Page 50 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“Nice place,” he says.

“Harper found it.”

He smiles. “What would you do without her?”

“Excellent question. Though I think I’m about to find out.”

“Oh?”

I sigh. “After this trip, I think she’s done.”

“With what?”

“Being my assistant. This life. I think I am, too.”

A waiter comes to the table—his apron crisp and his white hair thin—and I order the amatriciana. Oliver gets the same and a Caesar salad to share. The waiter pours us each a large glass of wine from a decanter, then leaves.

Oliver raises his glass and clinks it against mine. Our eyes lock in the candlelight, and that inner monologue starts up again.

Only this time it’s got sense memories attached.

—How soft his lips were when he used to kiss me.

—The way his fingers felt as they traced slow circles on my skin.

—The way it felt when I fell in love with him. How it was wonderful and terrifying all at once, because Connor had broken my heart and betrayed my trust.

I didn’t think I could survive that again.

Turns out I could. Knowledge I’d rather not have.

Oliver tastes his wine and smiles. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“This is better than that fancy restaurant wine.”

I taste mine. It’s rich and light at the same time. “Right?”

“So what did you mean, before? About you being done, too?”

“With the Vacation Mysteries. The next book is going to be the last.”

“Why?”

I lift my eyes to his. They’re a deep brown, and I’ve always gotten lost in them.

“Because I want Connor out of my life. Once and for all.”

The waiter arrives with our food. He places the salad in the middle with a pair of tongs, and sets our pasta dishes before us along with some delectable-looking bread dripping in olive oil and rosemary. We thank him, and then he leaves.

“He’ll never be out of your life,” Oliver says, reaching for a piece of bread.

“He will. When I kill him, he’ll be gone.”

Oliver nearly chokes. “What did you say?”

“I’m killing him off.”

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