And yet, the thought of her doesn’t conjure her presence. Instead, it conjures Chase Harding, who comes ambling over to the counter, flashing Beth a smile that could definitely lighten the darkest of souls. “Hey,” I say, and I can’t help smiling too, even though I have no idea what he’s doing here. In the past I would’ve frozen up at a surprise Chase sighting, but now I feel like I could chat with him over hot mocha lattes for an hour. “Beth and I were just talking about my favorite romance author coming to town.” I hold up a flyer. “Please tell me you’re a closet fan.”

“Oh, nothing closeted about my fandom for…” He squints at the flyer. “Clementine? Isn’t that a fruit?”

“A fruit and a killer name for a killer author.” I take a flyer and pin it on the bulletin board, glad I wore my good-butt jeans to work today. I feel his eyes on my backside like laser beams. “So, what’s up? You here for a drink? I make a mean chai latte.”

“Sure, I’ll take one of those,” he says, leaning against the counter and pulling out his wallet. The bell over the front door tinkles, and Beth scurries off to welcome the new customer, since we both know Greg won’t. “I also wanted to thank you for driving me home last night, and make sure you got back okay.”

I make change from his ten and note with satisfaction that he leaves a tip in the jar. “Oh, I was actually murdered last night, but doesn’t my ghost look fantastic?”

He grins. “It sure does. Which brings me to the other reason I’m here—to see if you’re free tonight. I thought it might be nice to hang out without two hundred of our closest friends.”

For a moment, as I pour from the pitcher of chai I prepared that morning into a hot cup, all I can think is that I need a Q-tip to clean out my ears. Because I could swear Chase Harding just strolled into my place of employment and asked me on a date. Like it was no big deal. Like he would enjoy hanging out and possibly buying me a burger or holding hands throughout a movie.

It’s a very weird thing when you have imagined something happening for God knows how many years and then it … does.

A ridiculous part of me wants him to take it back, because as soon as it’s out there, I miss waiting for it, dreaming of it. And it doesn’t feel like I thought it would either. It feels like … a question. A question I could easily say yes or no to. A question that isn’t the be-all and end-all of everything.

And then I realize the answer actually is no, and there’s a little twinge in my gut.