Welcome to Trending After Dark, where good books deserve good conversations and independent authors deserve to be discovered.

Whether you’re looking for your next great read, curious about the writers behind the stories, or just enjoy talking books, there’s a place for you here.

From honest book reviews and original short stories to conversations with indie authors across every genre, this is a space for discovering something you might not have found otherwise.

So pull up a chair, get comfortable, and stay awhile. You never know what you’ll find between the covers.

Between The Covers & Beyond

So, here we are.

I’ve been thinking about doing something like this for a while. Not another place where I’m constantly telling people to buy my books, but somewhere I can share a little more than what I’m writing.

I’m an indie author, and one thing I’ve learned is that writing the book is only part of the work. Getting somebody to notice it? That’s a whole different conversation.

And I know I’m not the only one dealing with that.

There are so many authors out here writing good stories, and half the time we don’t even know they exist. Meanwhile, readers are looking for something new, and some of those books might be exactly what they’re looking for.

Now, I’m not saying every book is going to be everybody’s cup of tea. Lord knows I’ve picked up a few that had me questioning my decisions. But that’s part of reading. Sometimes you find a new favorite. Sometimes you find out real quick that a book isn’t for you.

And sometimes you come across a story that makes you wonder why more people aren’t talking about it.

That’s what interests me.

I’ll be sharing my thoughts on books, writing, publishing, and whatever else happens to catch my attention. Some months it’ll be something serious. Other months, who knows? I might just have something on my mind that I feel like putting into words.

But I also want this space to give other indie authors a chance to be seen. Not just authors who write what I write, either. A good story doesn’t have to fit neatly into my favorite genre for me to appreciate it.

So that’s what I’m doing here. A little reading, a little writing, a few opinions, and hopefully some good discoveries along the way.

And if you leave here with a new book on your reading list or an author you’ve never heard of before, I’d say that’s a pretty good start.

Shining Our Light On:

Author Short Stories

Story Title: No Vacancy

Written by: E.B. Valentine

The first thing I noticed when I pulled into the driveway was that I still had blood on my shirt. The second was that I had absolutely no idea where the hell I was.

I’d been driving for almost four hours, most of it through rain so heavy I could barely see the road. Somewhere along the way, my phone had lost service, the GPS had stopped talking, and I’d passed the last gas station without stopping because I was too afraid of what might happen if I sat still long enough to think.

Now I was staring at a beautiful stone building tucked between trees, wondering whether I was about to spend Thanksgiving in a luxury hotel or become the opening scene of a true-crime documentary.

Honestly, either one seemed possible.

I looked down at my blouse. The bloodstain had turned brown around the edges.

“Shit.”

I pulled my coat closed and studied the building through the windshield. Hollow Creek House was a private mountain inn with seven suites, a restaurant, and absolutely no children under sixteen, according to the website.

That last part had sold me. I loved children, but I didn’t have the emotional capacity to hear anybody else’s right now.

I grabbed my overnight bag, stepped out into the rain, and hurried toward the entrance.

The door opened before I reached it, revealing a man standing beneath the warm light of the foyer.

And Jesus Christ.

Of course he was handsome. Apparently, the universe had decided I hadn’t been through enough.

He was tall and broad through the shoulders, with rich brown skin, dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. His features were striking, with sharp angles softened by a mouth that looked entirely too inviting. I guessed he was somewhere in his early forties, although I’d never been particularly good at judging men’s ages.

He wore a charcoal sweater that fit him a little too well.

“Ms. Bennett?”

I stopped on the top step. “That depends. Are you about to tell me I don’t have a reservation?”

He smiled. “No. I was going to offer to take your bag.”

“Then yes, I’m Evelyn Bennett.”

He reached for the handle but waited until I released it before taking it from me.

“Julian Whitlock. Welcome to Hollow Creek House.”

“Thank you. Please tell me you have heat.”

“We do.”

“Hot water?”

“Plenty.”

“Alcohol?”

His smile widened. “An excellent selection.”

“Well, Julian, I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

He stepped aside to let me in, and I caught him glancing at my sleeve. His expression changed for a fraction of a second before he returned his attention to my face.

I waited for the inevitable question, but it never came.

“Long drive?” he asked.

“You have no idea.”

“Let’s get you checked in.”

