Page 35 of Love, Morgan

“I want to say that’s exactly what we should do, but your whole demeanor is telling me you don’t agree.”

“Too right I don’t. We can’t let this go without incident. They signed your name to a badly wrapped mango. That’s potentially putting your entire brand at risk.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I doubt anyone’s even going to find out.”

“I found out,” I protested, shaking my head.

“You’re the recipient. That’s a little different.”

I rolled my eyes. She was cute, but she really, really needed that check on her self-preservation. “We don’t know I’m the only recipient. Just the only one bold enough to climb onto your balcony.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding solemnly, and I didn’t care that she was only pretending to go along with my logic, I cared that she was playing along.

“Now, you’re getting it.”

The waiter interrupted us and I watched, fascinated as she dropped the paper over the cracks. I didn’t know why she was being more herself with me, but I was glad of it. There was something powerful about watching her put herself away for everyone else when you were the one she was letting in. Of course, I didn’t think she needed to ever put herself away, but, if that was going to happen, I was simply glad to be on the inside.

When they’d taken our orders and left, she watched me, studying. “Say, Morgan, what do youdo? Like, for a living?”

“I work for myself.” Wasn’t that obvious? As if I’d ever be stuck working on someone else’s schedule.

“Of course you do.” She smiled and I was glad to see she got it. “So, you own your own business?”

“Sure.” I glanced around again. I didn’t want to talk about me. “Who do you know?”

She leaned forwards, her nose doing that thing again. “Like, in a general sense? Who do I know in the world?”

“Ha. No. Who do you know here? Who are the suspects? We’ll start close by and work our way out.”

“Are you just avoiding answering my questions?”

“No. I’m just focusing on the more important topic.”

“A mango?”

“Exactly. Well, it’s not more important than me, let’s be honest, but figuring out who your impersonator is definitely is.”

“I don’t have an impersonator.”

“Obviously, you do. They signed your name, Iona. Signed. Your. Name.”

She reached across the table and for one second, I thought she was going to take my drink—not that I minded, I’d been drinking hers earlier—but she took her own glass and I found myself mildly disappointed. What was going on with me? Very nearly implying a mango was more important than me, and being disappointed someonedidn’ttake my drink? If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d been replaced by an alien.

“Okay, sure,” she said after sipping her own drink. “I’ll admit, that is a bit weird.”

“Right. So. The suspects. Who are they?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anyone here.”

“That’s not true. You know me.”

She laughed, looking at me doubtfully. “I know you came to my room to yell at me, and then returned to give me a gift, and then climbed onto my deck with a mango in your mouth. That’s what I know.”

“Which is everything you need to know right now. It tells you I’m awesome. And I am.” I grinned. “Who else do you know?”

“Nobody.” She looked around bewildered. “Well, I mean, I guess I’ve talked to some of the staff here. And I’ve shared a few words with other guests on the beach or over food, but, as I said, that’s really it.”

“Did any of them act like they know who you are?”

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