He nods and continues to stand in front of the counter as if he can’t decide what to do.

“Can I bring you anything? Are you staying or—” I ask.

“Yes, I’m staying. Why don’t you go back to writing? I’ve kept you long enough and I’m sure the next wave of customers is coming soon. I can make my own coffee. Do you want one?”

I want to say no, but change my mind. “Celine said you have a secret recipe that involves chili and dark chocolate.”

He’s all smug. “Maybe,” he says and goes to the espresso machine.

A few minutes later, he brings me the coffee and a hazelnut croissant on a small plate.

“Thought you might want to eat something too,” he says.

“Thank you. It’s my favorite,” I say in a low voice.

“Sit. Eat,” he says and walks toward the window table.

I want to stop him and ask if he wants to sit with me, but I don’t. Because I’m not used to it. This pact of ours. This temporary peace or whatever it is. I’m not sure exactly how I should act around him. I’m mostly playing it by ear, but it’s not as simple as it might seem.

Sixty-Three

“Where are we going?” I ask as we leave Café Azure at four. Celine basically had to force us out, after I told her about some afternoon plans, but then kept finding things to do.

I’m a bit nervous; not sure why. As much as I’m trying not to think about it, the last time we went somewhere alone, it didn’t go as planned at all.

“Not telling you,” he says.

He looks at me, as if he’s sizing me up. “Good, you’re dressed properly,” he says.

I’m in jeans, a regular, boring white T-shirt—which miraculously doesn’t have coffee stains—and blue Converse. At least I know it can’t be anything fancy. Good!

“I thought for the first outing we’d start somewhere close. Just in case you want to leave again,” he says, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “It’s only twenty-five miles from here.”

“If it doesn’t involve me being on the front page of a newspaper, you’re safe,” I say.

“Touché,” he says.

The convertible Mustang is parked in front. I didn’t even see it.

“Jump in,” he says.

Alisa texts and I realize I forgot to call her last night. I promise myself I’ll call her tonight. She doesn’t know anything about what happened. She doesn’t know Aaron is not Max and she definitely doesn’t suspect where I am now.

We head east on Ocean Avenue toward San Carlos Street and then California 1 South.

At first, all I see is the highway, but all that changes quickly. On the right side, I see the ocean below and a sprawling beach with beautiful, perfectly white sand. I let out an excited squeak.

“I thought you might like it,” he says.

“How?” I want to ask how he knew about my fascination with beaches—aka obsession.