I followed him into a lobby that was beautiful in the kind of quiet, expensive way that made you afraid to touch anything. Dark wood floors stretched beneath oversized chairs, and a fireplace large enough to roast an entire pig occupied one wall. The furniture looked like it probably came with instructions not to sit on it while wearing jeans.

I glanced down at my muddy boots. “Do I need to take these off?”

Julian looked over his shoulder. “Your boots?”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m about to get charged a cleaning fee just for standing here.”

He laughed. “You’re fine.”

“Good, because I’m one inconvenience away from crying, and I would hate for that inconvenience to be footwear.”

He gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “Let’s see if we can avoid that.”

At the desk, he handed me a registration card, which I signed without really reading. Probably not my smartest decision, but I’d made several questionable choices in the last twenty-four hours. One more wasn’t going to ruin my record.

“You’re in room seven,” he said. “Second floor, at the end of the hall. It’s quiet, and there’s a fireplace.”

“Perfect.”

“Have you eaten?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it while I tried to remember the last time I’d had anything substantial.

“Does coffee count?”

“Not usually.”

“Then no.”

“The kitchen is technically closed, but I can put something together.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

Something about that answer made me look at him. He wasn’t flirting, at least not that I could tell. He seemed genuinely unconcerned about the inconvenience.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“Okay, but nothing complicated. A sandwich is fine.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He handed me a brass key, an actual metal key instead of a plastic card.

“That’s cute.”

“What is?”

“The key. Very old-school.”

“Most people complain.”

“Most people have never been locked out of a hotel room because the little plastic thing decided to stop working at two in the morning.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Unfortunately.”

He smiled again, and I realized I liked his smile.

Which was ridiculous, considering I had a fiancé. Technically. Possibly.

I wasn’t entirely sure what the rules were when you ended an engagement and the man refused to acknowledge it.

“Come on,” Julian said. “I’ll show you upstairs.”

The room was almost offensively beautiful.

A large bed stood between two windows overlooking the trees. There was a sitting area near the fireplace, a deep bathtub visible through an open bathroom door, and a little balcony that I wouldn’t be using unless I developed a sudden desire to freeze to death.

I walked to the window and watched the rain slide down the glass. For the first time since leaving the house, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder.

Julian placed my bag on a luggage stand.

“There’s bottled water in the refrigerator. Coffee and tea are complimentary. If you need anything, the front desk phone connects directly to me.”

“You’re working the desk all night?”

“Looks that way.”

“Where’s everybody else?”

“Home. The weather’s getting worse, and I sent the staff out early.”

“That’s decent of you.”

“They have families.”

I nodded, remembering that tomorrow was Thanksgiving. I’d almost forgotten about the holiday entirely. Instead of preparing to spend it with Daniel’s family, I was hiding in a mountain inn with one suitcase, a bloody blouse, and a phone full of messages I didn’t want to read.

“Evelyn?”

I turned toward Julian. “Hmm?”

“There’s a first-aid kit under the bathroom sink.”

He glanced toward my sleeve. “I wasn’t sure whether you needed one.”

My throat tightened. “No. I’m okay.”

He nodded without pressing the issue.

“All right. I’ll bring dinner up in about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.”

He stopped at the door.

“And Evelyn?”

“Yes?”

“You can lock the door from inside. Nobody else has access to this floor tonight.”

It was an odd thing to say, but it was exactly what I needed to hear.

“Good to know.”

After he left, I locked the door, sat on the edge of the bed, and finally let myself cry.

Daniel had never hit me, and that was the excuse I’d been making for him for almost a year.

As long as he didn’t hit me, I could convince myself the shouting wasn’t that bad. The way he checked my phone wasn’t that bad, either, and maybe I was being dramatic when I complained that he always seemed to know where I was.

It had started with little things. Comments about my clothes, questions about my coworkers, and jokes about how much I talked when we went out. Eventually, the jokes stopped being funny, and by the time I realized how much of my life I’d changed to keep him happy, I barely recognized myself.

We’d been together for two years, engaged for six months, and I’d been miserable for at least half of our relationship.

Tonight, I’d finally told him I was done.

I’d already packed my bag, arranged to take a few days off work, and found somewhere to stay. I thought having everything prepared would make leaving easier.

Daniel hadn’t taken it well.

At first, he’d laughed at me. When he realized I was serious, the laughter turned into anger, and when I tried to walk away, he grabbed my wrist.

