Page 7 of Guarded Knight

And she wouldn’t stray. I’m not sure how into Kevin she is, but as long as I’ve known Freya, she’s never been able to date more than one person.

Freya is a smart girl. I have to believe she sees something I don’t. Because for me? Kevin is the definition of pompous. He’s got his nose so high in the air I can see the hairs. I don’t insult him or go too far pushing my opinion, but I also like to make sure she’s still questioning it all in the ways I should have with Cameron.

Men should have to earn trust.

“Anyway, babe,” she adds, “where you go, I go. But I’m just saying, there’s something about a man who knows how to use his hands.” She quickly corrects herself. “I mean, Kevin can use his hands… I meant for work.”

I smirk and can’t resist. “Can he, though? Can he use his hands?”

She shrugs. “He’s all right.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been together for about a month and you’re not exactly racing off to San Francisco every weekend for boom-boom.”

“He’s a busy guy.”

“Part of the problem I have with him. You deserve to feel important. Plus, most of the work he does is the same stuff you’re passionate about.”

Kevin’s charity, Scarlet Hope, raises money to support families that have children with sickle cell anemia. Once upon a time, Freya was that girl. She got a bone marrow transplant and is healthy now, but it’s one of the things that drew me to her.

She knows what it’s like to stare down the future and wonder how many steps you have left. Freya brings so much joy into my life with her effervescence, sunshine, and will to live.

Which is why I struggle to give up on the notion that Kevin should make Freya more of a priority.

I mumble, “He could take you to functions…”

She reaches over and places her hand on mine and uses a teasing tone. “But if I were gone every weekend, who would stopyou from blowing your life savings on kumquats at the farmer’s market?”

“Well, I have Kevin to thank for that and my health insurance.” I dig my finger into my cheek. “You’re right, I should focus on his finer qualities.”

She laughs. “It’s early days for us. You know you’re my boo.”

Finally, after two days of leg cramps and fruitless neck rolling, the GPS announces, “You have reached your destination.”

“Thank God,” Freya mutters.

The truck bumps slightly as Freya pulls into a spot, and we waste no time getting out like two creaking folding chairs, testing our limbs to make sure everything still works, then slamming the journey behind us with two loud bangs.

“I have sea legs,” Freya winces, stretching her arms overhead. Her eyebrows furrow. “Where is this place?”

The map says we’ve arrived, but there’s no bookstore in sight. I check my phone and see our address is off the main street on Grenvista Trail—a true dead-end street. Wider than an alley but not made for cars.

Freya follows me, and sure enough, on Grenvista Trail we find the entrance to Pages and Perks. My eyes follow the fading clematis flowers climbing the front window and upward to what I guess are our apartment windows.

The bookstore is cute. There’s a freestanding hammock and an egg chair out front, plus a little outdoor bookshelf the owner clearly doesn’t worry will get stolen. That’s the kind of thing that happens in small towns. There are upsides.

It’s all very charming, but I’m sure the telephone tree was already activated the minute we rolled onto the main drag. I have to remember that though there’s something beautiful about neighbors caring for one another, they can be meddlesome, too.

Leaving Starlight Canyon was a push and a pull. I was pulled toward freedom, but I was pushed by that meddlesome nature. No matter how many years went by, every time I bumped into Joy Hunter at book club, she never stopped asking me how Gabriel was. As if I knew.

Maybe because she knew Iwantedto know.

The whole damn town knew I had a crush on him when we were kids. It was glued to my identity right alongside my name, and since I never moved on to any of the hometown boys, that label stuck.

Unless I get a ring on this finger, Joy Hunter will still be asking till the day I die.

Freya throws herself into the hammock and sways gently with one long leg on the ground. “This town is a vibe.”

“Yeah. Claustrophobia,” I joke, secretly relieved she likes what she sees. Santa Fe was the least populated place she’d ever lived. She’s a city girl through and through.