She and Kenna had worried about what a motivated someone might do, to get the book. This was not good.

Convinced she was slowly turning a minty green color—not a shade that flattered her pale skin and dark hair—Lizzie considered her options.

A) Lie. Admittedly, not Lizzie’s best skill.

B) Misunderstand. “Oh, my library book is so far overdue that you’ve come to collect it?” This had the advantage of truth. It had been a good two months since she placed it on the front seat of her car, intending to return it. This option had a very low probability for success, unless Hot Guy was also Not-So-Bright Guy.

C) Misdirect. “Come on in; I’ll just run into the kitchen and retrieve it”…while in fact planning to leave by the back door, located conveniently in the kitchen. But, then what? This was her house, and he—scary, large man who happened to be hot—knew where she lived.

So in moments like these, Lizzie did what she always does. She chose option D) Improvise.

“Okay. Tell me about the book.” She paused, thinking. “And if you’ll remove your foot from the door, I’ll get you some tea. That you can drink on the porch.” Lizzie gave the man a disapproving look, so he wouldn’t think tea meant she was a pushover.

He nodded curtly in response. Apparently, a man of few words. Annoyingly so.

She’d been polite, direct, and honest, with just a dash of please-don’t-murder-me-on-my-own-front-porch expressed only through the higher pitch of her voice. And the minty green face. Well, to be perfectly honest, also the shaking hands. But all in all, a pretty good effort, considering she just invited a unknown person to tea on her porch to discuss a mysterious, magical book no one should know she has.

Darn her curiosity! Well, she didn’t have many other choices. She couldn’t exactly call the police and report the as-yet-to-be-committed crime of theft…of a magical book. Right.

Offering tea had been her attempt at a little privacy, so she could get her shaking hands under control and let her brain catch up to events. Having a task always seemed to help calm her nerves. She also needed a minute of privacy to text Kenna.

Man at door about book. Didn’t let in. Call in 5.

That seemed better than any phone conversation she could imagine having with her friend.

Several minutes later, mystery man and she were seated on her porch, steaming mugs of tea in hand.

“You clearly know who I am. Who are you?”

“John.”

“Okay, John with no last name. I texted my friend. She’s heading this way in ten minutes and calling the police if she doesn’t hear from me in five. So no funny business.” No funny business? Who said that? Stupid nerves.