I pulled free, and he stumbled backward into the kitchen island, striking his head against the edge.

There had been a lot of blood.

I’d tried to help him, but he shoved my hands away and started screaming that I’d done it on purpose. He was standing when I left, swearing and threatening to make sure I regretted walking out.

I remembered that clearly because I’d spent most of the drive replaying it.

I hadn’t meant to hurt him. I just wanted him to let go.

My phone buzzed on the bed, and I flinched before I could stop myself.

Another message from Daniel.

You think you can just leave me?

I stared at the screen until another message appeared.

Answer your fucking phone, Evelyn.

I turned the phone facedown.

I couldn’t argue with him again or explain why I was unhappy for the hundredth time. I was exhausted from begging a grown man to understand that I didn’t want to marry him.

I was thirty-four years old, with a successful career, a decent salary, and friends I’d barely seen in months. Somehow, I’d reached a point where I was afraid to tell my own fiancé no.

I wiped my face and looked around the room.

“Enough.”

The word sounded small in the silence, but I meant it.

Julian knocked twenty-five minutes later.

I opened the door wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, my light brown hair pulled into a messy bun. My face was probably still flushed from crying, but at least I’d washed the blood off my skin.

He stood beside a small cart.

“Hope you’re hungry.”

I looked down. “Sir, I asked for a sandwich.”

“I know.”

“That is an entire dinner.”

He’d brought roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, warm bread, and what looked suspiciously like homemade apple pie.

“I may have gotten carried away.”

“May have?”

He laughed. “Would you like me to take some of it back?”

“Touch that pie and we’re going to have a problem.”

“Understood.”

He rolled the cart inside and arranged everything on the little table near the fireplace.

“Do you always cook for your guests?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, I hope they appreciate you.”

“Most do.”

I sat down and picked up my fork. The first bite of mashed potatoes almost brought me to tears.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Julian looked pleased. “Glad you like it.”

“No, you don’t understand. That’s really good.”

“I’ll pass the compliment along to the chef.”

I looked up. “Wait. You didn’t cook this?”

“I did.”

“Then why are you passing the compliment along?”

“Because I enjoy hearing nice things about myself.”

I laughed, a genuine laugh that startled me a little.

Julian noticed but didn’t comment. Instead, he asked whether I needed anything else.

I shook my head. “You’ve done enough. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He started toward the door, and I surprised myself by calling him back.

“Julian?”

He turned.

“Would you mind sitting for a minute?”

I hadn’t planned to ask, but I didn’t particularly want to be alone.

His expression softened. “Of course.”

He took the chair across from me, and while I ate, we talked about ordinary things.

He told me about purchasing the inn several years earlier and spending almost two years renovating it. I told him about my work in commercial interior design, and he asked questions about my projects.

He actually listened to the answers, too.

It was such a simple thing, but I couldn’t remember the last time Daniel had asked me about work without turning the conversation back to himself.

Eventually, Julian noticed I was slowing down.

“You’re exhausted.”

“That obvious?”

“A little.”

“Sorry. I’m not usually this bad at conversation.”

“You’ve been perfectly good company.”

“You’re being generous.”

“Maybe.”

I smiled, and he stood.

“Get some sleep, Evelyn. We can talk tomorrow.”

I glanced toward the window. “If the roads are open.”

“They may not be.”

“Great.”

“Would staying another night be so terrible?”

I looked around the room before turning back to him.

“Considering the bed is bigger than my entire first apartment? I think I’ll survive.”

He chuckled.

“Good night.”

“Night, Julian.”

After he left, I ate every bite of the pie, crawled into bed, and slept harder than I had in months.

The detective called at nine the next morning.

I was sitting in the bathtub when my phone rang, and I nearly dropped it into the water trying to answer.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Bennett? This is Detective Laura Hensley. I’m calling about Daniel Mercer.”

I sat up. “Is he okay?”

“We’re trying to locate him.”

My stomach dropped.

“What do you mean?”

“His vehicle was found abandoned early this morning. We haven’t been able to make contact with him.”

I stared at the wall.

“But he was home when I left.”

“When was that?”

“Yesterday. Around six-thirty, maybe seven.”

“Did the two of you have an argument?”

I closed my eyes. “Yes.”

She asked me what happened, and I told her about the engagement, the argument, his hand around my wrist, and the fall. I told her about the blood, too, because there wasn’t much point pretending otherwise.

