"I had a really good time," he says, at my gate, still holding my hand, his thumb moving over my knuckles. "Anna. I mean it. I've wanted to do this for a while."
"I know." My voice comes out soft. "Liam I ..."
"You don't have to say anything." He's looking at me with so much open hope it's almost unbearable. "I just. Can I see you again? Like this?"
And I'm opening my mouth to answer, and I honestly don't know what I'm going to say, when the back of my neck prickles.
Someone's watching.
I know it the way you know it in a dark house when a room isn't empty. I turn my head toward the dock, toward the shadows past the last streetlight, and there, leaning against the rail exactly where a certain boat is tied up, is a shape I'd know anywhere now.
Evan.
He's not hiding. That's the thing.
