“Books. Plural.” He grins like I just told him I can secretly fly. “You’ve been busy.”

I roll my eyes, sighing. “Well, it’s been a lot of years, so yeah . . .”

“And you did tell someone. You told me.”

I did. Somehow, I admitted my deepest secret—my secret hope—to Easton years ago. In my defense, it was a post-coital confession, and he’d just given me a series of mind-blowing orgasms that loosened my tongue and made me feel brave and invincible. He made me feel like I could have things I never believed possible. Things like him. “It’s not a thing, so please don’t go yapping about it.”

“Not a thing, and yet somehow while finishing a PhD, teaching a full course load at Starling, and being the perfect daughter, sister, aunt, and friend, you’ve managed to go from a few chapters on a book to books—plural.”

“It’s not anything. Just . . .” I shrug. Just a thing I want too much to pursue. Just a dream that’s so much part of my soul that I don’t know if I could handle the blow of inevitable rejection.

“Just what?” he asks, propping his chin on his hands. “Just a lifelong passion?” He smiles, all angelic and shit, but I know better.

“Just a hobby,” I say, even though the words feel like a betrayal to some growing seed buried deep inside me.

He tilts his head to one side, then the other, as if he’s trying to use the light to better see through my bullshit. “For such a confident woman, you sure are scared.”

I shut my laptop. “What do you need, Easton?”

“A tour.”

“What?”

“The Starling football program offered me the position as their quarterback coach. The campus has changed a lot since I went there, so I want to get a feel for it before I make a decision.”

Easton. Living in Jackson Harbor, coming to Jackson family brunch, hanging at Jackson Brews, and working at Starling, where I spend my weekdays. Is he trying to force me into an emotional meltdown? Hell, maybe it’s good that my career trajectory is about to corner me into a move. That might be the only way to avoid him. “I’m sure the football people would be happy to take you on a tour. I don’t know anything about that side of campus.”

“And they don’t know anything about your side of campus, but I want to get a feel for the whole thing.”

I grunt. “You’re telling me the layout of the English department will be integral in your decision to coach a bunch of football players?”

He sips his beer, watching me.