CINDY’S POV
I was tucked into a corner table at Lily’s, my back to the entrance, oversized brown sunglasses practically glued to my face.
A chunky hardcover romance novel, The Devil’s Little Bane, lay open across my thighs, the pages dog-eared and loved.
For three days straight, I’d been dodging Henry. His calls had been blowing up my phone and his boots stomping into the bookshop every now and then looking for me.
Vicky had my back, slipping me out the back door or covering for me when he showed up, all pitiful and whining.
Today, I knew he’d be back, playing his victim card, so I was hiding in plain sight, pretending to be just another customer lost in Peony Sigor’s steamy tangle with Justine Sage.
And yeah, maybe I was a little damp from it.
Okay, a lot damp. This book was fire.