“Did you see him lose consciousness?”

“No. He was standing when I left.”

“Did you call emergency services?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

I swallowed. “Because he was screaming at me, and I just wanted to get away from him.”

The detective was quiet for a moment before asking where I was.

I gave her the inn’s name, and she explained that someone would need to speak with me in person once the roads were passable.

When I asked whether I was a suspect, she told me they were still gathering information.

Which wasn’t an answer.

After the call ended, I sat in the bathtub until the water went cold.

I found Julian downstairs in the kitchen, standing at the counter cutting vegetables.

“Morning,” he said.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

He put the knife down.

“Evelyn?”

“My fiancé is missing.”

His expression changed, and he came around the counter.

“What happened?”

I told him everything, including the parts I’d been too embarrassed to admit to anyone else. By the time I finished, I was crying again, and I was getting really tired of crying.

Julian handed me a tissue, then another, without interrupting or telling me what I should have done.

When I finally stopped talking, he asked, “Did he hurt you?”

I looked down at the faint bruise around my wrist.

“He’s never hit me.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

His voice was calm, not accusing, and I found myself looking directly at him.

“He grabbed me,” I admitted.

Julian nodded once. “All right.”

“That’s it?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

He leaned against the counter.

“Evelyn, I don’t know what happened to Daniel after you left. Neither do you. The police will investigate that. But you don’t have to pretend what happened before you left was acceptable.”

I wiped my face.

“I just keep thinking maybe I should’ve stayed.”

“Would staying have made you safe?”

I didn’t answer because I already knew the truth.

Julian didn’t push. After a minute, he asked whether I wanted coffee, and I nodded.

“How do you take it?”

“Cream. Two sugars.”

He made it and handed me the mug. I took a sip, grateful for something warm to hold.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I looked toward the window, where the rain was still coming down.

“Are the roads open?”

“Not yet. There’s a fallen tree across the lower access road, and the pass is still closed.”

“Of course there is.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as anything changes.”

I nodded, then looked back at him.

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Would it be weird if I asked for a hug?”

He didn’t smile or make a joke. He simply opened his arms, and I stepped into them.

For a few minutes, I let somebody else hold me together.

Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t supposed to happen, at least not like that.

I’d planned to spend the holiday at Daniel’s parents’ house, smiling through another afternoon of his mother asking when we were having children and his father pretending not to hear Daniel correcting me every time I spoke.

Instead, I was standing in a kitchen with a handsome stranger, peeling sweet potatoes badly enough to offend anyone who knew how to cook.

Julian looked over.

“You’re taking half the potato with the skin.”

“Then perhaps you should’ve assigned me a task better suited to my abilities.”

“Such as?”

“Tasting.”

He laughed. “Convenient.”

“I’m excellent at it.”

“I’ve noticed.”

I held up the mutilated potato.

“Are you going to criticize my technique all afternoon?”

“Probably.”

“Then I need another glass of wine.”

He reached for the bottle. “That can be arranged.”

By three, we’d managed to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner for two people that could’ve fed ten. There was turkey, dressing, macaroni and cheese, collard greens, candied sweet potatoes, rolls, and two pies.

I stood looking at the table.

“Julian.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a problem with portion control?”

“Possibly.”

“There’s enough food here to feed the entire mountain.”

“Then we’ll have leftovers.”

“For how long? Christmas?”

He pulled out my chair.

“Sit down, Evelyn.”

“Bossy.”

“Only when necessary.”

I sat, and he took the chair across from me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I looked around the beautiful dining room, taking in the rain beyond the windows and the food we’d spent the afternoon preparing.

“Well, this is officially the strangest Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”

Julian raised his glass. “To strange Thanksgivings.”

I lifted mine.

“And questionable life decisions.”

His mouth curved. “Those too.”

We ate and talked about our families. I told him about my childhood Thanksgivings, when my grandmother would insist on cooking everything herself and then complain that nobody helped her.

Julian told me about the uncle who’d taught him to cook and believed every problem in life could be improved with a decent meal.

His mother was African American, his father Italian, and apparently both sides of the family had taken feeding people very seriously.

“My mother could make a full Sunday dinner out of practically nothing,” he told me. “And my father’s family considered it a personal insult if you left their house hungry.”

I laughed. “So you never stood a chance.”

