She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

handsome.

He looked reasonable.

He looked like a man who had already decided how the room would remember this.

“Evie,” he said.

There it was.

Evie.

The small name.

The private leash.

“You don’t even read these books.”

A few heads turned harder.

A man in a velvet jacket paused with a canapé halfway to his mouth.

Celeste’s smile widened.

The cover of The Glass Orchard continue reading …