Page 10 of The Escape Plan

“I hope you don’t mind taking the stairs, Andrew, because Keeley and I were actually in the middle of something here. Enjoy your breakfast sandwiches.”

Before he can respond, I press the button, and the elevator doors shut in the guy’s face.

For a split second, I’m happy to no longer be seeing that chump, but then, I catch the thunderous look on Keeley’s face as the elevator chugs upwards to the fourth floor.

“What did you do that for?” she demands.

“What’s a breakfast sandwich?” I ask, ducking her question.

“Exactly how far away is Ireland?” She sighs impatiently, screwing up her nose. “It’s a bagel or an English muffin with eggs and bacon or sausage, and maybe cheese, and… wait, no. Don’t distract me. Why did you do that?”

“Ah. We call that a breakfast roll back home.” I nod and then shrug. “And I did that because you looked like you could use a hand with that guy. He your ex or something?”

Her cheeks redden as she glares at me. “I was totally fine handling that myself.”

“You were?” I stare at her. “Because if I recall correctly, you announced that you took a geriatric aerobics class this morning.”

“AQUArobics.”

I arch a brow. “I’m not exactly sure how that’s any better.”

“It’s not!” Keeley exclaims. The doors pop open on the fourth floor, and she peeks out to check that the coast is clear before stepping into the hallway. “But seriously,Beckett”—she says my name like it tastes bad—“I don’t need your help, or anybody else’s. I’m fine.” She pauses, her eyes screwing up as she adds, “I’m fine” a second time, almost under her breath. Almost like she’s trying to reassure herself of this statement.

And with that, she turns on her heel and marches towards the stairs.

I watch her go until she disappears around the corner and the elevator doors threaten to close again. Perhaps beyond my better judgment, I’m utterly intrigued by this beautiful, feisty woman.

And still none the wiser as to why she was dressed in a towel.

Chapter Four

Keeley

“Aw, darlin’you’re a sight for sore eyes, aintcha?”

I look into the heavily-made-up eyes of Sissy Mayhew—a former Miss Texas, circa 1966—who currently reigns as the Spring View Library’s overlord…ahem, head librarian.

She’s got to be in her eighties at this point, but she’s still here working every day, except Sunday, when the library is closed, and Wednesday, which is her day off… and which she spends at the beauty salon every single week.

In all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never seen her in anything other than a full face of makeup, a big, poufy blowout, and a lot of rhinestone jewelry.

“I guess I am,” I say with a self-deprecating smile. I have no idea if her question was rhetorical but either way, I’m sure she’s correct in her assessment of me. I’m wearing cut-off denim shorts and an oversized t-shirt that reads “Fries Before Guys” across the front. I had no time to blow-dry my hair so it’s pulled back in a sloppy bun, and I didn’t even attempt eyeliner on my ridiculously puffy red eyes.

“Oh, Keeley,” Sissy tuts as she swats the air with one manicured hand, chuckling like I’ve just said something hilarious. Her shrewd gaze moves over my face. “My offer’s still on the table to show you some of the latest Mary Kay products—I have an eye cream that will do wonders for you!”

Oh, yeah. When Sissy’s not stacking shelves full of books, she peddles multicolored makeup palettes and “miracle anti-aging creams” as her side hustle.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I reply with as much cheer as I can muster. “I’ve still got half a jar of the last eye stuff I bought from you.”

Which is a lie. The jar’s still full.

“Suit yourself, darlin’,” Sissy says skeptically. She shakes her head like I’ve deeply disappointed her, and I take this as my cue to scamper past the front desk and head upstairs.

The Spring View library is in a stone building on the edge of Oldford Park, where I spent a great deal of my childhood feeding the packs of rather aggressive and entitled ducks in the pond.

My grandfather and I had a standing Saturday morning routine back then. After my parents’ divorce, Dad had a pretty hectic schedule between his busy job and having full custody of two kids. So Grandpa was my designated babysitter on Saturdays when my dad took my older brother to soccer practice.

Which I was happy about. The two of us would go to Dough Re Mi, a local bakery that sold—and still sells—the best Boston creme donut you will ever have the pleasure of eating. We’d buy a half dozen—three Boston creme, three plain unglazed. Then, we’d stroll to the park and sit on a bench by the pond, feeding the greedy ducks crumbles of the plain donuts, while each eating a Boston creme before splitting the third.

---