Spencer grinned weakly. “I thought I blew the whole thing. I acted like a spaz.”
Beau shook his head. “No, you were amazing.” He stared deeply into her eyes with such intensity that Spencer felt her cheeks get hot. “You really tapped into something scary inside yourself, didn’t you? I could tell.”
“Um, not really.” Spencer peered out beyond the curtain. There was still no one in the corner where Tabitha had stood. “You didn’t notice anyone watching backstage, did you?” she asked.
Beau looked around, then shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He squeezed her hands. “Anyway, I think with a few more practice sessions, you’ll be amazing. Let’s meet at your house next time. How about Thursday afternoon?”
“That sounds good,” Spencer said shakily. And then Beau leaned close, a shy look on his face. Spencer closed her eyes, certain he was going to kiss her lips, but then a faint whisper sounded in her ears.
Murderer.
She opened her eyes again and pulled away. The hair on her arms stood on end. “Did you just hear that?”
Beau looked around. “No . . .”
Spencer listened hard, but heard nothing else. Maybe it was her imagination. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something—someone—much more sinister than that.
A.
Chapter 19
THE BOOK THIEF
Later that same Tuesday night, Aria sat in a secluded nook at Wordsmith’s, the bookstore a block away from the Rosewood Day campus. Classical music tinkled over the stereo, and the place smelled like the freshly baked cookies from the bakery next door. But nothing smelled as good as Ezra’s cologne, which Aria was inhaling deeply as she snuggled next to him on the oversized loveseat in the café at the back of the store. It was daring for them to cuddle in broad daylight—Aria still thought of Ezra as her taboo, sexy teacher—but no Rosewood Day student came into Wordsmith’s unless they were forced to, and absolutely no one from school patronized the café. That was a holdover from the days when Real Ali was still alive—she had started a rumor that someone had found a whole finger in one of the brownies, and everyone, even upperclassmen, had banned the place. Four months into her relationship with Noel, Aria caught him sneaking into Wordsmith’s between classes, and he finally confessed that he had a major jones for the café’s cranberry nut muffins. Aria had loved him for going against the fray.
Wait. Why was she thinking about Noel right now? She straightened up and looked into Ezra’s ice-blue eyes. He was the guy she was with now.
She hefted Ezra’s manuscript out of her bag and plunked it onto the ottoman. “So I read the whole novel,” she announced with a smile. “And I loved it.”
“Really?” Relief flooded Ezra’s face.
“Of course!” Aria pushed it toward him. “But I was so . . . surprised at the subject matter.”
Ezra cupped his chin in his hand. “The subject matter is all I’ve been thinking about for the last year.”
“It was so . . . vivid,” Aria continued. “The writing was amazing—I felt like I was there.” Of course, she kind of had been there, but whatever. “I couldn’t believe the turn it took. And then the ending! Wow!”
At the end of the novel, Jack moved to New York City. Anita moved with him, and they lived happily ever after. Until a bizarre twist at the end: Jack was mailed anthrax spores from an unknown international terrorist and died. But even that was romantic: There were heartfelt scenes of Jack dying in the hospital, Anita at his side.
Then her gaze fell back to the novel. “So . . . how much of this did you want to be true, anyway?”
“I wanted all of it to be true,” Ezra answered, running his fingers up and down her arm. “Well, except for the anthrax part.”
Aria’s heart pounded, and she chose her next words carefully. “So . . . when Jack asks Anita to move to New York . . .” She trailed off, not able to look him in the eye.
Ezra’s voice grew intense. “I don’t want to be without you again, Aria. I would love it if you moved there with me.”
Aria’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Ezra leaned toward her. “I’ve thought about you so much this year. I mean, I wrote a book about you. You could come for the summer at first, see how you like it. You could get an internship, maybe, a job at an art gallery. And you applied to FIT and Parsons, right?” He didn’t even wait for Aria to nod. “If you get in—and I’m sure you will—that’s where you could go next year.”
All of a sudden, the overhead lights felt way too bright, and the oaky scent of wine made Aria’s head spin. She chanced an excited smile. “A-are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” Ezra kissed her lips. Then he sat back and tapped the manuscript. “I want you to tell me everything you thought of it. Be honest.”
Aria pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to focus. “Well, I loved it. Every sentence. Every detail.”