“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Being his friend? Hannah, I’ve spent the last five years thinking he wasted away all alone in that lake house.” He shakes his head in stunned disbelief. “I’m so happy right now.”
“I swear, I didn’t know. If I’d known he wasn’t well, I promise I would have stolen his phone and called you.”
Rowan laughs again and pulls me into a strong hug. The tension in my bones releases, and I return the embrace, angling my head into the crook of his neck.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Bastard had the audacity to die in his sleep. Doctor said he probably didn’t even feel it.” There’s no malice in his words, only a fond remembrance of the stubborn but lovable man his grandfather was.
He eases back. I lose myself in the feel of his thumbs floating in small circles around my biceps, in his wonderstruck eyes as they stare up at me from where he’s kneeled at my feet.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
A small smile tilts his mouth. “Better now.”
My mind circles back to what he said earlier. Knots loop in my gut and I have to look away. “You said you’re only in town for?—”
“Two more weeks.”
I nod at my lap, disappointment rattling through me. The slump of my shoulders mirrors his as reality presses in around us. We got twelve hours last time. I can’t bring myself to ask if he evenwantsto spend the next two weeks with me.
He clears his throat. “I came here to ask if I could see you again, but now I’m thinking you don’t have a choice.”
I snort and meet his gaze. “How do you figure?”
The apples of his cheeks lift. “Because I want you to tell me everything.”
18
i’m not a hitman
Rowan
I closeHannah’s office door on my way out. She wanted privacy to collect herself since I dropped the bomb on her about Pops’ death. But she dropped her own bomb, too. One of world-axis-tilting proportions.
The woman I spent one night with five years ago kept in touch with my grandfather. Became his friend. A rapid torrent of relief flooded my nervous system at her confession. I hate seeing her cry, but Hannah shedding tears overmyPops sparked something inside me—a black-and-white television unexpectedly flickering with color.
There wasn’t time to press her for details. Her emotions were too high and work responsibilities had her whole office buzzing. I promised to contact her later so we could talk.
But my patience wears thin. Ineedto see her again. I’m already reaching for my phone to text her before I make it to the reception area. Head down, I reposition my hat, attempting to ignore the stares that follow me as I weave toward the exit.
I’m about to hit send, when I’m yanked by the elbow into the empty waiting area by the main doors.
“We need to talk,” the arm-wielding stranger says in a hushed whisper. She darts a quick glance over her shoulder like a secret service agent.
This woman is five-five at best on a good day…with heels on. Black curly hair frames the hard lines of her face pulled grimly at the edges. So this won’t be a friendly chat.
“What are we gonna do?” she asks.
I scrutinize her features some more before it clicks. She was with Hannah yesterday outside the hardware store. But I don’t know her name.
“I’m sorry, and you are?”
She rolls her eyes. “Kristen. Hannah’s best friend.”
Another click. She set up the blind date. Her husband works with Daniel. I’m hopeful, based on her murderous expression, that Hannah already told her what happened. But I need to be certain before I overstep.
“Wow. What a wordsmith,” she deadpans when I don’t respond.