Page 12 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

She shakes my hand, giving me a way firmer grip than Harrison’s limp fish. I laugh, thinking of Delilah’s shared horror on the matter.

Sloan slides into her seat and crosses her legs. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just texting with a friend, and we were discussing limp handshakes.” Sloan frowns. “You weren’t limp,” I add. “You gave a great shake. We were making fun of someone else who shakes like he has no bones in his hand.” I flop my hand around for effect. “Highly unpleasant.”

She laughs and relaxes more. “My father was in the army. He drilled into us the importance of eye contact and firm handshakes to exude confidence.”

My father drilled into me that people lie and cheat as easily as they breathe. “Sounds like a good man.”

A waiter comes by to take Sloan’s order. I sip my beer as they discuss the wine list, and I try not to look Maggie’s way, but my traitorous eyes have apparently cut off communication with my brain. Maggie is still focused on Delilah. A second later, her attention shifts to me. I expect her to break the connection. Instead, our eyes lock and load. We stare at each other, intense and heated, the electric energy I always feel around her sparking to life.

“So,” Sloan says, drawing me back. “Delilah mentioned a business you’re starting—an adventure camp for kids.”

“Right. Yeah.” I give myself a mental slap and smile at my blind date. “The business isn’t exactly new,” I tell Sloan. “I started it in Houston but struggled to grow it. With Windfall’s hiking and biking trails, figured I’d have lots of terrain here, and my brother and I are adding adult components. Corporate packages to build teamwork and party events revolving around a high ropes course.”

She lights up. “Like the ones where you wear a harness to climb really high and do crazy jumps?”

“Exactly like that, but we’re also adding games to the courses. Scavenger hunts where they use the courses to find clues and solve a puzzle or supposed crime.”

“That’s a really cool idea.”

“Hopefully other people will agree.” I lean my elbows on the table and spin my beer. “Can’t take all the credit, though. My brother came up with the scavenger hunt part. What about you? Delilah mentioned you take a knitting class with her. Is that a hobby, or do you plan to put Windfall on the map by knitting the world’s largest scarf?”

She gives a cute snort. “At the rate I’m learning, that might take a century, but it’s fun to hang out with the women in the group. My day job revolves more around rodents and bugs.”

“So you’re the one running the illegal rodent-racing ring.”

She laughs politely at my joke as the waiter delivers her red wine. She swirls her glass, gives it a sip, then smiles at me. “My family has a pest control business. I opened a branch here a few years ago.”

We talk more about her work and my work. We discuss how great the weather is in Windfall—not too hot in the summer, the winter season shorter and milder than other areas of North Carolina. She broaches the subject of witness protection and my years spent living in hiding as Logan Baker, but she doesn’t push when I keep things vague.

Sloan is pretty and nice and easy enough to talk to. Fantastic on paper, but there’s no zing with her. That undefinable connection that leads to stomach acrobatics and racing hearts. Yet every time I glance at Maggie’s booth for half a second, my stomach decides it’s in a circus act.

Eventually, our conversation thins. I’m not sure how Sloan is feeling about me, if she’s also ready to say goodnight and pull the plug on this date, but she checks her phone and cringes. “I need to head out, but this was nice.”

“It was,” I agree. Unfortunately, nice isn’t exciting. Nice isn’t connection and attraction and the hope of a goodnight kiss. Nice isn’t the redhead who’s held a larger portion of my attention all evening.

Sloan and I stand. We have a typical end-of-date awkward moment, unsure if we should hug or wave or give cheek kisses. The upfront woman she is, she cuts through my floundering by holding out her hand. “How about a non-limp shake to end the night?”

I laugh. “Excellent plan.”

We shake, neither of us lingering or holding eye contact to show interest. I’m pretty sure Sloan found this date as neutral as I did.

The second she leaves my table, I flip my phone back over, ready to text Delilah and tell her to quit meddling with my love life. There’s one text notification, for sure from her. I tap on the icon, preparing a snarky reply, and damn near drop my phone.

Lennon, it’s your father. I’d really like us to talk. Thought a text might be easier. Give you time to think about it. Please reach out when you can.

My hands turn clammy. My saliva dries up. I search the bar, as though he’s here, stalking me so I can’t delete this message and pretend I didn’t get it. All I see is Maggie—shock of shocks—who’s watching me more intently. Her concerned expression reminds me of the pond night when she convinced me to get into an underground hideout she’d built. My claustrophobia sent me into a panic back then. “It’s okay,” she said, over and over as she smoothed my damp hair from face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

My face probably reflects similar abject fear now. Or more like fury. Why would my asshole father suddenly reach out after a decade of silence? What the hell could he possibly want? Without replying to him, I shove my phone into my pocket and storm out of the bar.

chapter four

I lift my weight off my mountain bike, letting my arms and legs absorb the bumps and ruts of the forest trail. I blank my mind to everything but this. The path. Momentum. Not getting creamed by a fall. The second the terrain smooths out, I focus on pedaling and navigating the muddier sections. A log up ahead has me pulling up on the handlebars, shifting my weight back. On cue, my front wheel lifts. And shit.

For a split second, my back wheel skids, almost sending me flying. I pedal harder, my heart and lungs pumping, until I stabilize. I hop over the log, pitch my body low. Lift my ass and squeeze my seat with my thighs, readying for the steeper section on the home stretch. The rush downhill is as exhilarating as I hoped.

I read about the biking trail on my favorite Get Outside North Carolina website. As touted, it was fun and challenging. Intricate enough to force focus and build skill. I have five kids signed up for this afternoon’s intermediate program. Pretty decent, considering I only advertised a month ago. Desmond’s hiking sessions are almost at capacity, and I’m stoked about introducing the high ropes course and adult sessions next spring.