Chapter 12 The White Shirt, and Questions Too Deep to Wait Until Morning

Harper's POV

Tyler dumped the takeout bags on the table and dug out the taro balls. "Good," he mumbled.

I set my bags on the counter and sorted the haul, mind locked on the parking garage—the white shirt, the dark terminal, the way he'd stood.

He hadn't been waiting. A person waiting leans toward...

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