I’m still smiling when I hear the door to the print shop close behind me, as I step out onto the quiet sidewalk. This is the perfect end to a day of running boring errands, including earlier this morning when I finally caved and picked up a new cell phone. Mundane, annoying tasks, but I’m really making an effort at adulting today. And this, my final trip to the little print shop, is my reward.

Feeling the plastic bag tap against my hip with each step I take is comforting, just knowing what it holds, and my heart feels fuller for it. I’m about to cross the street when a colorful gleam from a window to my left catches my eye. A jewelry shop? I scoot closer, squinting as I peer inside and scan the items on the store’s display shelf. Huh. I’m not usually the jewelry kind of girl, but there’s a particular little knick-knack perched atop the sale rack that I just can’t resist. I smirk as I reach for the store’s door handle, a fresh wave of flutters rushing through my stomach as I do.

Not even ten minutes later and I’ve arrived at the inn, pulling the door open to let another guest exit first.

“Lou!” Claire hollers from her desk as I step inside. She gives Dylan—ugh—a quick parting kiss and signals me over. As he passes by, he nods and his lips curve. Although I’d rather ignore him or flip him off, Claire’s eyes are trained on our interaction, so I manage a tight-lipped smile for her sake.

“Hey, Claire.” I reach her at the same time the front door closes behind Dylan, then set my bags on the desk.

Claire quirks an eyebrow and grins, an expression that has me wrinkling my nose in confusion. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her grin widens. “Just that I happened to see a certain someone take you to breakfast this morning.”

Oh, that. “Bobby didn’t ‘take me to breakfast.’ We went out for a bite, because that’s what friends do. There’s a difference.”

She narrows her eyes with the resemblance of a foxhound sniffing for clues, but doesn’t press it. Instead, her expression softens as she pulls open her desk drawer and hands me a postcard. “Another one. Someone back in LA really misses you.”

Oh no. I’m a terrible best friend. I’ve been so caught up with everything going on, I haven’t even replied to her last one. Guilt consumes me as I grab the card and begin reading.

It’s me again, Bitch!

I’m coming to visit you! Mom and Daniel are keeping the girls next weekend so we can have a sleepover like the good ol’ days. I’m thinking we’re long overdue for a girls’ night! Hope you’re free Saturday and Sunday. Otherwise, clear your schedule, slut, because there’s no way in hell you’re backing out of this.

P.S. I’m pumping enough milk to last baby Audrey a few days, so you better prepare yourself to get shit-faced with me.

P.P.S. You’re still beautiful.

xx

It’s only Sunday, and already next weekend can’t get here soon enough. It hits me then that I’m grinning . . . on a Sunday. Well this is new. “Hey, you have plans Saturday night?” I ask Claire.

She pauses, eying the ceiling in thought, then says, “Nope, don’t think so.”

“Want to come over? My friend Jamie’s going to be visiting, and we’re gonna do another girls’ night kinda thing.”

Claire doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes! I’m in!” She pauses, eyes dropping to the small plastic bags between us. “Did you go on a mini shopping spree?”

I shrug, remaining casual so she doesn’t make too big a deal out of it. “Not really. Just picked up a few things for my room. Anyway, what’s the story with you and Dylan?” It’s a good way to change the subject, but it’s also a question that’s been eating at me.

“Story?” The notepad sitting in front of her must have suddenly become very interesting, because she picks it up, squints down, and flips through its pages.

“Yeah, like how’d you guys meet?”

She chuckles, tearing her eyes away from the pad to meet mine. “We’re in Ashwick. Everyone knows everyone.”

I arch a brow. “You know what I mean.”

She sighs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “He was my big high school crush,” she explains. “Honestly, I think everyone knew I liked him. But the timing never worked out until after we graduated, and now . . . well, here we are.” She’s smiling when she looks back up at me, and unfortunately, I can see how much she likes him just by the dreamy look in her eyes.

“How long have you been together?”

“About nine months.” Almost a year. Great. I really hope his whole sleazebag act is just that—an act, and that he’s more loyal than he appears. “So,” she says, flashing me pearly white teeth, “Dylan and I are participating in the winter festival, and I think you should come! We’ll have our own booth and—”

Just as I’m about to interrupt with a made up excuse, the phone rings and saves the day. I really don’t want to lie to her, but my desire to be stuck behind a booth as Dylan ogles over other girls when Claire’s not looking is probably right up there with stabbing my eyeball.

