Page 10 of Lost in the Moonlight

As soon as he said his name, it was like a kaleidoscope turned, and my mind filled with images of him. The laughing one that had pricked at me earlier along with a multitude of others that had been plastered all over the television screen, magazines, and online sites.

“Holy bejesus,” I said softly, glancing around quickly as if expecting the Secret Service to come running into the room, bundle me up, and send me on my way.

His face shuttered, he dropped his hand, and I immediately felt sorry my response had caused him to shut down even more.

The kettle whistled softly, and he retreated to pour the water into the cups.

“I didn’t recognize you at first. I…” I shook my head, trying to clear it. I was in a kitchen with the president’s son!Hiskitchen. The son of the president of the United States not only lived across from me but had saved me from Poco—personally. No muscled man with an earpiece and a sidearm had done it. Where exactly was his detail? I hadn’t seen any men in suits lurking around. It would have alerted me days before if I had. A thousand new warnings flew through me. But the only thing that escaped was a croaked, “Where’s your detail?”

“Sent them packing,” he said as if it was no big deal. Instead, he offered me a cup with a face that remained blank. “You want sugar? Cream?”

A dozen more questions swung through me, including why he’d let go of the detail and what he was doing in Cherry Bay. But instead of asking, I simply responded to him, saying, “Sugar, please.”

He offered up a blue-glazed cannister, and our fingers collided, sending a new round of aftershocks through me and reminding me the attraction I’d felt was real—and yet even more ridiculous now that I knew who he was. He watched as I scooped sweetener into the tea and swirled it around. I wouldn’t be embarrassed by using the sugar to offset the bite of the tea. After all, the art of cooking was about balancing one flavor against the other.

I placed the spoon in the sink, and when he continued to just stare, I blurted out, “Why did you send them away? Isn’t that dangerous for you?”

“Danger comes in a lot of different forms,” he said almost wearily. “I needed some privacy and some normal before I forgot what it felt like to have it.”

A pained understanding flew through me. Hadn’t I’d wished for normal for years? For a past I couldn’t get back? But then, I’d realized whining and complaining only hid the daily pleasures waiting around each corner, like the way a recipe came together perfectly or the joy tucked inside a laugh. But if I told him I completely empathized with him, it would likely come across as some sort of come-on rather than the truth.

And wasn’t that even more ridiculousness? The idea of me coming on to the president’s son. Even if, for a moment, I’d felt a brief and enticing smattering of hope that I could experience another of the joyous items on my bucket list, it had been dashed away with the knowledge of who he really was. But I could still cherish the thrill I’d had from simply touching him. The loveliness of this moment next to him in a sunny kitchen withcitrus-flavored tea bursting on my tongue and the vibrant and spicy scent of him drifting through the room.

Tonight, when my day was over, when work was behind me, I’d add these memories to my journal, relish them a bit longer, and savor the pleasure of them. But for now, I needed to leave. I needed to put this stunning man behind me and get to work. If I wasn’t at The Tea Spot by three, the first batch of scones would be late.

As if sensing my impending departure as I set the teacup down, Lincoln said, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

The words were accompanied by a wry half-grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes and made me ache to see his full smile. Made me long to tease and taunt until a real, brilliant one emerged. Like the one captured on the cover ofTIMEmagazine as he’d danced with his sister at the President’s Inaugural Ball. His laughing face had been all over the media after that, dozens of GIFs sprouting out of that singular moment.

“Is your name a state secret?” he asked, lips twitching again.

My breath caught, not only because I was still waiting for that real smile to emerge but also because he was closer to the truth than he could ever know. The silence drew out as I fought for the air to answer him, and the longer I went without responding, the larger and more real his smile got until it creased the corners of his eyes and danced across his cheeks. It dazed me in a way that had me forgetting any ideas of leaving and nearly stuttering out my old name.

“W-Willow. Willow Earhart.”

His lips tipped upward even more. “Any relation to Amelia?”

I shook myself out of the stunned stupor caused by his perfectly shaped mouth and dazzling white teeth. “No. But my mother wished there was a connection.”

Hadn’t that been the reason she’d chosen our new last name?

“You were pretty brave back there,” he said, head tilting toward the window and the graveyard.

My stomach flopped. I reclaimed the teacup and took another sip, trying to steady myself while repeating,It’s over. Nothing bad happened. Everything is fine. You’re safe.I didn’t need to tell Mom or Deputy Marshal James about it. This wasn’t the Viceroys. This was some handsy local who could be shaken off.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone there this early,” I said. “Poco caught me off guard.”

“You know him, then?”

“Everyone in town does. He works for Tall Paul,” I said as if it was a known fact. Lincoln simply raised a brow in question. “Paul owns Flat Mike’s, the biker bar just outside town, and the mechanic shop next door to it. He and Poco are Cherry Bay’s criminal element in its full glory.”

The US Marshals had investigated them before we’d moved here, and they had no ties to any of the gangs in Chicago. No way for our presence here to get back to Aaron and his thugs. At least, it was what Deputy Marshal James had promised while also telling us to stay clear of Paul.

“He’s hit on you before.” It wasn’t a question. It was a snarl of disapproval. When I didn’t respond, Lincoln said, “He won’t be happy about how tonight went down.”

Outside, a crash of thunder and a streak of lightning was followed immediately by the pounding of hail on the windows. I hadn’t looked at the weather before I’d set out this morning or even registered the scent of rain over the smell of the cherry blossoms.

But the sound of the storm jerked me back to my reality. Not only to the increasingly desperate need to get to work before all the pastries were late, but also to the fact that this man was unattainable for more reasons than just who his family was.

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