A commotion broke out near the entrance to the store. But the sound of it—like voices and heavy footsteps and a wave of whispers—the sound moved so erratically across the space that, at first, Rinn couldn’t tell where it was coming from. She looked around her, but she couldn’t see anything from her vantage point. The noise shuffled and bounced through all the stacks of bookshelves. And then a man rounded a corner, followed by a woman holding her phone and looking down, and in her shock Rinn dropped the chair directly onto her foot.

Brock Harvey was in the bookstore.

Rinn flinched for a moment from the chair landing on her foot, but she didn’t really feel the pain because—Oh my God—Brock Harvey was there in the flesh, and Rinn could barely remember how to breathe. He was wearing a checkered blazer with elbow patches; his hair was slicked back, and his shoes were these pristine white sneakers. He had on a V-neck T-shirt in the same clean white color, and his jeans were that perfect, pressed, dark indigo shade that important men wore when they wanted to indicate they were wealthy but casually so.

“And I don’t know what you were thinking booking me here, Maya. You’ve really dropped the ball.” Harvey said that at what Rinn considered a faux whisper. And then he started making his way through the setup of chairs right by the author stage.

Rinn ran up to him; she couldn’t help it. She knew he had possibly just insulted Wild Nights, but she didn’t think that he really meant it. He must have had a terrible early flight and a bad sleeping situation. Rinn had read about book tours online, and she knew how grueling they could be. Wake up at the crack of dawn, fly into a regional airport, then try to make it to an event, usually during rush-hour traffic. Finish the event, then sleep for a bit, and be back up at the crack of dawn for the next flight. Rinn would be grumpy, too.

But Harvey ignored Rinn as she approached. His body language made his avoidance seem almost purposeful. He went straight around to the other side of the chairs.

Straight for Daniella, who wasn’t paying attention at all. She was absorbed with counting the chairs in the rows. With focusing anywhere but on Rinn.

Rinn could read that body language, too.

“Excuse me,” Harvey said, reaching out and grabbing Daniella’s elbow. “Could you help me?”

Daniella backed away, pulling her arm out from his grip, confusion palpable on her face. “Oh, you want Jo.”

Harvey took a step closer; he didn’t touch her again. But he wasn’t giving her any space. He smiled a smile that looked like it should have been charming. But it wasn’t. It made Rinn shiver.

“And who might Jo be?” Harvey asked.