and I think I'm ready to bear his children."
I rolled my eyes even as a chuckle escaped me. "You're unbelievable."
"Whatever, Callaway. If he's as big of a player as you say, then maybe he'll want to take a quick tour of the stock-room." She smirked, sashaying down the aisles towards him before I could say anything else.
I shook my head at her before turning back to the shelves to continue stocking. Leave it to Hannah to terrorize the customers.
Before I could get through two more books, however, Olivia approached, her thick-framed glasses nearly devouring her face. She went to my school and was a year younger, but we'd met during lunch last semester and ended up being relatively good friends. Though she was quiet and liked to keep to herself most times, she was also the one who'd gotten me the job at Crooked Shelves.
"Hey, Lyra. Where's Han? I figured she'd be with you."
"You just missed her." I looked to the spot where Dez had been standing but saw no signs of them. I briefly scanned the rest of the store, but the bright red hair was nowhere to be found. Maybe she and Dez had actually gone off to the stock-room.
"Saw a hot guy and ran to him. You know Hannah."
"Of course." Olivia laughed. "Rudy wants me to do some inventory, so I'll be upstairs for a bit. Just wanted to let you guys know in case you needed me."
"Sure thing. I'll let Hannah know if I see her."
"Thanks." Olivia waved and made her way up the stairs.
Not two seconds later, someone behind me cleared their throat.
"Excuse me, miss. I was wondering if you could help me find something."
I sighed, glancing at the three full boxes of books still laid out in front of me. Great. With Hannah gone and Olivia doing inventory, there was no way I was getting all of this done before four.
I turned around, only to be met by a pair of devastatingly bright amber eyes. He must've stood at least a foot taller than me, smiling—flashing his ridiculously perfect, straight white teeth.
Dez.