“Not a chance.”

“That explains why you cook like you’re feeding a football team.”

“Old habits.”

“Well, I appreciate them.”

Somewhere between my second helping of macaroni and our argument over whether sweet potato pie was better than pumpkin, I realized I was having a genuinely good time.

I wasn’t watching somebody’s mood or trying to anticipate an argument. I wasn’t worried about saying the wrong thing or being corrected in front of someone else.

I was simply sitting at a table, enjoying dinner with a man who seemed happy I was there.

It felt strange, but it felt good.

After dinner, we moved to the library.

Julian put on music while I settled into one of the oversized chairs with a glass of wine. Nina Simone drifted through the room, and I glanced toward the record player.

“Now that’s a good choice.”

“You like Nina?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then those people need better taste.”

He laughed, and I watched him add another log to the fire.

He moved with an easy confidence I found increasingly distracting, which was a problem considering I’d just escaped one relationship and had absolutely no business looking at another man like I wanted to climb him.

Julian turned and caught me staring.

I looked away, but it was too late.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“Not a thing.”

“Really?”

“Don’t start.”

He smiled. “Start what?”

“Whatever that look means.”

“What look?”

I pointed at him. “That one.”

He laughed and came to sit on the sofa across from me.

For a while, we listened to the music, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the sound of rain against the windows.

Then he asked, “Are you all right?”

I looked at him.

It would’ve been easy to lie, say yes, and change the subject. Instead, I shrugged.

“I don’t know. I keep thinking about Daniel, and then I feel guilty because I’m sitting here having a good time.”

“You’re allowed to have a good time.”

“Even now?”

“Especially now.”

I looked down at my wine.

“That sounds nice.”

“It can be true, too.”

I sat quietly for a moment before asking, “Can I tell you something embarrassing?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think I’ve felt this relaxed in almost a year.”

Julian didn’t answer immediately.

When he did, his voice was softer.

“I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything.”

His gaze held mine.

“No,” he said quietly. “I didn’t.”

Something about the way he said it made me pause, but before I could think too hard about it, he stood.

“Another glass?”

I looked at my nearly empty wine.

“Maybe water. I should probably slow down.”

“Good idea.”

He took my glass, and I watched him leave the room, wondering how a man I’d met less than twenty-four hours earlier had managed to make me feel more comfortable than the person I’d planned to marry.

At some point, I’d moved from the chair to the sofa, and Julian had settled beside me with his arm resting along the back of it. I wasn’t entirely sure when I’d stopped pretending I wasn’t attracted to him, but apparently that decision had been made without consulting the sensible part of my brain.

Which was inconvenient as hell, considering my life was currently held together by a suitcase, a questionable amount of wine, and pure stubbornness.

Julian was telling me something about the renovations when I realized I hadn’t heard the last thirty seconds of it.

I’d been watching his mouth.

“You’re not listening to me,” he said.

I blinked. “I am.”

“What did I say?”

“Something about the fireplace.”

He looked amused. “We were talking about the kitchen.”

“Close enough. Both involve heat.”

He laughed, and I shook my head.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know exactly what I’m thinking.”

“I wouldn’t presume.”

“Liar.”

He smiled but didn’t argue.

I shifted closer and caught another hint of his cologne.

I’d noticed it when he’d hugged me earlier. Something warm and clean underneath a darker, almost smoky scent. Amber, maybe, with sandalwood and a little musk. Whatever it was, the man smelled entirely too good for someone I was trying very hard not to imagine naked.

“What cologne is that?” I asked.

He glanced down at me.

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to decide whether I like it or whether it’s interfering with my ability to make responsible decisions.”

His laugh was quiet.

“Is it?”

“Possibly.”

“Should I move?”

I considered that for approximately half a second.

“No.”

He smiled, and I kissed him.

There was no warning or grand declaration. I simply leaned forward, caught his face between my hands, and put my mouth on his.

For one startled heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then his hand settled against my waist, and he kissed me back.

Lord, that was a mistake.

Not because the kiss was bad, but because it was entirely too damn good.

His lips were warm, his beard brushed my skin, and when I moved closer, he made a low sound that sent heat straight through me.

I pulled back just enough to breathe.

Julian looked at me.

“Well,” he said.

I laughed. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re thinking loudly.”

His thumb moved over my waist.

“I was thinking I’d like you to do that again.”

