The small cluster of reporters waiting outside in front of my house early this morning was the first indication that something was up. The numerous calls on my phone from unknown numbers were another clue. Fear clawed its way up my throat as I peeked out between the blinds at the reporters milling about on the sidewalk just on the other side of my fence. They won’t cross the line to come on my front yard because they know I could call the police and report them for trespassing.

I so would, too.

Mrs. Anderson is out in her yard, yelling and carrying on, trying to shoo them away as if they were annoying giant insects buzzing around. If only it were that easy to get rid of them, I’d be out there doing the same thing. I can’t quite understand what she’s saying—I’m only able to catch a few words, like nuisance and pains in my ass—but I can tell she’s extremely irritated on my behalf. I’ll need to send her a big box of candy or maybe a beautiful fall-themed bouquet as a thank-you after this whatever-it-could-be is over. I know she’s a fan of the See’s Candy Nuts and Chews variety box . . .

My mind is taking me elsewhere so I don’t have to focus on the crap that’s unfolding right in front of me. Crap I don’t even understand.

“What’s going on?”

I whirl around at the first sound of Will’s scratchy-with-sleep voice, resting my hand on my chest, over my racing heart. Yes, I can’t think of him as Ethan anymore. I really don’t call him much of anything right now to his face but in my mixed-up brain, he’s Will. He always will be.

“There are reporters out there,” I whisper, my gaze lingering on him. He’s wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else, the waistband sitting low on his hips, looking as if he makes one wrong move, they could fall and reveal . . . everything. Everything I touched last night, because our unspoken theme for the evening was exploration. As in, he let me explore to my heart’s content. It had been . . . enlightening.

Electrifying.

Freaking focus!

“Why are they here?” He comes toward me, peeking over my head through the blinds, then letting them carefully snap back into place. “What the hell is going on?”

He sounds as confused as I feel. “I don’t know. Should we turn on the news?”

“One of those annoying morning shows?” It’s pretty early, not even eight o’clock. I’d just made coffee when I realized I could hear voices out front.

I nod mutely. “But not out here. Let’s go back in my bedroom.”

We both scurry down the hall and into my room, diving under the covers as I grab the remote from the bedside table and turn the TV on. Molly snoozes on the end of the bed, oblivious to any trouble outside. “She’s a terrible guard dog,” I point out as I enter the channel I want.

“She’s still in training,” he says defensively.

It’s a Sunday morning. My usual morning show preference is modified on the weekend. The unfamiliar faces greet me and I lean forward, my gaze never leaving the screen as I listen to what they have to say.

Some political dustup went down; what else is new. A celebrity wedding everyone’s been waiting for. Horrible storm on the East Coast, blah, blah, blah. Will stretches out his arm and starts to scratch my back, his fingers light as they skim up and down, slipping beneath my threadbare T-shirt to graze my bare skin. I shiver at his touch, wishing for the distraction, telling myself I don’t need it. That I need to pay attention to the news and trying to figure out what’s going on.

But he’s a welcome distraction—I can admit it. He’s spent the entire weekend with me and it’s been amazing. No arguing, no worrying, just the two of us spending time together. Learning more about each other. After our conversation Friday night, it felt good to let my walls down and just . . . feel. Be normal. We’re good together, but that doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never felt at ease with someone the way I do with Ethan. Will. He even let me call him Will a few times over the weekend, never really flinching once, and I thought that was progress.

Real progress would be me not calling him Will any longer, but I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen . . .

“Ah, shit,” Will mutters, his hand dropping away from my back.

I turn to see he’s staring at his phone, his brows drawn low, his mouth curved into a frown. My heart trips over itself when he doesn’t look up at me.

“What is it?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, his eyes still on the screen. “They know about us. That we’re together.”

Now it feels like my heart just stalled. “Who knows about us?”

“The public. I went on a crime forum that’s always talking about my father.” He makes a face. “One of the members shared a link to Lisa Swanson’s site. I guess she has a blog with hundreds of thousands of subscribers that’s associated with her network, and she wrote a post about us. That she has confirmation we’re involved in a romantic relationship. Plus there was a small mention on a morning news show.”

“Confirmation? As in what?” Oh God. This was my biggest fear. This is why I should never have done the first interview, let alone the second. I’m bringing unwanted attention on myself, on the both of us. People aren’t going to be happy that we’re together. Not that it’s any of their business, but they don’t care about that. They’ll pass judgment.

And what about my mother and my sister? They’ll be so upset. My relationship with Will—Ethan, whatever—they’re against it. Why would I want to throw it in their face? Not that I am, that’s thanks to Lisa, but still. They never wanted me to be with him in the first place.

Mom had also been against the first interview. Brenna was the one who convinced her I should do it. And now the two of them are angry with me.

