When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗

Work was becoming slower by the day, with fewer tourists dropping through the diner as the summer waned and evenings turned brisk. The bulk of our clientele now were police investigators, who were asking more and more questions in their search for the still-missing teenager. I understood, from local gossip and from the fact that Connor was not in custody, that they had very little to go on in terms of linking him to her disappearance. But since the cops weren’t sharing and Connor hadn’t made any kind of public statement, the only information we had were the increasingly incredible stories put out through the town gossip mill and through the tabloids.

Miranda and I practically fought over every new customer, both of us suffering from a significant reduction in tips compared to what we’d enjoyed when the season was in full swing. I didn’t want to wait on the detectives, though. I didn’t want an order of pancakes to evolve into a discussion of Connor Charles. It wasn’t that I felt guilty, exactly. But I did feel something. And until I could define it for myself, I hoped they wouldn’t decide to ask me any questions about Connor.

“You look worried,” Miranda breathed as she paused next to me behind the counter. I’d been staring absently at the detectives.

“No.” I shook my head and tried to smile, banishing dueling concerns over Cam and Connor. What in the world could my brother be coming all the way up here to say? And was going on any kind of date with Connor really a good idea? I’d spent five years believing myself to be someone who turned out to be only a figment of Jack’s imagination. How could a person date if she didn’t know who she was supposed to be or who she was? “I’m a little distracted.”

She raised an eyebrow, but I wasn’t about to share. “Divorce stuff,” I told her, and she sighed, her eyes closing in a knowing way. I wasn’t lying, that really did sum it all up, didn’t it?

I took my break at the library next to the post office. There was a public terminal there with Photoshop installed, and I’d been dying to get a look at the shots I’d taken over the past few weeks since I’d picked the camera up again.

I didn’t have high hopes. I hadn’t taken photos in at least a full year, and my innate sense of framing and light was probably rusty. Like anything else, mastering a camera took dedicated practice. Getting back into it was hard. Not to mention every time I picked up the camera I heard Jack’s stupid accented voice challenging my belief that I had any talent. But I’d had enough of listening to Jack.

I slipped into the cool quiet of the library, waving to Christine the librarian and then sliding into the seat at a station. I plugged the card reader into the USB port and started scanning through the photos I’d captured since I’d been brave enough to shoot again.

The mountain scenery made a glorious subject, and I had plenty of inspiring sunsets showing the retiring sun draping its final rays over treetops and stretching out beneath shimmering clouds. But the best photos I had captured were of Connor in his living room in front of the fire. I’d seen them on the tiny camera screen, but as they appeared on the screen in front of me, I couldn’t help staring in awe. The fire lit his hair in so many shades of red and gold I wondered why everyone didn’t wish for red hair. His skin shone in the cast of the flames, and the light created shadows that emphasized the jawline I remembered wishing to run my fingers over during our brief time together. He looked pensive, dark, and as sexy as any man I’d ever seen.

Scanning through the photos made my stomach tighten, and desire lit inside me—foreign and unfamiliar, like a friend I’d had years ago suddenly popping around to see me. The rush of sensations made it hard to remember that of all the eligible men in the world, Connor was probably not among the top choices when ranked by reliability, trustworthiness, or transparency. I knew very little about him, and the police were every bit as interested in him as I was. Still, the very sight of him on the monitor did something to me, and the freedom to stare at him unabashed as he looked back at me from the screen was a pleasure I reveled in for far too long.

“He’s not a bad looking chap,” drawled a familiar Scottish brogue that turned my stomach.

I shut down the photo-editing program and snatched my card file from the USB port, spinning around to face Jack. “What the hell are you doing here now?”

“Good to see you too, love.”

“Stop calling me that!” I stood, ushering Jack from the library as Christine watched with open interest.

“Seriously, what are you doing up here?” I stood facing him on the sidewalk outside the library.

“Cops called about your boyfriend. Told them I’d come up and see what all the fuss was about.”

“What? Why would they call you?” Jack’s only link to Kings Grove was me. And we were definitely not linked now.

“My name’s still on the deed for the house,” he said. “I guess they’re looking to talk to anyone with any connection to pretty much anything.”

My mind was spinning. “Your name is still on the deed?” I repeated. “Why would that be true?”

“Just a minor oversight, love. I’ll have it handled.”

I shook my head. I’d let Jack handle things for way too long. “I’ll add it to the long list of things to speak to my lawyer about. How did you know where to find me?”

“Cute blond in the diner. What’s her name?”

“None of your business,” I hissed.

“An unfortunate moniker,” he said, his smile revealing the perfect