I looked at his mouth.

“Funny. So was I.”

This time, when I kissed him, neither of us bothered pretending it was an accident.

I had no idea how long we’d been kissing, but the fire had burned lower, the record had changed, and I’d completely forgotten about the untouched glass of water on the table.

Julian’s hand found the bare skin beneath the hem of my sweatshirt, although he didn’t move it any higher.

He didn’t have to.

I was already having a serious conversation with myself about how many bad decisions a woman could reasonably make in forty-eight hours.

I shifted onto his lap, and his arms came around me as I kissed him again, slower this time, taking my time with a man I was becoming increasingly interested in knowing.

He tasted faintly of the wine we’d shared after dinner, and that damn cologne was making it difficult to remember why I’d ever considered going upstairs alone.

When he kissed the side of my neck, I closed my eyes.

“Julian.”

“Hmm?”

I should’ve said something sensible. Instead, I tilted my head and gave him more room.

He chuckled against my skin.

“You’re making this difficult.”

“For who?”

“Me.”

“Good.”

He laughed, and I kissed him again.

For several minutes, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his hands, the weight of his arms, and the simple pleasure of kissing someone because I wanted to, not because I was trying to prevent an argument.

Then, somewhere between one kiss and the next, I became aware of how quickly everything was happening.

Yesterday, I’d been engaged. Today, my fiancé was missing, the police wanted to question me, and I was sitting in another man’s lap, considering things I wasn’t emotionally prepared to follow through on.

It wasn’t anything Julian had done. I was enjoying myself, maybe a little too much, but I suddenly needed a moment to think.

I drew back, and he immediately loosened his arms.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Actually, I don’t know.”

He waited while I tried to gather my thoughts.

“I want to. Believe me, I really want to.”

His expression softened.

“But?”

“But I think I need to slow down.”

“Okay.”

I looked up. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’re not disappointed?”

“Evelyn, I’m a grown man. I’ll survive.”

I laughed, although my eyes burned a little.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

I took a breath.

“Would it be weird if I just wanted you to hold me for a while?”

He looked at me for a moment, then shifted against the cushions and opened his arms.

“Come here.”

I settled beside him, resting my head against his chest while he pulled the blanket over us.

For a while, we didn’t talk. He rubbed my back as the music played and the rain tapped against the windows. Beneath my cheek, his heartbeat was steady and unhurried.

I hadn’t realized how badly I needed this. Not another relationship, another promise, or even another kiss. I needed a little peace, and for the moment, I was content to stay exactly where I was.

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

His hand paused against my back.

“For what?”

“Not making this complicated.”

He kissed the top of my head.

“Get comfortable, Evelyn.”

I closed my eyes and did exactly that.

I woke a little after ten the following morning, alone in my own bed and surprisingly well-rested.

Julian had walked me upstairs sometime after midnight. He’d kissed me goodnight at my door, waited until I was inside, and gone back downstairs without suggesting he should come in.

I’d stood there for a full minute afterward, wondering whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Probably both.

Now I lay beneath the covers, remembering the way he’d kissed me, which wasn’t helping my concentration.

My phone was on the nightstand, and when I checked it, there were no new messages from the detective. No missed calls or updates of any kind.

I checked the screen twice before setting it aside.

The situation with Daniel hadn’t magically disappeared because I’d spent Thanksgiving making out with a handsome innkeeper. I still had a life to sort out, a job to return to, and a missing fiancé whose disappearance was going to require more answers than I currently had.

But I also wasn’t ready to leave.

After showering and getting dressed, I went downstairs and found Julian in the kitchen pouring coffee.

He looked up when I entered.

“Morning.”

“Is it still morning?”

“Barely.”

He smiled and handed me a mug, already prepared with cream and two sugars.

I took a sip.

“You’re getting dangerously good at this.”

“Making coffee?”

“Making me comfortable.”

His smile softened. “Good.”

I leaned against the counter.

“Any news about the roads?”

“The pass should reopen sometime today.”

“Oh.”

He watched me over his coffee.

“Is that a disappointed ‘oh’?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re welcome to stay another night.”

I looked at him. “I was actually going to ask.”

“Then consider it arranged.”

“I can pay for the room, Julian.”

“I know you can.”

“Good, because I don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of charity case.”

“I don’t.”

