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I blink. “Me?”
He nods in response; brief yet powerful. I glance at the bag, feeling a kick of excitement and an ounce of dread spurred by the sinister glint in his blue eyes.
But, hey, not about to turn down a gift.
I pick up the bag and reach inside, feeling the smooth spine of a book against my fingertips. A few butterflies tingle my chest as I pull it out and flip it over to see the cover.
“The Torn Photo,” I read aloud, “by J.P. Holwood.” I look at Oliver. “What’s this?”
Oliver smiles. “That’s my favorite book,” he says. “Sorry I’m a little late, by the way. I ran to that bookshop down the street to see if they had it.”
“Why didn’t you get your assistant to do that?” I quip.
He chuckles. “Would have defeated the purpose, wouldn’t it?”
“Family secrets and brotherly lies rise to the surface as a series of crimes rock a Midwestern town—” I stop reading the blurb to glare across the table. “Is this a murder book?”
“Murder? No.” Oliver shakes his head, but his lips twitch. “No. Not at all.”
“It has a bloody knife on the cover,” I argue.
“Okay, fine. It’s a murder book. But it’s not scary. It’s mostly a story about family, and...” he pauses, his eyes falling to the book in my hand, “how far some people would go to protect them, even from themselves.”
I study the cover again, genuinely enticed by his description.
“Hey, you asked for my favorite book,” he says, gesturing at it. “There it is.”
I bite my lip, hesitant. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”
“You don’t have to read it. If you’re too scared, that is...” he adds, teasing.
“No, no,” I say, sitting up and putting on a brave face. “I’ll read it.”
“You will?”
“Yeah. I’m... down for a little... familial bloodshed now and then. In the name of friendship.”
Oliver chuckles. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it.”
Shirley returns to the table with a large tray, but it’s not enough to pull my attention away from Oliver’s blue eyes. New York City itself reflects at me from them, shimmering and sparkling and... bewitching me.
Friends, I remind myself.
“Sicilian sandwich, split for two,” Shirley says as she sets two plates down, one for me and the other for Oliver. “You must be the new Liaison.”
Oliver looks away first. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, extending his hand to her. “I’m Oliver.”
“Shirley, head server,” she says. “Paige tells me you’re a worthy successor to Graham.”
His eyes flick back to me, the force of it nearly knocking the wind out of me. “She did, huh?” he asks.
I press my lips together. “I might have said something like that, I don’t know,” I say with a shrug.
“Well, either way,” Shirley says, her voice playful as she looks at Oliver, “you’ve got some mighty shoes to fill. Graham’s beloved around here.”
Oliver bows his head. “I’ll do my best.”
“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asks him, still... very playful.
