“Chloe!” Rory jumps up, bumping into the table and nearly spilling our drinks. “Oh my god, Chloe!”

Chloe’s just walked into the café and is alone. She’s wearing teal athletic pants and a matching crop top. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, and she doesn’t have any makeup on.

She’s beautiful.

“Rory!” Chloe smiles and hurries over, pulling my sister in for a hug. Mom gets up and goes over, hugging Chloe as well.

“Wow, it’s almost like you’re getting a second chance,” Mason mumbles.

“Second chance?” Dean echoes, lifting Adam out of the highchair. The baby started fussing the second Rory stepped away from the table.

“He’s wanted to fuck her since they were kids. Well, teens, to be accurate.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I shoot back.

“Ohhh, right.” Mason raises his eyebrows and adds more sugar to his coffee. “He doesn’t want to fuck her.” He tips his head. “If you’re not interested…I am. Little Fish-face has really grown up, if you know what I mean.”

I go to kick Mason, but he jerks his leg back, expecting it. Rory brings Chloe over to the table so everyone else can say hi and so she can introduce her to Dean.

“This is your baby?” Chloe asks, looking at Adam. “He’s adorable!”

“Thanks,” Rory gushes. She hasn’t stopped smiling since she spotted Chloe enter the restaurant. “He’s an easy baby and a decent sleeper. I think I’ll have another.”

“How’s your father doing, honey?” Mom asks Chloe. She turns, angling her body away from me, and talks to Mom for a minute before her name is called at the hostess table to let her know her to-go order is ready.

“What are you doing tonight?” Rory asks, and Chloe hesitates. “We’re having dinner before these two losers have to go back to work.” She motions to Mason and me. “I know you’re super busy, but I would love so much to catch up!”

“Bring your father and Wendy,” Dad adds, and I’m not surprised he knows Chloe’s dad is dating someone. Gossip spreads fast in a small town.

“Um, they’re on vacation. I’m hiding out at the lake house to try and finish a book.”

“Can you spare an hour for dinner?” Mom asks hopefully.

Chloe’s cornered, and I know her well enough at least to know she doesn’t want to make anyone feel bad.

“Don’t force her,” I say, trying to be supportive of Chloe but everyone glares at me. And this time Mason kicks me in the shin.

Chloe flicks her eyes to me, and something sparks behind them. Something I haven’t seen before…something I can’t quite place.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “I can spare an hour or two.”

Chapter Thirteen

Chloe

What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t like pain. I go to great lengths to avoid it. Sometimes I take Advil before settling down for a writing sprint because I know my back will hurt from sitting still for hours on end. I avoided the dentist for an impressive three years without getting another cavity because I was scared the one I needed filled would hurt. I might be stupid, but my tiny human brain can at least process that pain is bad.

So why the hell did I agree to go to the Harris Farmhouse for dinner tonight?

“Ughhh,” I huff to myself and take off my shoes, closing the front door behind me. I set my bag from Silver Café on the counter and go upstairs, trading my workout clothes for a sundress. I couldn’t sleep when I got home from the bar last night and stayed up taking my frustrations out by getting lost in my story. I wrote nearly five thousand words before I fell asleep on the couch in the living room.

I woke up, got dressed, and had every intention of going for a run. But then I got distracted with Instagram and decided to record some little video clips of the lake to post to my stories. Fast forward twenty minutes, and I “ran out of time” to work out and instead ordered breakfast.

It’s hot and sunny out again, so I grab my sunglasses and a big floppy hat along with my bag of takeaway and go down to the dock, sitting on the edge with my feet in the water as I eat. My plan today is to eat and write until it’s time to go to the executioner, aka the Harris family farm.

Fishing boats slowly drift by, and everyone waves. The Sunday fishing crowd is made up of mostly older men, and I’m certain none of them know who I am or are fans of Nightfall. It’s peaceful out here, making me realize how much I missed this place. My house in LA is up on a hill, with thoughtfully placed trees to make my lot as private as possible from my neighbors. I have “ocean views” if I climb up on top of my roof and jump up an extra twenty feet or so to see over said trees. It’s quieter than I expected LA to be, but it’s not like this.

Right now, I don’t hear a single car horn or sirens. There’s no smog hanging over the lake, and the homeless population is definitely lower here in Silver Ridge.

My mind wanders to me moving back here. I left partly for the opportunities presented to me, but also so I could avoid seeing the man who broke my heart. He’s not here, though, we would run the risk of occasionally running into each other. But Spartan would love the trails here and jumping through snowdrifts.

Moving wouldn’t impact my writing really at all. If anything, I might get more work done here since there’s less to do. I take another bite of bacon, thinking way too much into this. I have friends in LA, not the best friends, but friends I feel comfortable with and who don’t judge me when I’d rather stay home and play D&D than go out clubbing. They might judge me for showing up at a housewarming party in last season’s shoes, though, instead.

Swishing my feet in the water, I peer down, always a little afraid someone is going to grab me and pull me under. The water is rather shallow at this part of the lake, thanks to a dry summer. If someone was lurking beneath the surface, they’d have to be hiding in the seaweed to stay out of view.

Freaking myself out, I pull my feet from the water, wipe sweat from my forehead, and eat the rest of my pancakes and bacon. I planned to only have half and then eat the rest for lunch, and I feel sickly full by the time I’m done.

After half an hour of sitting at my computer feeling like I’m going to fall asleep, I drink a third cup of coffee and give up when that doesn’t do the trick. I lie down on the couch, expecting to fall asleep quickly since I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open while writing. Of course, the coffee kicks in now, and I’m getting anxious.

I get up, stretch, and change back into my workout clothes. A run will get my blood pumping and adrenaline flowing, which is vital when I’m writing the fight scene that is coming up in my manuscript. I pull the hair tie from my hair, flip my head upside down, and try to smooth out my ponytail the best I can. Then I grab my headphones, phone, and head outside, leaving through the front door. I double-check that the deadbolt is locked so I won’t worry about serial killers sneaking inside while I’m out. I took the key from Dad’s keyring, and then realize the workout pants I’m wearing don’t have pockets. I could slip the key in my bra, but it’s hot, I’ll be sweaty, and that’s just really uncomfortable. Instead, I hide the key on Wendy’s porch. If anyone finds it, they’ll assume it’s for her house.