“Can I ask a question?” Josh sat next to me.

“Sure, it’s your turn.”

“Not about last night.” He took a brownie. “It’s about Mia.”

Uh-oh. Mia was Josh’s girlfriend. As far as I knew, they’d been getting along like peanut butter and jelly. “What did you do?”

Josh rolled his eyes almost up into his wavy dark hair. “You sound like Holly. Why do you assume I did something wrong?”

“Precedent. If you didn’t do something, what’s the matter? I thought things were good with the two of you.” Mia was adorable and her career was also in IT. Which was all I knew about her profession. Every time I asked her about it, she told me, and I walked away with no real idea of what she actually did.

“Things are good. It’s, well . . .” He toyed with the brownie, sending crumbled bits of it to the table. “I asked her to move in with me. At first she was on board for it, but now she’s backing off.”

“It’s a big step,” I said. “A little fear is understandable.”

“Sure. I get that.” Josh frowned. “But it’s not like her to go back on a decision.”

“Did she say she was going to move in?”

“Well, not those exact words.”

“Then there you go. She hasn’t reached a decision yet, is all. Give her time.”

Josh’s face cleared. “You know what? You’re right. Thanks, Minnie!” He jumped from his chair, grabbed both his brownie and mine, and sauntered off, grinning at me over his shoulder.

“Funny,” I said to no one, but it kind of was.

My smile only lasted for a moment. Because I was suddenly back in the bookmobile, driving, barreling through the darkness, straight toward a man lying in the road.

Traumatized, Rafe had said. Maybe he was right.

I pulled in a breath and let it out. Traumatized or not, I had a job to do.

So I stood, poured myself a cup of coffee, and went to start doing it.

Chapter 3

A couple of days later, after a night of nearly trauma-free dreams, I gave Eddie a gentle pat and headed out with the full intention of walking to work. Three steps onto the dock, lightning flashed, thunder crashed, rain poured down, and I ran pell-mell for the shelter of my car.

I’d parked facing the water, and through the windshield, across the wide sidewalk rimming the marina, I could make out the unmistakable shape of Eddie’s face smushed up against the houseboat’s rear window. This meant he was standing on top of my small nightstand, having scattered everything on it, which ranged from a stack of to-be-read books to my alarm clock to a box of tissues.

“Down!” I mouthed loudly, and pointed at him with a threatening index finger.