told herself repeatedly. Ryan was a lovely friend. They enjoyed each other’s company. And sure, he was handsome. But Angela had decided that it was all way, way, way too soon after Brice for her to be involved in anything more serious than friendship. Friends, she and Ryan had mutually decided, and it suited them both fine. So what if there were sparks? Physical attraction was only one tiny part of a real relationship. Sparks could be managed. Tamped down. Sure. Of course they could.
She and Ryan had coffee together several mornings each week, and if she were honest, she found him fascinating. Part of that fascination was certainly due to his ability to rise above his circumstances. But also because he was as intrigued as she about what happened over that summer, the summer that began and ended Jesse and Olivia’s love story. The summer Jesse almost died at the hands of two unidentified attackers.
Ryan had printed out the article about the attack. He placed it beside her where she sat on his patio. “This account of what happened was hard to find because it didn’t give last names. In fact, Olivia’s name was completely omitted as was Jesse’s last name. Weird. But, you know, I’ve never studied that much 1980’s journalism so maybe that was commonplace back then.”
“But you’re certain Olivia was with him?”
“Oh yes. The article references a seventeen-year-old female.” His eyes narrowed in thought.
Angela had learned his tells. “What’s on your mind, Ryan?”
He shook his head and tapped a pencil against his knee. She’d never seen him write with the pencil, but he used it to point things out, as a tapping instrument, and sometimes he parked it behind his ear. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up.”
“I’d hate to ask Jesse about it. I know Willow didn’t want to talk about it, but I suppose I could try again.”
“No, there’s something more to this,” Ryan said, tucking the pencil behind his ear. “A cover-up.”
“What? You’ve been reading too many murder mysteries.”
“And writing them … but that’s beside the point. I’m telling you, Angela. This—” He snagged the pencil from his ear and used the end to make small circles over the article he’d printed off for her. “This is only part of the story.”
“Well, Ryan, what are we waiting for?” There was a distinct challenge in her tone. A playful, sexy challenge that he quickly responded to.
He sat straighter. “What do you suggest, Miss Baker?”
“Oh, I forgot to mention, I’m going by my maiden name these days. Call me Miss Reed.”
“Gladly.” He grinned.
“I know you’re the internet whiz, but I’m going to introduce you to an old school, fail proof way of doing research.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s called a public library.”
Ryan stood. “Sounds kinky. I’m in. You drive.”
She laughed. “Of course, I’ll drive. Last time you drove, you got us lost.”
It was just so easy with Ryan. She never had to straighten her spine or cross her legs at the ankles. She never had to check her makeup or straighten her hair. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was legally blind because, up close, he could see her. If not clearly, he could see her in the haze.
What she loved about spending time with him was that there was no need for pretense with Ryan. He simply was. And when she was with him, she was encouraged to simply be. What a life affirming, life altering thing. It was liberty. And liberty felt right. Her new world was a judge-free zone. Oh, sometimes Jesse shook his head at her late-night bowls of ice cream when she’d talked him into watching a movie with her. But there was no real judgment.
Angela and Ryan drove across the island to the small rectangle building that sat between two palm trees. Wishing Beach Library was plastered on a metal sign. Beneath the name, the words, Dare to Dream. Then, Dare to Do. Her pace slowed, and Ryan noticed. “What are we looking at?”
“You’re so perceptive, Ryan.”
He’d threaded his arm through hers in their customary stance as they meandered the beach or walked through town. She liked it. He wasn’t dependent on her, yet she felt important to the situation … something she’d never felt with Brice. She kept comparing Ryan to Brice. They were worlds apart. Ryan had a quiet confidence that Brice had ever only labored to attain. “The sign. We’re looking at the sign.”
“It must be quite impressive. Or does it say CLOSED and