“Could you . . . would you mind not saying anything to anyone? About me being here?”
“Of course,” he says without even the slightest hesitation, and I smile because I believe him. In a business where you’re basically taught by experience to trust no one, and after finding out recently who my true friends are (the answer is: I don’t have any), it’s an odd feeling to trust this guy so quickly. But I do. There’s something in those green eyes of his that just looks trustworthy.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling relieved.
He fiddles with one of the arms on his glasses, his forehead creasing. “Actually, I think people might already know,” he says.
“Really?” A feeling of dread fills my stomach.
“My mom said she saw you outside the bookshop.”
“That was your mom?” I ask, remembering the flustered-looking woman who did a double take when I passed her on the sidewalk.
Crap. I knew she’d recognized me.
“She said she’d heard a rumor you were here and staying at the Belacourt Resort.” He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “Word does spread fast around here.”
“Great,” I say. “Well, serves me right for going to a small island.” I guess I can’t beat myself up for leaving my room today if people were already talking. I wonder who’s spreading the news? Noah? That doesn’t sound like something he’d do.
“I might be able to help,” Briggs offers.
“How so?”
He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “A lot of people come through the bookstore. I can shoot down any rumors I might hear there and when I’m out and about.”
“You’d do that?”
He smiles. “Of course.”
“Would it work?”
“Possibly. Like I said, word travels fast. If I tell people it’s not you, that will spread as well.”
“Briggs, that would be so amazing.” A little tiny voice in the back of my head wonders if Briggs would be so willing to help out if he knew why I’m hiding. Probably not.
“Well, thank you so much for the shirt,” I tell him.
“No problem.”
“I’ll figure out a way to get it back to you.”
He shakes his head. “Keep it. I don’t need it back.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. Think of it as payment for dumping iced coffee all over you.”
I bob my head from side to side. “I think that covers a bit of it.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “If you think of another way for me to even the score, let me know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, giving him a grin.
I turn and walk toward the front door of the apartment, Briggs following behind me. He opens the door for me, and I walk out onto the threshold. I turn around before going down the stairs.
“Thanks again.”
“No problem. Maybe I’ll see you around?” He looks at me, his eyes behind his glasses bright and focused.
How I wish I could tell him that yes, I’ll be back at the bookstore, back for more conversation with this charming man who has no idea how adorable he is. I think that’s the best part about Briggs Dalton. At least, from what I can gather about him.
“Maybe,” I say, knowing it probably won’t happen. I’ve got to stay in my resort prison now. No more real world for me. Even if it does come with pretty green eyes and a handsome face.
I give him a little wave and he gives me one back, then I head down the stairs, hearing the click of the door shutting just as I reach the bottom.
A sort of sadness lands in my gut. I’m not sure why. Probably because Briggs was a real person who actually talked to me. He expected nothing of me, didn’t want me to act a certain way or give off a certain vibe. I could just be myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a genuine conversation where no one wants something from me.
I walk out into the humid air, resigned to go back to the resort and keep myself secluded—now more than ever, with word getting around the island. If there are no more sightings of me, the rumor will go unfed, and maybe it will die.
At least I’ve got some books to keep me company now.
The books! Crap. I think I left them in the bathroom. I look around me like they might magically appear, before turning back toward Briggs’s apartment, going inside and up the stairs.
I knock on the blue door of his apartment, feeling little butterflies dance around in my stomach, wondering how I can be so elated that my visit with Briggs isn’t quite over yet. Is it him? Or is it just the fact that I need human interaction so badly?
“Just a second,” I hear him say through the door.
“Oh, hello,” he says as he opens it and sees me standing there. He’s smiling like he’s happy to see me, which makes my stomach do a little dipping thing. It has to be the human interaction thing, right? I’m just starving for it, that’s all.
