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It’s just past six o’clock when I step outside, but Justin isn’t here yet. Of course, he’s late. I sit down on one of the wooden benches in front of the bakery to wait.

I’m still waiting at six fifteen, and decide to text him.Are you coming?

A few minutes later, while scanning traffic for Justin’s car, I notice the black Mercedes SUV that’s parked in front of the storefront next door, partly obscured by some trees along the sidewalk. I can see the driver, sitting behind the wheel.

He seems to be watching me.

Heat prickles through me, a heady mixture of shock and exhilaration, when I realize it’s the same man who drove me to Harlan’s house for dinner.

I take a breath, and check my phone, which still shows no word from Justin.

I blink back the tears that sting my eyes.

What the fuck, Justin.

When I look at the SUV again, the driver still seems to be watching me. I wave hesitantly.

My heart pounds when he nods back.

I get up and start walking toward the vehicle, thinking this is crazy. That Justin will pull up any moment. He’ll come rushingout of his car, serving up excuses for his lateness, and whisk me off to dinner at that Caribbean place he loves.

But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, the driver steps out of the SUV as I approach, and comes around to the passenger side. “Miss Monroe,” he greets me.

“Hi again,” I say tentatively as he opens the rear door.

This time, Harlan is sitting in the backseat.

When his dark eyes connect with mine, the only word for this feeling coursing through my blood isfire.

Or maybeinsanity.

He’s been watching me, too?

How long have they been parked here?

“Hi,” I say, feeling weirdly shy as his gaze roams over my dress.

Did he see me almost crying on that bench, like a sad, dejected wad of cotton candy?

“What happened to your dinner plans?” he demands. There’s an air of murderousness about him, and I’m really hoping it’s not for me.

Maybe it’s for the man who was supposed to take me to dinner. I told Harlan I needed to talk to Justin tonight.

But I don’t want to talk to Justin anymore.

“I don’t know,” is all I say.

“Well, where is he?”

“I don’t know.” I glance over my shoulder, where I still see no sign of Justin or his car.

“Get in,” Harlan growls. “We’ll drive you home.”

Suddenly, I want to be anywhere but here, waiting for a man who can’t be bothered to show up for me.

I slide into the backseat and murmur, “Okay,” fighting back the pressure of tears.