Page 104 of Heart So Hollow

“Brett,” I extend my hand to shake hers, “nice to meet you, regardless of the circumstances.”

Valerie pauses and squints at me, “Brett Sorensen?” The tone of her voice rises with curiosity.

I return the inquisitive look, “Yes?”

“Are you serious?” Her eyes widen and a grin slowly spreads across her face. “I knew I recognized you.” She shakes her head with a laugh, “I just finished listening to your interview with the Spice Ghouls.”

“No way! That’s wild.” And it’s the truth, because this is the first time a stranger has recognized me out in public.

“And, of course,” she rolls her eyes, “I meet you by wrecking into your car…”

“It happens,” I say as I turn to walk back to my door. “And trust me, there are stranger ways to meet people.”

When I duck into the car to retrieve my insurance information, I pause, lingering for a few moments. I glance out the back window at Valerie, starting back toward me with her information.

“Wow…” I murmur to myself before climbing back out of my 4Runner. I slide back out of the driver’s seat and meet her next to my bumper, “I guess I do need to call someone,” I say as I hold out my insurance card for her to take a picture, “my car seemed OK, but now it won’t start,” I lie.

“Oh, no...” she groans as she holds out her card for me. “Well, let me at least give you a ride. I was just going home, so I can wait with you.”

I shake my head, glancing down at my phone to make sure the photo is clear before tucking it into my back pocket, “I can’t ask you to do that. I can just call my boyfriend.”

“Seriously,” she insists, “it’s not a big deal. I’d hate for this to inconvenience anyone else. I’ll pay for you to get towed and I’ll buy you another coffee while we wait.” Then she flashes me an impish smile, “Besides, it wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with the author of my new favorite book.”

I can’t help but laugh. She seems nice enough—normal enough—so her offer is tempting. And she does have a point, it wouldn’t be the worst to hang out with someone who’s so enamored with my writing.

Or me…

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Brett

One Year Ago

“When were you going to tell me that you used to fuck Hannah?” I ask while sinking my knife into a ripe cantaloupe.

Bowen slowly turns on his heel to face me, “Come again?” he asks, arching his brow with curiosity.

At first, Hannah’s bitchy jabs didn’t bother so much. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was something in her voice that was different than just a jealous woman trying to press my buttons. It sounded like…she knows things.

“When—” Slice “were you going to tell me—” Slice “that—” Slice “you used to—” Slice “fuck Hannah?”

Bowen shifts his eyes between me and the cutting board, “Can you put the knife down, please?”

I look down at the cubes of cantaloupe and then at the gleaming chef’s knife. I guess I do look rather unhinged. I rinse the knife, set it down on the counter next to the drying rack, and then turn back to him expectantly.

“Alright,” he continues, “what makes you think I fucked Hannah?”

“Because she said so. Barrett was there, she heard everything, when she—"

“Where?” Bowen cuts me off.

“What?”

“Where was Barrett?”

“At the Rickhouse last night. We went to the restroom and Hannah was standing there at the sink looking at me like I wrecked her whole night.”

“What did she say?”

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