Amber couldn't sleep. Simpson's words haunted her all night. How did he know about her journal? And what had Doug told Claire?
By morning, she was exhausted but determined to meet Rawls as planned. She chose a simple blue sundress and sandals, trying not to look like she was trying too hard.
The bookstore, Benedict Books & Brews, was busy when Amber arrived at eleven. Coffee drinkers filled the small café area while book lovers browsed the shelves. The store's warm lighting and wooden shelves created a cozy feeling that always made Amber feel at home.
Rawls stood near the classics section, checking his watch. When he spotted her, his face brightened.
"You made it," he said, relief in his voice.
"I said I would." Amber's heart raced as she remembered Simpson's warning. "But we need to talk about something."
Rawls nodded. "Let's grab coffee first."
They ordered and found a quiet corner table away from other customers.
"Simpson knows about my journal," Amber whispered, clutching her mug.
Rawls frowned. "What journal?"
Amber's cheeks burned. "I keep a personal journal. It has... things in it that no one should see. Claire said your ex-wife knows about it too."
"Karla?" Rawls looked concerned. "How would she know?"
"I don't know. That's what scares me." Amber leaned closer. "And Doug Dawson told Claire something about me. Or you. Or us."
Rawls's jaw tightened. "Doug's been asking questions about you at the community center."
"Why?"
"I don't know yet." Rawls touched her hand briefly. "But I'll find out."
The warmth of his fingers on hers made Amber forget her worries for a moment.
"Now," Rawls smiled, changing the subject, "help me find some books for my reading group? They're seniors who want something exciting but not too complicated."
For the next hour, they wandered through the shelves, heads close together as Amber suggested titles and Rawls shared his own favorites.
"I can't believe you've read 'The Count of Monte Cristo' seven times," Amber laughed.
"It's the perfect revenge story," Rawls explained, his eyes lighting up. "Dantès loses everything but finds a way to reinvent himself. I read it first when I was going through my divorce."
"That makes sense," Amber said softly.
"What's your comfort book?" Rawls asked.
"'Little Women,'" Amber admitted. "I always wanted sisters like the March girls."
"You have Claire," Rawls pointed out.
Amber looked away. "I might not anymore."
Rawls touched her shoulder. "Claire loves you. She's just confused right now."
They moved to the mystery section, where Rawls pulled out an old Agatha Christie novel.
"My mother loved these," he said nostalgically. "She used to read them to Simpson and me before bed. It's one of the few good memories we share."
"You two don't seem very close," Amber observed.
Rawls's expression darkened. "Simpson has always wanted what I have. Even when we were kids."
"And now?"
"Now I'm worried about what he wants from you." Rawls's voice was low. "Be careful around him, Amber."
Their conversation flowed easily as they moved through poetry, history, and science fiction. Amber discovered Rawls loved dystopian novels but hated horror. He learned she collected fairy tale retellings and dreamed of writing her own someday.
"You should," he encouraged. "I'd read it."
Time flew by. Before they knew it, the afternoon was gone. They had filled a basket with books for the senior group and added a few for themselves.
As they checked out, the cashier smiled knowingly at them. "Date night reading?"
"No," they both said quickly.
"Work project," Rawls added.
But the woman's assumption lingered between them as they left the store.
"Hungry?" Rawls asked as they loaded the books into his car.
"Starving," Amber admitted.
They found a small diner a few blocks away. Over burgers and fries, their conversation deepened.
"Tell me something no one else knows," Rawls challenged.
Amber thought for a moment. "I wanted to be an architect once."
Rawls raised his eyebrows. "Really? Why didn't you pursue it?"
"My dad said it wasn't practical." Amber shrugged. "So I studied library science instead."
"You would've made a wonderful architect," Rawls said sincerely. "It's never too late, you know."
His belief in her made Amber's chest tighten with emotion. "Your turn. Tell me something I don't know about you."
Rawls looked thoughtful. "I almost moved away after the divorce. To Seattle. But I stayed because of Claire."
"She needed you," Amber said.
"Yes. And now she's grown up, about to finish college." He stirred his coffee. "I've been thinking about what's next for me."
Amber's stomach dropped. "You're leaving?"
"I don't know." His eyes met hers. "I have reasons to stay now that I didn't have before."
The way he looked at her made her forget to breathe.
The sun was setting when they finally left the diner. As they drove toward Amber's apartment, an uncomfortable silence filled the car.
"Thank you for today," Amber said finally. "I had a wonderful time."
"So did I." Rawls glanced at her. "It's been a long time since I talked to someone who understands books the way you do."
When they reached her building, Rawls got out to open her door and carry the books she'd bought to her door.
"Amber," he said softly as they stood on her porch. "Whatever is happening between us... it's complicated. With Claire, and Karla being back, and Simpson stirring trouble..."
"I know." Amber's voice was barely a whisper.
"But I can't stop thinking about you." His admission hung in the air between them.
Amber's heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. "I've thought about you for years."
Rawls looked surprised, then touched. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We need to be careful. For Claire's sake."
"I would never hurt Claire," Amber promised.
"Neither would I." His hand lingered near her cheek. "But I don't want to hurt you either."
For a moment, Amber thought he might kiss her. She held her breath, waiting.
Instead, Rawls stepped back. "I should go. Karla will be wondering where I am."
Disappointment flooded through her. "Of course."
"I'll call you tomorrow?" It was half statement, half question.
Amber nodded, unable to speak.
She watched his car disappear before entering her apartment. On her coffee table lay a small package that hadn't been there when she left. Heart racing, she opened it.
Inside was her journal—the one she kept hidden in her bedroom—with a note attached:
"Interesting reading, little librarian. Page 47 was especially enlightening. Let's talk soon about these feelings you've been hiding. I can help you get what you want... for a price. —S"
Amber's hands trembled as she flipped to page 47, where she'd written her deepest fantasies about Rawls. Someone had been in her apartment. Someone had read her most private thoughts.
Her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
"Secrets are valuable currency, Amber. Meet me tomorrow or I'll share yours with everyone who matters."