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Allie

Present day

“Where do you take a book on a date?” Kimmie Joy Bradford wrinkles her nose as she lifts a paperback wrapped in brown paper and tied with an elaborate red bow off the shelf.

We’re well into teacher prep days, getting ready for the new school year to start, and she and Edward Wells are helping me set up the library.

It’s become our tradition since my son Austin started high school and joined the football team three years ago.

Jack Bradford is head coach of the Newhope High Captains, and as we’re both single parents working at the high school, we’ve developed this little trade-off situation. His daughter Kimmie stays with me while Austin attends summer football camp with him.

It’s Austin’s senior year, and his first year as starting quarterback. He’s been working toward this goal since he went out for the team as a freshman. I can’t believe three years have already passed so quickly.

Jack took him under his wing, training with him on the weekends, working with him every summer and fall. I’ve done my best not to fawn all over him for being so good to my only child, but it certainly doesn’t help that while he’s quiet and stern, he’s also kind and attentive.

Jack’s a former quarterback himself, a football superstar in Texas, and sex on wheels. At six-two with a square jaw, dark hair, and sapphire-blue eyes, my breath catches sometimes when he looks at me.

His little sister Dylan befriended us when we moved here from New Orleans. I’d landed the job as high school librarian, and Austin was a quiet middle schooler.

We had little money and no family to speak of, so she asked if I could be head waiter at their family’s restaurant on the bay, Cooters & Shooters.

She claimed they needed more help in the summer, and since I’d waited tables in the French Quarter to pay my way through college, a sprawling family restaurant in a small, south Alabama town was a piece of cake.

Dylan also recruited Austin to babysit Kimmie, who was still in preschool at the time, and we were both grateful for the extra income.

Working in the library, sharing my favorite books with the students, helping them find new authors to love, and all the things library-related make me so happy. The job has great benefits, great hours, great holidays… and very little pay.

It’s hard to afford rent, a car payment, groceries, and save for college—or anything else—on a high school librarian’s salary, so working at the restaurant helps a lot. It also introduced us to a whole family of new friends.

I picked up Edward a few years ago when his sister Rachel moved here to be the new nurse for Miss Gina Rosario. Miss Gina is this rich old blind lady who lives north of town in a gorgeous, Italian-style villa overlooking the bay.

She’s sort of everyone’s honorary grandmother, and I think she might be a little psychic—or maybe that’s just the New Orleans in me. Wise old ladies always seem to know things before they happen.

Edward is mildly neurodivergent, and Rachel had been so worried about him starting at a new high school and not knowing anybody.

Jack’s brother Zane thought helping me would be a good way for him to establish a familiar, quiet place if he needed it, and after how good they’ve always been to me, I said yes so fast…

That bit of kindness (along with some pretty intense chemistry) is why Zane is now Rachel’s husband.

It’s a win for me, too, because Edward is one of my best library aides. I’m pretty sure he’s read every book on the shelves.

“You take the book from the library, but the book actually takes you on the date.” I try to explain the concept in a way a second-grader will understand.

Kimmie’s little face only squints harder. “But how does it do that? Books can’t drive.”

“When you read the book, the story takes you on a journey in your mind.” I boop her button nose, channeling my inner elementary-school teacher.

It’s been years since I worked with her age group, but it all comes back.

“It’s a metaphor.” Edward’s logical voice joins our conversation. “It could even qualify as anthropomorphism , since you’re attributing human behavior to an inanimate object.”

Pressing my lips together, I watch Kimmie’s amber eyes widen. She nods, pretending very hard to understand all the big words he just said.

Ever since Edward called her Kim , she acts very mature whenever he explains anything. It’s hilariously cute.

“Here, sweetie.” I hand her a stack of die-cut cards with the words Romance , Adventure , and Sci-Fi printed on them. “Put the red labels on the top shelves, the yellow on the middle, and the blue on the bottom.”

I got this idea from social media—where I get all my ideas. The students pick a book and get points for reading that add up to prizes like a Starbucks gift card or a free car wash or whatever else I can get local businesses to donate.

Yes, it’s bribery, and I’ve done my best to choose old and new titles in different genres. Our school library serves grades 7-12, which is a tough mix, but as a certified bookworm myself, I enjoy the challenge of trying to hook even the most reluctant readers.

