Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Praise for Fight or Flight
- Praise for New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young
- ALSO BY SAMANTHA YOUNG
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Readers Guide
- Excerpt from FIGHT OR FLIGHT
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Tears I didn’t even feel embarrassed about shimmered in my eyes as I reached for Roane Robson’s hand and curled mine tight around it. “You’ll find it, Roane.” I believed he would.
“You don’t know that.” He squeezed my hand, giving me a small smile. “You don’t know me or the future.”
“I don’t know the future, agreed. I do know you a little, and I see you a lot.”
He understood. I saw it in the way he studied my face and by the way his hand tightened in mine. “I see you too, Evie.”
It was too big a moment to share with an almost stranger, but it was happening, and it was real.
I made a decision in that moment. To put aside my attraction for Roane and embrace the connection between us. I’d felt something similar the instant I met Greer. Just like with Greer, I was determined to make a friend of Roane.
“When I have a day off and don’t feel like upchucking, do you think you can show me your farm?”
“Friends then?” he surmised, his expression relaxed and happy again.
“I just told you some of my deepest worries. We’re friends or I have to kill you.”
Chuckling at my teasing, Roane nodded. “I’ll take friendship over death.”
“Wise choice. I’m inexperienced at murder. It could get messy.”
He shook his head at my nonsense. “Hurry and eat the rest of your breakfast. Shadow and I need to get to work, but we’re not leaving until you’ve had at least three more bites.”
Groaning, I glared at my plate. “I don’t think I can.”
“Well, it’s that or I remind you of the moment last night you started singing a song called ‘When You’re Good to Mama’ to Old Man Thompson.”
My eyes widened in horror, and Roane began to shake with laughter. “From Chicago?”
He shrugged. “You said it was from some musical.”
Yes. The musical Chicago.
“‘When you’re good to Mama, Mama’s good to you,’” I squeaked out.
Roane gave a bark of laughter. “It was the best night of Old Man Thompson’s life. We thought he’d need his pacemaker checked.”
“You did not!” I gasped, aghast.
Seeing him bury his face in his hand with laughter, I smacked him playfully across the back. “Stop!”
Unfortunately, that only made him laugh harder.
Seven
It was opening day, and while I should have been excited, I was thankful for the heavy rain falling outside because it meant I could sit behind the counter and nurse my hangover without interruptions from customers.