It Starts with Us by Colleen Hoover

I should laugh at that, or smile, but my reaction doesn’t fit the
conversation. I set the bowl aside. When I look at him again, he can see the
war in my expression. He counters with a reassuring look. Not much is said
between us, but the nonverbal cues we’re trading are saying enough. My eyes
are apologizing for my silence over the last twenty-four hours, he’s silently
telling me it’s okay, and we’re both wondering what comes next.
Atlas slides his hand slowly across the counter, closer to mine. He lifts his
index finger and skims it down the length of my pinkie. It’s the smallest,
most tender move, but it makes my heart flip.
He pulls his hand back and clenches his fist as if he might have felt the
same thing I did. He clears his throat. “Can I call you tonight?”
I’m about to nod when Allysa suddenly bursts through the door to the
back, wide-eyed. She leans in and whispers, “Ryle is almost here.”
My blood feels like it freezes in my veins. “What?” I don’t say that so
she’ll repeat it. I say it because I’m shocked, but she repeats herself anyway.
“Ryle is pulling in. He just texted.” She waves a hand toward Atlas. “You
have ten seconds to hide him.”
I’m sure Atlas can see the absolute fear in my expression when I look at
him, but he very calmly says, “Where do you want me?”
I point to my office and rush him in that direction. Once we’re in the
office, I second-guess myself. “He might come in here.” I cover my mouth
with a shaky hand while I think, and then point to my office supply closet.
“Can you hide in there?”
Atlas looks at the closet and then looks at me. He points at the door. “In
the closet?”
I hear the front door chime, and I’m filled with even more urgency.
“Please?” I open the closet door. It isn’t the most ideal place to hide an actual
human, but it’s a walk-in closet. He’ll fit just fine.
I can’t even look him in the eye when he moves past me and into the
closet. I could die right now. This is so mortifying. All I can do is murmur,
“I’m so sorry,” as I close the door.
I do my best to compose myself. Allysa is chatting with Ryle when I exit
my office. He greets me with a nod, but his attention is back on Allysa. She’s
digging through her purse for something.
“They were in here earlier,” she says.
Ryle is tapping his fingers impatiently.
“What are you looking for?” I ask her.