November 9, Saturday

B'S DINER glowed like a jewel box in the darkening evening, its windows steamed up from the warmth inside. Sawyer pulled out my chair at a cozy corner table, ever the gentleman despite his work-roughened hands.

"To finished manuscripts," he said, raising his sweet tea in a toast.

I clinked my glass against his. "And to the people who inspire them."

His eyes twinkled. "Speaking of inspiration... when do I get to read about this stonemason hero of yours? Should I be negotiating for a percentage of the royalties?"

My smile froze. After Curtis's claims about writing my books, anything that hinted at someone else taking credit for my work hit a nerve.

Sawyer must have noticed my reaction because his face fell. "Hey, I was just teasing. I'm sorry."

I shook my head, forcing myself to relax. "No, I'm sorry. I'm a little oversensitive about that right now. My ex is... well, he's making things difficult."

Sawyer's jaw tightened. "What's he doing now?"

"Demanding money to retract his statements that he wrote my books." I pushed my fork through my mashed potatoes. "He's like a cockroach—nothing seems to stop him."

"There must be something," Sawyer said. "Everyone has a weakness."

I laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, his hair." I took a sip of tea. "But since I can't make him go bald overnight, I'm stuck dealing with his legal threats."

His hand covered mine. "I'm sorry."

I smiled. "Me too—for even mentioning it. Tell me about this gate you're designing for those Atlanta clients."

Dinner passed pleasantly after that, with Sawyer describing his latest projects and me sharing amusing anecdotes about Satan the goat's latest escapades. Under the diner's warm lights, it felt almost normal—just two people enjoying each other's company, no family secrets or supernatural mysteries between them.

Later, as we drove back to the Whisper House, Sawyer's truck rumbling comfortably beneath us, I found myself not wanting the evening to end.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked as we pulled up to the house.

Sawyer turned off the engine, the sudden silence heavy with possibility. "Are you sure?"

I met his eyes in the darkness. "Very."

Inside, we didn't bother turning on lights as we made our way upstairs, our hands and lips finding each other in the shadows. Sawyer's kisses were tender but hungry, as if he'd been holding himself back all evening.

Later, lying in my bed with Sawyer's arm draped around my waist, I felt more at peace than I had in months. When questions about whether Sawyer had taken Rose's diary surfaced in my mind, I pushed them away. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment.

"Stay," I murmured as sleep began to pull at me.

Sawyer's lips brushed my shoulder. "Okay."

I drifted off to the steady rhythm of his breathing, feeling safe. My last conscious thought was that maybe, just maybe, I'd finally found something real.