“The lake is pretty populated this time of the year. Wouldn’t one end up floating up to the surface?”

“Not if you know what you’re doing.”

He laughs and reaches below the bar for a glass. “You’re so weird, Fisher.”

“And you’re boring.”

We both laugh, and he makes me a cocktail. I take a few sips and turn in my chair, looking out at the patrons, seeing if there’s anyone I know. My heart speeds up a little at the thought, and I’m torn either way on someone recognizing me. I love to talk about my books, and I’m so fucking proud of what I’ve accomplished. It wasn’t easy, and I hope my story of refusing to give up after seventy-six rejection letters can give another aspiring writing some hope.

Mrs. Clemmons, my high school English teacher, is sitting at a table with a few of her girlfriends. She has to be nearing retirement now, and her whole face lights up when she sees me. Waving like mad, she turns to her friends, no doubt telling them who I am before getting up. As she weaves her way through the crowd, a blonde woman takes a step back from her friends, who are hanging around a pool table, and accidentally bumps into Mrs. Clemmons. The blonde turns to apologize, and I recognize her right away.

It’s Lauren fucking Wallace.

Ugh. Of course she’s here tonight of all nights, though it doesn’t surprise me she still lives in Silver Ridge. She was Queen Bee during our youth, why give that up? I’m rather proud of myself, though, for not feeling unnerved by the sight of her. She was all big and bad back in middle and high school, but she can’t make me feel small, for I’ve built a successful career on the very things she used to make fun of me for.

“Oh, Chloe!” Mrs. Clemmons coos, coming closer. I smile at her, and then see someone else, someone who does unnerve me.

Sam.

The breath catches in my chest and I choke on my words, sputtering to say hi to Mrs. Clemmons. Sam smiles, and I can see his blue eyes sparkle from all the way across the room. He goes around the pool table—the same fucking pool table Lauren is standing next to. He’s talking to someone else, and the guy turns slightly to pick his beer up from the table, though I don’t need to see his face to recognize Mason.

He hands a pool stick to Sam, saying something that makes Sam give him an annoyed look, which in turn makes Mason laugh. A woman with short dark hair comes up next to Mason, and he slips his arm around her. If he’s here with the dark-haired woman, then is Sam here with Lauren?

No wonder he only invited me over for dinner—for a family dinner.

“How are you, dear?” Mrs. Clemmons asks, and I tear my eyes away from Sam, forcing a smile. Act normal, Chloe. Sam isn’t interested, not now, not ever.

“I’m…I’m…” I’m fucking furious, and annoyed as shit at myself for being furious, for still holding onto even a shred of hope that Sam would see me as anything more than his tag-along sister. “Good,” I finally spit out. “I’ve been good. How about you? Are you still teaching?”

“Oh, you remember!” Mrs. Clemmons laughs and brings a hand to her heart.

“Of course! And I remember it was you who told me not to get too hung up on the beginning of a story and I can let the backstory unfold along with character development. That advice definitely helped.”

Mrs. Clemmons beams. “Oh my goodness, wait until I tell my students—and yes, I am teaching. This is my last year and then retirement, here I come!”

“That’s exciting, congrats!”

She waves her hand in the air. “Not as exciting as you! Just look at you! Books in stores, doing interviews on TV, and having a series turned into a popular show! We are just so proud of you, Chloe.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I just followed my dream of being a weirdo.” It’s something I’ve said more than once, and Karina has warned me not to use the same line over and over or it will make me sound too scripted.

“Well, it took you far. You even dated that actor. His name escapes me, but he was on those superhero movies.”

I nod. “Charles Baldwin.”

“Yes, him! Ohhh, my granddaughters just love him. My daughter too. And me,” she adds with a laugh.

“He’s pretty easy to love,” I say back with a laugh. “He’s a good guy.”

“But you two aren’t…”

I shake my head. “No, we’re not dating. We realized we’re better as friends,” I say, going with a line this time Karina has fed me and wants me to use. Because Charles and I are friends, and we all know someday the truth is going to come out, and for Charles’s sake, I hope it’s sooner rather than later. “And he travels so much for work. Nightfall is filmed all over the place. The scenes in the magical forest are all filmed in Turkey.”

“Interesting! Do you ever get to go on set—oh look, I’m interviewing you. I’m sure you want to enjoy your evening with your friends.”

“It’s fine,” I tell her, not bringing up that I’m here…at a bar…alone…because a raccoon probably tried to get into the screened-in porch and it scared me. “And yes, I do a lot. The good thing about being a writer is you can write pretty much anywhere.”

“Oh goodness, yes. I picked the wrong career path.” She laughs again. “How long are you in town? I don’t want to impose but school starts next week and the kids would just die if you came and spoke to them.”

She’s talking about her students, I’m assuming, and that sort of thing is usually set up by Karina for me, but this is home. I don’t need special arrangements to go back to Silver Ridge High.

“Probably only a week. I came back to the peace and quiet of Silver Ridge so I can finish my book,” I start, leaning to the side so I can look past Mrs. Clemmons at Sam.

He’s bent over the table, about to hit a ball with the pool stick. Lauren picks up a beer—Sam’s beer—and waits until he’s straightened back up to take a sip. She makes a show of putting her lips around the bottle, and damn her, she doesn’t spill a drop.

“…the next time you’re in town?”

I blink. Fuck. What? “Uh, sure,” I mumble, watching Lauren take the pool stick from Sam and bend over, purposely bumping him with her butt. My blood starts to boil…even though I know I shouldn’t care.

Mrs. Clemmons claps her hands together and I realize I just agreed to come in and talk to her class. “They’re going to love it!”

“Yeah.” I try to fake excitement. “Email me details?”

“Of course, of course!”

I grab a napkin from the bar and take a pen from Sahil for a pen to write down my email for her, giving her my personal email account so her message won’t get lost. She’s so excited she practically skips away.

“You made her night,” Sahil says, coming back over and grabbing my drink, topping it off with more vodka and club soda. “What you do, agree to have a quickie in the parking lot?”

“Sex with older women is your fantasy, not mine,” I shoot back.

“It’s a wonder you’ve never been subject of said fantasies. You’re looking pretty old there, Fisher.”

“I’d glare at you if it wasn’t for all the Botox making me look younger,” I joke, and he laughs. “It’s nice talking to you again.”