Claire frowns. “Sorry, better get that.”

“It’s fine,” I whisper, grabbing my bags as she puts the phone to her ear. “I’ll talk to you later.” She waves, and I head up the stairs.

I take my time with the photographs I’d just picked up, carefully pressing them into small frames and figuring out the right places to set them. There’s one picture that’s always been my favorite, and I decide to fix that one in the center of the fireplace mantle. It’s the perfect spot; facing the bed when I wake in the morning and still visible when I enter my room. I play with the angle a little, then drop my hands and take a step back, admiring the image.

Grams sits on the front porch I know so well, perched on the top step and wearing her wistful smile, brown eyes wise and at peace. Mom is right beside her, grinning, legs crisscrossed and one arm draped over Grams’s shoulders, the other arm hugging her perfectly round belly . . . hugging me. Dad’s leaning over Mom, embracing her tightly and beaming in a way that’s remarkably whole.

I wipe the corner of my eye before the tear can fall, then press a kiss to my fingers, and my fingers to the photograph. “I miss you guys,” I whisper, wishing they could hear the words.

Straightening my spine, I take in a deep breath and lift my chin. I don’t know when, or if, he’s going to show up today, but if it’s anything like the past few days, I’m guessing I have no more than an hour. I should probably take a bath sooner rather than later so it doesn’t look like I’m making a move on him. Again.

My time in the bath is filled mostly with thoughts about the notes I found at Mr. Blackwood’s place. I still don’t know what to do about those, or if I should do anything at all. How could I ignore them though? Best case scenario, I ask the old man about it, and it turns out to be something really silly. He’ll probably hate me for prying, maybe even put my job on the line, but at least I’d know no one’s in trouble. Worst case scenario, the messages turn out to be even more serious than I’m willing to imagine. Ugh. I rub my temples, then lay back and rinse the rest of the conditioner from my hair. Any way I look at it, I know I can’t ignore them. Even now, the letters flash like neon lights in my brain whenever there’s nothing to distract me.

I AM NOT DEAD.

I CAN’T HOLD ON.

SAVE ME.

No, I won’t ignore them. I’ve made my choice. At some point during this coming week, I’m confronting Mr. Blackwood about them. Satisfied with my decision, I pull myself from the water and towel dry, patting myself down before dressing in a comfy pair of shorts and an oversized top. I withdraw my new, black phone from its shopping bag and scroll through the apps.

Really, I should be emailing my realtor back. I have two notifications from him, both subject lines reading Interested Buyer! But those two words aren’t pleasing me like I thought they would. What they do manage to do is close my throat up and tighten my chest. So instead, I happily ignore the emails and download a music app.

It’s been way too long since I’ve blasted music, and the anticipation already has me feeling lighter. I hit play, smiling when Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You blares through the speakers.

Closing my eyes, I let the beat run all the way through me. God, I’ve missed you, music. My head rolls forward, then side to side as I slowly soak it in. I inhale, feeling my muscles loosen as they respond to the lull, and start a smooth sway in my hips. Side to side, like my head, and then my feet are feeling it too.

I’m lost in the melody, consumed by the hypnotic spell only the magic of music can induce, the curves of my body moving without thought. Hips swaying, right, left, right, left, head falling back so my hair tumbles down my back. My body gets warmer as I move, a fire burning through my veins. My teeth grab hold of my bottom lip, and I think my hands are in my hair, when I hear the low, raspy sound of a throat being cleared.

I jump, my hand snapping to my chest, until my now wide eyes land on him, and I relax. “Shit,” I manage, breathless.

I honestly don’t know what’s knocked the breath out of me more—the dancing, or the way he’s looking at me right now.

He’s leaning against my dresser, his left forearm resting on the top and his head tilted just slightly, thick eyelashes shadowing specks of green as he watches me. His lips though, they send my pulse into overdrive. They’re hooked up lazily at one corner, just enough to display that single dimple he let me glimpse last night. It’s a simple look, but seeing it on him, and knowing it’s aimed at me, it reminds me of the last words he spoke to me. Sometimes . . . I don’t want to leave. My stomach flips, full somersault.

“Hi,” he says, his voice both gentle and hypnotic.

I smile, already roped in and unable to look away. “Hi.”