“You need to stop going there.”
“I am. I told you, I’m done.”
“I know you have friends there, and I know how much you love it, but it just…you’ve got to move on from this guy.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Did you not hear me? I told you, I wrote him in the journal, and told him—”
“Yeah, you told him you were done. Got it. You told me that, too. Remember?”
Beatrice pursed her lips and looked away, biting her lip as Dez continued in a quiet voice.
“You told me you were done with him three years ago. And then you went back. And then two years ago, you said the same thing. And you still went back.”
She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay as her friend recounted the last five years of an obsession she knew she needed to abandon.
“And then last year, even though Mano practically begged you not to go, you went again.”
“I know—”
“I’m not sure you do, B. Because he and I are the ones who have to put up with your moody-ass, depressed behavior for a month afterward every time you go down there and get your heart broken again.”
“My heart is not broken. You’re being melodramatic,” Beatrice muttered and took another sip of her water.
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. But stop, okay? For real. When you get the ticket in the mail next time, toss it. Donate it. Change it to a flight to the Bahamas and take your boyfriend, but do not go chasing that ghost again.”
Beatrice swallowed the lump in her throat and clenched her jaw as she contained her tears. “I know,” she whispered.
“Do you? Really?”
“Yes, I’m done. I’m…moving past it.”
“You know I love you,” Dez whispered. Beatrice could see the concerned tears in her eyes.
“I know.”
“And I’m only saying this—”
“It’s fine.” She nodded. “I get it. Really, I do.”
“You have an amazing man in your life, one that wants a future with you. That wants to move forward. Not everyone gets that, you know?”
Beatrice sniffed and brushed at her eyes. “And some people never know because they won’t ask the person that perfect for them out on a single date.”
Dez straightened up and a flush fell rose in her cheeks. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Beatrice De Novo.”
“Oh,” she said with a smile, happy that the conversation had turned. “I can’t imagine. Did I mention I saw my lovely neighbor, Matt, yesterday? Yeah, he was sitting on his front porch working on his mountain bike. It must have been hot, because Ken—I mean Matt—wasn’t wearing a stitch more than a pair of little biking shorts. It was quite the view, I’ll say that.”
“He is not a Ken-doll,” Dez muttered and threw an olive at Beatrice. She caught it and popped it into her mouth.
“You do some investigation about whether he’s anatomically accurate, and I’ll consider changing my opinion of him. Until then? Ken-doll.”
Dez huffed, “Why do you even—”
“And you’re a total Barbie. Librarian Barbie. Do you know how many naughty fantasies poor Ken—I mean Matt—has probably had about you already? You’d be putting him out of his misery. Besides, Ken and Barbie belong together,” she said with a wicked grin.
“I hate you,” Dez said in a prim voice, “and I hope someone scratches your ugly black motorcycle in the parking lot.”
Beatrice snorted and threw an olive at Dez, but this time, her friend caught it and threw it back, hitting Beatrice right between the eyes. She snorted, and then belly laughed at Beatrice’s shocked expression.
“Forget Librarian Barbie,” Beatrice muttered. “I’m going to go with Big League Barbie instead.”
The two friend finished lunch and made plans to meet the following weekend for brunch at one of their favorite hangouts near the beach. Beatrice hopped on her bike and returned to the Huntington to finish the translation on the mission letter she’d been working on before lunch.
As the hours passed, she fell into a steady rhythm, speeding through not one, but two, complete letters before Dr. Stevens called her to the reading room where she was needed.
She packed up the document she’d been working on and moved it to one of the library tables in the quietest corner of the room. Dr. Stevens had asked her to be available if the group needed help, but she didn’t really expect to be interrupted.
She was looking up a Latin noun she thought might have been misspelled when she heard the quiet footsteps. The smell of smoke reached her nose before she could look up into the green eyes which had haunted her for five years. An enigmatic smile flickered across his face before he spoke.
“I’m looking for Miss De Novo.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elizabeth Hunter is the author and independent publisher of the Elemental Mysteries series.
She is a graduate of the University of Houston Honors College in the Department of English (Linguistics) and a former English teacher.
A native of Central California, she now lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and an assortment of dogs. She enjoys reading, writing, travel, and bowling (despite the fact that she's not very good at it).
Learn more about her writing at her author website, elizabethhunterwrites.com or contact her by e-mail at [email protected]
A Hidden Fire is her second novel, and the Elemental Mysteries series is her first series of books.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Epilogue
About the Author
A Hidden Fire Page 35