Page 42 of Audiophile

I text her back a quick, harmless lie.

Stayed the night. Nothing happened. I’ll text you later.

Liar! Call me!

I ignore her, gathering my things together. Reed stops me with a wide, gentle palm on my arm. “Do you want to get coffee?”

It’s an offer to end this on better terms, and I take it. “Sure.”

Tina is at the counter as we leave and, though we’re not holding hands, my cheeks heat. No doubt she’ll tell Becca and set the PTA moms’ tongues wagging.

“Now that your curiosity is sated—” I fiddle with my toffee latte at The Cornerhouse Cafe. “Where are you headed next?”

Reed shakes his head. “It’sfarfrom sated. Guess I’m staying in Swift River a little longer. I have yet to collect my side of the bargain, remember?”

I swallow hard at the memory of his rasp in my ear,my hands all over you. He lit a fire last night that still smoldered inside me. “You could claim it now and save yourself an extra hotel stay?”

“I love that offer,” Reed chuckles, “but I’ve got plans for you. When are you off work?”

I should lie, but the truth wins out. “I don’t have to work today.”

“What?Pet,we could be in bed right now. Cuddling naked, preferably.”

Sign me up, my body declares, but I shut it down. “I have a real life. I have to—”

“If you could do whatever you want today, what would you do?”

My answer is immediate, but I don’t want to share. I take a sip, stalling. “Laundry.”

Reed pins me with a look. “Petra.”

“It has to be done.”

“Petra.”

“Clean the kitchen. Visit Livi and the kids.”

He grins. “Done. Let’s go.”

“What?”

His raised eyebrow practically laughs at me. “We’re going to visit Livi. Should we bring a hostess gift? Maybe something extra special as thanks for the lace.”

My face goes up in flames. If Reed and Livi goad each other, I’ll be left in a pile of mortified ashes. “I’d go to the coast—if it was solely me. It’s almost an hour to the beach, but I’d spend all day there. Writing, breathing in the salt. I’d watch the sunset and come home.”

Reed’s eyes search mine. “Writing?”

Shit.“Like my diary.”

Reed frowns at me. “You’re not a great liar, which I appreciate. Why didn’t you mention this over dinner? What do you write? Is that what you were doing in LA?”

Because you created your own company and I never published.“Mostly middle grade fiction. But I got sidetracked after…stuff. Ended up working for a nonprofit that advocates for patients with high medical bills. Then I moved back here.”

I wish I could read him as easily as he reads me, but his expression is one I don’t understand. “Was advocacy something you wanted to do, or did you fall into it?”

I shrug, hiding the knots in my stomach. “I had some intense hospital bills. I fought them and then…it felt right to use what I learned to help other people.”

Reed smiles, but his face is full of shadows as he reaches across the table to stroke his thumb over my knuckles. “You’re pretty incredible. Can I ask? Was it cancer?”

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