Page 17 of Trip Me Up

“How did you—”

“Gabi told me. You’re Samantha Jones, of the Jasper Jones Literacy Foundation family.”

She deflated. “Jasper Jones was my father.”

I winced. In my desire to be Hercule Poirot, I’d forgotten she might miss him. “I’m sorry for your loss.” It came out wooden. Jasper Jones had probably been a better father than mine. It wouldn’t have taken much.

“Thank you.” But she didn’t look at me. Her gaze was unfocused, like she saw something other humans—I—couldn’t.

My fingers tingled again.Later,I told them. Samantha was more than an inspiration. She was someone I wanted to get to know.

“Hey, can I buy you lunch? Or coffee?” If I could spend a little more time with her, I could unlock her secrets.

She blinked and glanced at the building again before she met my gaze. I’d never seen eyes that color. If I were a painter, which tints would I blend to replicate it? And how would I make them seem so clear and intelligent and alert, like they judged me and found me lacking?

“I—ah. I don’t suppose—” She grimaced. “Of course not. Or you’d… I wish I could. But I really have to get to work. I have a stack of tests that aren’t going to grade themselves.” She flashed me a smile. One corner lifted higher than the other, like secrets weighed down the other side.

I wanted to discover them all.

“Tomorrow, then. Shit, no, we’re leaving tomorrow.” When would I be back in San Francisco? Not for a while, not until—“Next spring. I know it’s a while from now, but I’ll be on tour for my next book, and I’m sure we’ll stop here.”

The shades snapped shut over those opaque eyes just before she looked down at the toe of her boot. “I—I might have an obligation then. I’m trying to get out of it, but…”

My chest tightened. “I didn’t even tell you the dates.”

“I know, but it’s that kind of conflict, you know, that’ll for sure overlap. But if I can, I’ll come see you when you’re back in San Francisco. I promise.”

“If you give me your number or your—your email”—I could remember how to log into my email by then, couldn’t I?—“I’ll send you the schedule. We can arrange to meet up.”

“I’ll just come find you. It’s more exciting that way, right?”

“Excitement is overrated.” When we’d met, she’d said she wanted to snuggle up to me. Where had this new aloofness come from?

She wrinkled her nose, eclipsing a few of her freckles. “I think the mystery appeals to you, Niall Flynn. Let’s keep it that way.” And without even a California kiss on the cheek or a handshake, she strode away from me toward the beige building.

My brain took a few seconds to catch up. At last, I blinked and watched her walk up to the entrance, flash her ID at the sensor, tug open the door, and disappear through it, all without a glance back at me.

I waited half a minute, expecting her to—do what, exactly, Niall?Pop back out and shout her phone number at me? Slide through the doors in her superhero costume after shedding her mild-mannered graduate student disguise?

My fingers tingled again, the sensation sharp this time. Spotting a bench under a tree a few dozen yards away, I headed toward it, already pulling my notebook from my satchel. She was right. It wasn’t understanding Samantha that inspired me; it was the mystery. With my imagination, I could solve the enigma myself.

I flipped the notebook to the next empty page, and before I’d even set my pen on it, an image formed. A princess in disguise, seeking adventure. Protecting not only her identity but her heart.

I filled page after page of the notebook until my hand cramped. Shaking it out, I continued through the pain until Lobelia revealed her secrets to Nieven—and to me, her creator.

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