I studied him for a moment before smiling.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He turned back toward the stove, and I watched him for a moment before crossing the kitchen and wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.

He went still.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah.”

I rested my cheek against his back.

“I just wanted to do that.”

His hand covered mine.

“You’re welcome to.”

For the first time that morning, I stopped thinking about what I was running from and started thinking about what I wanted next.

JULIAN

Evelyn had gone back upstairs to check her phone when I stepped into my office.

I checked the weather report and answered three messages from Marcus.

The first concerned the road.

Crew cleared the fallen tree. Pass should reopen by noon.

I typed back.

Keep the lower gate closed until I say otherwise.

The second message was about Daniel.

Still secure. No issues.

The third made me smile.

She staying?

I glanced toward the ceiling.

Yes.

Marcus responded with a thumbs-up, and I set my phone aside before turning to the computer.

There were no photographs scattered across the walls or ridiculous collections of newspaper clippings connected by red string. I wasn’t a lunatic. I preferred things organized.

I entered my password and opened a folder labeled EVELYN BENNETT.

Inside were years of information, including her employment history, financial records, photographs, travel habits, favorite restaurants, and the names of her friends. I knew where she liked to shop, which coffee shops she visited, and even the little bookstore where she spent most Saturday afternoons.

I’d first seen her there three years ago.

She’d been standing outside beneath an awning, arguing with someone on the phone. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but I remembered the ending perfectly.

“Then maybe you should try listening instead of waiting for your turn to talk.”

She’d hung up, rolled her eyes, and gone inside.

I’d laughed.

I hadn’t meant to follow her that day, but I did. The more I learned about Evelyn, the more certain I became that she was exactly the woman I’d been waiting for.

She was intelligent, funny, beautiful, and stubborn enough to drive a man insane. Unfortunately, she was also far too accustomed to making herself smaller for people who didn’t deserve her.

Daniel Mercer had been one of those people.

He wasn’t my first choice for her. I’d considered several possibilities, but Daniel had been useful. He was ambitious enough to be influenced, vain enough to believe his own decisions were always his idea, and controlling enough that Evelyn would eventually realize she wanted something different.

I hadn’t anticipated she’d stay with him for two years.

That had been irritating, but Evelyn was loyal, sometimes to her own detriment, and I’d learned to be patient.

I opened another file labeled HOLLOW CREEK HOUSE.

Her reservation had been entered six months ago, well before Evelyn ever saw the advertisement that led her to the inn.

Thanksgiving Eve. Room seven.

I’d selected the suite because she liked fireplaces and hated rooms near elevators. I’d also chosen the wine months ago, ordered the flowers the week before, and arranged the menu around her favorite foods.

The music wasn’t a coincidence, either.

Neither was the cologne.

I’d spent enough time learning Evelyn’s preferences to know which fragrances caught her attention. The one I’d worn last night had been selected with the same care as everything else.

She’d noticed, of course.

I smiled, remembering the way she’d leaned closer and asked what I was wearing.

Evelyn had once mentioned to a friend that she hadn’t enjoyed Thanksgiving since her grandmother died. She missed the cooking, the noise, and the feeling of being surrounded by people who wanted her there.

I’d listened to that recording several times, not because I enjoyed hearing her sad, but because I wanted to understand what she’d lost.

So I could give it back to her.

Properly.

I opened the messages from Daniel, including the ones Evelyn had received before arriving.

I hadn’t written them. Daniel had.

He was very good at making himself useful without knowing it.

All Marcus had needed to do was make certain Daniel found out Evelyn was leaving before she was ready to tell him. The confrontation had been inevitable, although the injury hadn’t been part of the plan.

That had been unfortunate.

Still, Evelyn hadn’t been seriously hurt, and Daniel was alive. For now, that was enough.

According to Marcus’s final report, Daniel had been intercepted after leaving the house. His vehicle had been placed where the authorities would find it, and he was being held somewhere secure until I decided what came next.

Marcus had asked whether I wanted him permanently dealt with, but I’d told him no.

Not yet.

Evelyn would need answers eventually, and I preferred having options.

My phone vibrated.

Police are asking questions. You want me to move him?

I considered it before typing my response.

Leave him where he is. No contact with Evelyn.

I closed the conversation and leaned back in my chair.

Three years of watching, waiting, and making adjustments when necessary had finally brought Evelyn to Hollow Creek House.

