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“It’s not him, Corbin,” she whispered, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “He didn’t do anything wrong; he just finally got to see the real me, that’s all. And he”—she hiccupped—“didn’t like it. Not that I blame him. Not that I blame him at all.” She saw his frown in the rearview mirror. “I find it hard to believe there could be anything about you that he doesn’t like, miss. Or that anyone wouldn’t like, for that matter. I’ve never seen him so happy. I know you’re to thank for that.” The car slid to a stop at the curb on the street where he’d stopped that first night he’d brought her here, when she was in the cat costume and Christian had come up to her apartment. A thought occurred to her, something Christian had said that night in her kitchen, and Ember sat up, wiping her nose and face.
- Writer
