I wake up with the distinct feeling that I didn't actually sleep. More like I hovered in a fog, drifting in and out, never fully sinking, never fully surfacing. Morning light slips through the hotel curtains in thin, pale stripes, and for a moment I just lie there, staring at the ceiling.
He found me.
The thought has been looping in my head since last night, steady and relentless, like a heartbeat I can't quiet.
Ryder Gonzales.
At my signing.
In Portland.
I scrub a hand over my face and sit up, my hair falling into my eyes. My scalp still smells faintly of the vanilla shampoo I used last night, but that small comfort dissolves under the churn in my stomach. I shower again, hoping the hot water will make me feel human, or at least present, but when I meet my eyes in the mirror afterward, I still look… rattled.
Lila knocks on the bathroom door. "You alive in there? We have to head down soon unless you want to miss the world's most mediocre continental breakfast."
I open the door. She takes one look at me and blinks.
"You look like someone told you they're remaking your favorite book into a musical."
I force a smile. "Just tired."
"Hm." She doesn't sound convinced. Lila is rarely subtle, but she also knows when to let things go—for the moment.
We head down to breakfast, where the food is exactly like she said: mediocre, lukewarm, and beige. Lila makes a joke about how the scrambled eggs have the texture of "Regret and compromise," and normally I'd laugh. Today, I just stir my coffee.
Lila narrows her eyes at me over her spoon. "Okay. Spill."
"There's nothing to spill."
"Amelia." She drops her spoon dramatically. "That's your 'I'm actively lying and need you to stop asking' tone."
I choke on my coffee. "That is not—"
"Is it about your writing?" she tries. "Your deadline? The flight? Your hair? Oh my god, is your skin breaking out and you're having a crisis?"
"I'm fine," I say firmly.
She leans back, studying me. "You're not. But I'll let you pretend for now. "She pauses." At least until we get to the airport, where I can guilt you in public."
Despite everything, a small, thin laugh escapes me. Lila grins triumphantly, but it fades quickly. She can tell my smile doesn't reach my eyes.
The car ride to the airport is quiet, the kind of silence that hums with questions. Lila taps her fingers on her knee— a rhythm that normally matches her excitement but today sounds cautious.
"Amelia," she says softly, not looking at me. "I don't need the whole truth. Just a thread of it."
I stare out the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. Portland is grey and soft today. The kind of day that used to make teenage me curl up with notebooks filled with feelings I was too scared to say aloud. The kind of day that would lead me directly to one person.
Ryder.
My throat tightens. "It's nothing big," I lie. "Just… a weird night. Long lines. Nerves."
"You've done thirty signings in the last three months," she counters. "You don't get nervous anymore. You thrive in crowds now."
She doesn't say the next part, but I hear it anyway:You're not the quiet girl you used to be.
She's right, and she's wrong.
Out loud, I say, "I'm just tired. That's all."
Lila watches my profile for a long moment, her expression soft. "Okay. If you say so."But her eyes say: I don't believe you.
By the time we reach our gate, the sky outside has opened up fully, rain streaking across the windows like watery brushstrokes. I drop my bag onto the seat beside me as Lila heads off to find snacks that "don't taste like cardboard and disappointment."
The terminal is buzzing, but somehow it feels too quiet around me. My chest tightens the longer I sit. I shouldn't have run last night. I shouldn't have turned away. But what was I supposed to do? Walk up to the living ghost of my own book and say:
Hi. Thanks for unknowingly being the blueprint of every character I've ever loved.
I pull my knees up a bit, hugging my carry-on to my chest. Memories flicker, uninvited and sharp:
Ryder leaning against his locker in high school, grinning in that way that made me forget my own name. Ryder teasing me gently when I dropped my books. Ryder sitting in the back of English class, green eyes catching mine for half a second too long.
I exhale shakily.
He looked different yesterday.Older, steadier, broader.But those eyes… they were the same. Unmistakable.
Lila returns with two coffees and a suspicious-looking bagel. She sets one cup down in front of me.
"Okay, I got caffeine and carbs. One of these has to fix you."
I smile weakly. "Thanks."
"Oh, and some guy from the event staff gave me this to pass to you. "She reaches into her tote bag. "Apparently someone left it at the signing with your name on it."
My pulse jumps.
"Left what?"
"This."
She pulls out a book.
My book.The Truth Between Lines.Clean, crisp, untouched.
My mouth goes dry.
"Maybe it's from a fan?" Lila says casually. "Or a bookstore copy they wanted signed?"
But I'm not listening.Because when she hands it to me, the cover feels too warm.Like someone had held it.Recently.Like someone had waited with it.
The edges of my vision blur for a second.
I flip open the front cover.
Lila leans in, curious.
There
On the inside page is handwriting I would recognize in a heartbeat.
Neat.
Sharp.
Intentionally controlled.
Ryder's handwriting.
Just six words:
You still write me better than I ever was. — R
My breath stops.
And then-
Lila's voice, soft but the realization was evident.
"Amelia, who is this person?"