She was sleeping in one of my guest suites, coming downstairs in the morning to look for me, kissing me because she wanted to, and asking whether she could stay.

I smiled at the thought of the previous night.

She’d been magnificent, climbing into my lap and kissing me with an enthusiasm that had tested every ounce of my patience. When she’d pulled back and admitted she wasn’t ready to go further, I’d wanted to tell her how long I’d already waited.

But that would’ve raised questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.

Besides, Evelyn needed to feel comfortable with me. She needed to know I wouldn’t punish her for changing her mind.

Daniel had spent two years teaching her that affection came with conditions, and I intended to teach her otherwise.

My mother used to say that when you found something worth having, you took care of it.

She was right.

People simply had different ideas about what taking care of something required.

I shut down the computer and went back to the kitchen.

Evelyn had returned from upstairs and was standing at the counter, finishing her coffee. She looked up when I entered.

“There you are.”

“Miss me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

I smiled, and she smiled back before setting down her mug and crossing the kitchen.

Her hands slid up my chest, and she kissed me.

It wasn’t a quick thank-you or an absentminded peck. She pressed against me, her mouth warm and inviting, and I caught her waist as she pulled me closer.

When she finally drew back, she was smiling.

“You’re going to ruin me for regular men.”

“That’s the plan.”

She laughed because she thought I was joking.

I brushed a strand of damp hair away from her face.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah.”

She studied me for a moment, and her expression changed.

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

She glanced toward the staircase before looking back at me.

“I know I said I wanted to slow down last night.”

“I remember.”

“And I did. I needed that.”

I nodded, giving her time to continue.

“But I’ve been thinking about you. About us. About how good it felt to just be with somebody who wasn’t expecting me to perform some version of myself.”

My hand moved slowly over her back.

“Evelyn.”

“No, let me finish before I lose my nerve.”

I smiled and waited.

“I don’t know what happens after this weekend. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Daniel, and I’m not pretending my life isn’t a complete mess right now.”

“I know.”

“But I know what I want today.”

She slipped her arms around my neck and looked directly into my eyes.

“I want you.”

For a moment, I simply looked at her.

I’d spent three years arranging the circumstances that brought her here, imagining what it would be like to hear those words from her. Every plan, every adjustment, and every carefully considered decision had led to this moment.

Now she was standing in my kitchen, telling me she wanted me.

Of her own free will.

I touched her cheek.

“Are you sure?”

She gave me a look.

“Julian, if you make me say it again, I’m going to start charging you.”

I laughed and kissed her.

She pulled me closer, and for a moment, I considered taking her upstairs right then. She would’ve followed, but there was no reason to rush.

I’d already waited three years. I could wait another hour, another day, or however long she needed.

Because Evelyn thought she’d finally found a man who would let her make her own choices, and I intended to let her keep believing that.

After all, there was no reason to take away her freedom.

Not when I could make sure every road she chose led right back to me.

The End

© E.B. Valentine. All rights reserved.

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Book Reviews

Book Title: Insatiable, Voracious, Restitution

Author: Leigh Rivers

The Edge of Darkness Trilogy: Toxicity at Its Finest

By E.B. Valentine

Content Warnings: Rape, sexual abuse, trafficking, physical and psychological abuse, forced drug use, murder, and miscarriage.

Let me tell y’all something. This whole damn trilogy is TOXICITY AT ITS FINEST.

And I loved every damn book.

Kade Mitchell and his obsession with Stacey? CHEF’S KISS. Their relationship? Toxic as hell. But I wasn’t reading dark romance looking for healthy communication and couples therapy.

And Leigh Rivers delivered a whole lot of DARK.

Between the abuse, manipulation, drug use, and unrequited sexual delusions, I spent half this trilogy PISSED OFF. The miscarriage storyline hit me particularly hard, but what really had me seeing red was how badly these characters were failed by the people who should’ve protected them.

Speaking of which, I WANTED TO FIGHT ALL THE DAMN ADULTS.

EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

But I have to give Leigh Rivers her flowers. She made me angry, uncomfortable, and heartbroken, yet somehow kept me turning pages.

Would I recommend it? ABSOLUTELY.

To everybody? HELL NO. Please check the content warnings.

The relationships were toxic. The characters were unhinged. The adults needed their asses kicked.

And Leigh Rivers had me hooked from beginning to end.

E.B. Valentine