We talk for a while longer, and enjoy an amazing flourless chocolate cake with a caramel topping for dessert. Afterward, when the waitress brings our check, Trevor pulls out his wallet.

“You aren’t one of those women who demands to pay half of the bill, are you?” he teases.

“Ha.” I laugh. “Maybe if we were at McDonald’s.”

He chuckles but doesn’t say anything. Hardin would have made some stupid sarcastic remark about how my comment had set feminism back fifty years.

Seeing that a light rain-snow mix has resumed, Trevor tells me to wait inside while he calls a cab, which is very considerate of him. A few moments later he waves at me through the glass, and I rush to get inside the warm cab.

“So what made you want to get into publishing?” he asks as we head back to the hotel.

“Well, I love to read—it’s all I do. It’s the only thing that interests me, so it was just a natural career choice for me. I would love to become an author sometime in the future, but for now I love what I get to do at Vance,” I tell him.

He smiles. “That’s the same with me and accounting. Nothing else interests me either. I’ve known from a young age that I would do something with numbers.”

I despise math, but I just smile as he continues to talk about it. “So do you like to read?” I ask when he finishes and we pull up at the hotel.

“Yeah, sort of. Mostly nonfiction.”

“Oh . . . why?” I can’t help but ask.

He shrugs. “I just don’t really care for fiction.” He hops out of the cab and holds a hand out for me.

“How can you not?” I ask and take his hand to get out. “The best thing about reading is to escape from your life, to be able to live hundreds or even thousands of different lives. Nonfiction doesn’t have that power—it doesn’t change you the way fiction does.”

“Change you?” He raises his brow.

“Yes, change you. If you aren’t affected somehow, even in the slightest bit, you aren’t reading the right book.” As we pass through the lobby, I look at the great artwork on the walls. “I would like to think that every novel I’ve read has became a part of me, created who I am, in a sense.”

“You’re very passionate!” He laughs.

“Yeah . . . I guess I am,” I say. Hardin would agree with me, we would carry on this conversation for hours, possibly even days.

We ride the elevator in relative silence, and when we step off, Trevor walks a half step behind me down the hall. I’m exhausted and ready to go to sleep even though it’s only nine.

Trevor smiles when we reach the door to my room. “I had an amazing time with you tonight. Thank you dining with me.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” I smile back.

“I really enjoy spending time with you; we have a lot in common. I would love to see you again.” He waits for my response, then clarifies: “Outside of the work setting.”

“Yeah, I would like that,” I say.

He takes a step toward me, and I freeze. His hand reaches up and rests on my hip and he leans into me.

“Um . . . I don’t really think this is the right time,” I squeak.

His cheeks flame in embarrassment, and I feel terribly guilty for declining his advance.

“Oh, I understand. I’m sorry. I sh-shouldn’t have . . .” he stutters.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just not ready for that . . .” I explain, and he smiles.

“I understand. I’ll let you go now. Good night, Tessa,” he says and walks away.

As soon as I enter my room I let out a deep breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding in. I step out of my shoes, debating whether or not to undress or just lie down. I’m tired, so tired. I decide to lie down while deciding, and within minutes I’m out.

THE ENTIRE NEXT DAY with Kimberly flies by, and we do more gossiping than shopping.

“How was your night last night?” she asks me.

The woman filing my nails perks her head up nosily, and I smile at her. “It was nice, Hardin and I went to dinner,” I say, and Kimberly gasps.

“Hardin?”

“Trevor. I meant Trevor.” I would smack myself in the forehead if I weren’t getting a manicure.

“Hmm . . .” Kimberly teases me, and I roll my eyes.

After our manicures we find a department store. We look at a lot of different shoes, and I see some stuff I like, but nothing I really want to buy. Kimberly buys several tops with an enthusiasm that tells me she really likes shopping.

As we pass by the men’s department, she pulls a navy button-up shirt off the rack and says, “I think I’ll get Christian a shirt as well. It’s fun because he hates when I spend money on him.”

“Doesn’t he . . . you know, have a lot?” I ask, hoping not to sound too nosy.

“Oh yes. Shitloads. But I like to pay for myself when we go out. I’m not with him for his money,” she says proudly.

I’m glad that I met Kimberly. Aside from Landon, she’s my only friend now. And I’ve never really had a lot of female friends, so this is a little new for me.

Despite that, when Christian calls and arranges for the car to pick us up, I’m glad. I’ve had an amazing time here in Seattle, but it’s been a horrible time as well. I sleep the entire drive back home and have them drop me back off at the motel. To my surprise, my car is there, parked where it had been before.

I pay for two more nights and text my mother to tell her I’m sick, and that I suspect it’s food poisoning. She doesn’t respond, so I turn on the television after getting into my pajamas. There is nothing, literally nothing, on, and I would rather read anyway. I grab my car keys and go out to the car to get my bag.