But if I hadn’t done that interview, Will would never have seen it and we wouldn’t be together today. So it’s a good thing that I did it.

Right?

“There’s a photo of the two of us together.”

I move so I’m sitting right next to him and lean in close, squinting at the grainy photo. It was taken here, at my house. We’re in the backyard with Molly. She’s running around while Will and I stand together, Will’s arm around my waist.

Blissfully unaware, all while someone was lurking in the woods behind my house snapping photos of us.

“That was yesterday, I think,” I murmur, staring at the photo, my stomach bottoming out. We look happy. Content. Will is smiling down at me like I’m the best thing to ever happen to him, while I’m watching Molly run around in circles like a crazy dog. It hurts my heart to know someone was spying on us, violating our privacy, taking photos of us while they hid in the forest. A forest I never really feared until . . .

“I had a weird feeling a while ago. That someone was back there,” I say, glancing up at him.

“I know. Mrs. Anderson told me.”

My eyes go wide. “What? When?”

“On Friday, when I was waiting for you to come home, she mentioned it. We talked for a while. About you—how we’re both watching out for you.” He kisses my forehead, his warm lips lingering. I love it when he does that. I feel so loved. So cherished. And I need that right now. I’m on shaky ground, any little thing rattling me, and I don’t like it. “I want you to keep Molly here with you.”

“I can’t do that. She’s your dog,” I start to say but he shakes his head, the serious look on his face silencing me.

“I’ll take her to training this week and keep her with me, but once she’s done, she’s all yours. At least, she’s staying here with you, even when I’m not here.” His expression is grave. “I know she’s not much, but I’d feel better if she were here. At least you’d have a warning if someone is ever outside, right?”

I nod, reluctantly. I don’t like thinking of someone lurking outside, but I have to be realistic. “I don’t want to take your dog from you,” I whisper as I slip my arms around his neck, clinging to him. “You needed something to love, to take care of.”

“I have you. And Molly.” He smiles, and the sight of it both breaks my heart and fills me with hope.

“But you got her for yourself . . .” He places his fingers against my lips, silencing me.

“Stop arguing with me. Besides, I think we have bigger problems right now than who gets Molly. There are reporters outside who want to talk to you.” He drops his fingers from my mouth.

“They’ll want to talk to the both of us, especially if they know you’re here.” Panic grabs hold of me and I withdraw from the bed, glancing around for something decent to wear. I can’t go out there in my pajamas. “What do you think they want to know?”

“You’re not going to talk to them. I refuse to let that happen.” His voice is firm, but I ignore him. I’m too busy pulling on a sweatshirt, then looking for a pair of jeans.

“Do you think ‘no comment’ will suffice?” I ask hopefully, turning to look at him.

“I doubt it.” Sighing, he drops his phone on his lap and runs both hands through his hair, his frustration a living, palpable thing. “This isn’t good, Katie.”

“We’ll be fine,” I say feebly.

“You can’t go out there,” he says again, sounding fierce. “I mean it. We need to call my lawyer and have him handle it.”

“You have a lawyer?” Why in the world would he have a lawyer? I hate the suspicion that crawls down my spine. Only the people who do wrong have a lawyer . . . that was always my thought process in the past.

And I don’t like thinking that way at all when it comes to Will.

“It’s not like I keep him on retainer or whatever, but yeah. There’s a lawyer I talk to when I don’t know which way to go. Like with the interview a few nights ago. I thought what Lisa said was slanderous, so I met with him. But he said that because I consented to the interview, and I actually spoke to her, I wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on.” He runs his hands through his hair again, making a complete mess of it. “I don’t have his cell number, but I can at least call his service and they can get my message to him.”

I settle heavily on the edge of the mattress, chewing on my thumbnail and watching as he climbs out of bed, his phone held up to his ear as he makes the call. He leaves a message with the weekend answering service and looks at me when he’s done, trying to smile.

“It’ll be okay.”

“What are we going to do in the meanwhile with all those people out there?” I wave a hand toward the front of the house.

He leaves the bedroom and I trail after him, as does Molly. He’s at the window by the time I’m in the living room, peeking once again through the closed blinds. I can’t believe the dog doesn’t bark, the little brat. She’ll bark at us but not complete strangers? “There are three reporters out there and three dudes lugging the cameras. Probably the local networks.”

“Should I go outside and try to get rid of them?”

“How many times do I have to say no, Katie? You should absolutely not go out there.” Shaking his head, he steps away from the window. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t, either.” I feel totally out of control yet again and I don’t like it. I can tell Will doesn’t like it, either.

We’re victims of our own circumstances. We brought this on ourselves. Now we have to figure out a way to fix it.