“I can’t believe you’re already in second grade,” I say as Kimmie takes the labels off my fingers, ready to march them over to the shelves. “It seems like last year you were starting kindergarten.”

“That was three years ago, Miss Allie,” she says, still acting like a small grown-up. “I never take a nap at school now, and we won’t even drop sticks this year.”

“What does it mean to drop sticks?” It’s Edward’s turn to be confused.

“If you don’t walk in the line straight or if you forget to take your tray to the window after lunch or if you talk during reading circle…” Kimmie counts on her fingers. “You have to drop a stick. First grade was hard, but now that I’m in second grade, I do everything right.”

“What happens if you don’t?” He’s completely serious, not a hint of a tease.

She hesitates at his question, then shrugs. “I just will!”

Again, I fight a laugh at these two.

I really love everything about my job, and lately, it’s the one thing distracting my brain from the very real fear pressing against my temples any time I’m alone with my thoughts.

Less than a month ago, I got the text alert on my phone I’ve been dreading since we fled New Orleans: my ex-husband, Austin’s father, is out on parole in Louisiana.

Rip Sinclair is the worst mistake I’ve ever made.

I was so young and stupid when he pulled up to the Sister’s Court restaurant in his leather jacket and motorcycle and tattoos and glittering green eyes.

I had no sense of self-preservation, and like a child, I believed when I got pregnant, we were supposed to get married.

Rip believed once we got married, Austin and I became his property. No matter how many laws he broke or how dangerous his life dealing drugs became, in his mind, we belonged to him.

One night, I got him drunk enough to sign the divorce papers, which was the only reason the state was able to make me testify against him in court.

I wanted to wash my hands of the whole situation and walk away clean. Instead, the last words he said to me when they took him away were “This isn’t over.”

So I set up the alert on my phone, and I can’t help looking over my shoulder. Still, I’ve tried to act like everything is normal… And I had a house alarm installed.

My chest is tense and my shoulders ache. I know that asshole better than anyone, and if he said it, he’ll do it. I don’t know when or how, but I know he’s looking for us.

I hope by moving here and staying off social media, we’re hidden. At least we’re out of state.

I chose Newhope because friends would talk about it like it was the best place in the world. It’s a beautiful small town on the coast with flower boxes on every window and trees that light up with twinkle lights every night like a promise, a hope of a better life.

Then Dylan became my friend, and now we’re practically part of the family. Still, it’s not a guarantee of safety.

Stepping back, I cross my arms, evaluating the library. “I think we’re ready for prime time. ”

“Prime time is typically between the hours of 8 and 10 p.m.,” Edward notes.

Smiling, I carefully place my hand on the top of his shoulder, doing my best not to crowd him. “You’re right. We’re ready for school time.”

The serious expression on his face relaxes. “It’s a very nice display.”

“Thank you, Edward.”

“Thank me, too!” Kimmie skips up, having neatly placed the cards I gave her on the shelves. “I helped!”

“Thank you, too, Miss Kim!” I give her a squeeze, and she lifts her chin with a proud smile. “Now, who’s ready for lunch?”

They both light up, and I grab my bag. We’ll lock up and head to Cooters & Shooters for lunch and to check in with everybody.

“Raven wants to bring Haddy home for Halloween.” Dylan is in the kitchen reading the face of her iPad Pro when we arrive.

Her brother Hendrix is a tight end for the Los Angeles Tigers, and he and his wife Raven and their two-year-old daughter Haddy all live in LA.

“Hey, baby Haddy!” Kimmie runs to the counter, bouncing on her toes and waving at the screen.

“It’s a group chat, Peanut, not FaceTime.” Dylan leans down to kiss the top of her niece’s head.

Kimmie’s shoulders drop, and she frowns up at her. “How long until Halloween?”

“October thirty-first,” her aunt replies.

Kimmie looks like a mini-Dylan with their matching amber eyes and curly, dark brown hair.

“She wants to know all our favorite movies so she can put together a girls’ movie night,” Dylan continues.

“That sounds fun!” I take lunch fixings out of the industrial-sized refrigerator. “How about grilled cheese sandwiches with grapes and apple slices for lunch?”

“Not with Aunt Deedee’s spicy cheese.” Kimmie’s face scrunches.

“Got it.” I put the pepper jack back in the fridge. “Only sharp cheddar—sound good, Edward?”

He enters the room through the screen door at the back of the kitchen. A gray cat is against his chest, and he pets it slowly.