Chapter Eight
I felt my face fall and then quickly regained control.
Apparently not quickly enough, however, because his expression clearly reflected his concern. “Sorry . . . you don’t want to, do you? Don’t worry about telling me no. Believe me, I know how much you have going on at the library and the fact you’re already writing a column for them: ‘Ask Fitz’, right? Plus you’re running programs there and doing research and running away from our homeowner association president.”
I gave him a weak smile. Zelda Smith was often in pursuit of Grayson and me. She was always trying to recruit new blood to the HOA leadership.
“I’d love to do it,” I said, managing a better smile this time. And I was surprised that I meant it. Who knew—maybe it would give me more excuses for conversations with
