Dark crowded around him the moment he tugged the door closed, and then, the voices again. And footsteps. More creaking of the floorboards.

An absurd move, maybe, but at least he’d made it inside in the nick of time. They hadn’t spotted him. If they had, someone would’ve yanked the door open by now. And then he’d have no choice but to dig a hole and bury himself alive. Or move to Bolivia, maybe. Certainly never step foot in this shop again.

“I don’t want to hear any more. Please, just leave.”

He inhaled, the smell of varnish nearly overpowering, a tiny sliver of light slanting in between the wardrobe doors. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to stay in here too long. Hopefully after Ben-the-dumper took his leave, Indi Muir would return to the backroom. Hopefully he could sneak out undetected.

Hopefully she’d be okay.

The voices grew muffled again. They must be nearing the front of the shop. Seconds later, he heard the jingle of the bell over the door and clamped his lips to keep his sigh of relief from giving him away.

He strained to listen for her footsteps, for any telltale sound or lack thereof to let him know he was safe to make his escape. Not long now. Any minute and he’d be back outside in the cold Maine air and he could pretend he’d never let a wayward whim get him into a scrape like this and—

The wardrobe door pitched open, light flooding in, stealing every last startled thought from his clearly malfunctioning brain save one:

She was as pretty as her voice.

And then, exactly as he knew it would, the name tripped instead of waltzed as it slipped nonsensically free.

“I-Indi Muir?”

Wait, the creeper in the closet knew her name?

And what in the world was he doing in there? Why hadn’t she heard the bell when he entered Bits & Pieces?

And how—how?—in the world was Indi ever going to tell her family about Bennington Foster’s graceless exit from her life? Another failed relationship. Another broken engagement. At least she hadn’t been the one to call it off this time. But did that make it better or worse?

Better, please let it be better. She’d wrecked so much the last time.

The man in front of her cleared his throat, and Indi’s focus snapped to attention once more as her grip tightened on the shoe she’d pulled off just before yanking on the wardrobe door. One dumb compliment from Ben a month ago about how much he liked her in heels and she’d felt obligated to wear them more often than she would’ve otherwise. But for once, those spiky extra three inches might come in handy—that is, if the stranger wedged into the antique wardrobe proved dangerous.