And I did a horrible, terrible thing.
I fake-coughed into my duvet and ran with it.
“Yes, something is up.”
I sat on the barstool with the speed of a grandma and flattened my hair while massaging my throbbing foot with the other hand.
“I’m so sorry. I really tried to join.”
Charlene tilted her head and pressed the back of her hand against my forehead in the most mom gesture ever.
“No fever—that’s lucky. You think you’ll be able to continue?”
I straightened. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Her brow rose.
“I mean… I’ll try my best,” I added, letting my shoulders slump forward.
“You really do look awful,” Elaine said, like someone had asked her opinion.
“Thanks, Elaine,” I gritted out between my teeth.
May patted my shoulder and handed me a mug. “No caffeine if you’re unwell. It’s dehydrating.”
I forced a smile as I caught John’s face across the room. He lounged in one of the armchairs, ankle propped on one knee, looking like he was hiding a smirk. Either he was glad I was “sick,” or he didn’t believe the BS coming out of my mouth. Or maybe he just enjoyed seeing me this messy. I fake-coughedagain, then raised my mug in a mock salute. He returned it—withmyespresso, which Elaine had just handed him. Bastard.
“And here I thought you packed up and left last night.” He sipped, knowing full well I’d been here. With him. In the hall.
Of course I remember you, Nora.
I shifted on the chair, trying to shake off the prickle that ran up my spine. “Wouldn’t that have been convenient?” I muttered.
“I even knocked. You must’ve been out cold.”
But I didn’t answer, because at that moment my stomach let out a growl so loud it might’ve startled the crows outside—if the patio door had still been open.
“Where did you guys go?” I asked, grimacing as I sipped what turned out to be some kind of licorice tea. Whoever invented this beverage was clearly a sadist.
The organizer pointed at the agenda tacked to the back of the door. “As discussed last night, we toured the grounds. It was voluntary, but may have offered insight into Lew Elliot’s life.”
My heart sank. Not because I thought a few pine trees would fix the scene I was stuck on, but because I needed to prove I wanted to be here.
“We saw the bench where he wrote his first novel,” Jeremy said, rubbing his hands in front of the radiator. “It was mesmerizing.”
“Sounds amazing. I’m really sorry I missed it,” I said, hoping my regret looked genuine.
It seemed that only I heard John’s snort.
I tried to catch Charlene’s eye but failed. She was deep in conversation with Jeremy, talking about Lew Elliot’s work ethic and the importance of nature. I turned to the agenda instead.Writing time. Tour of grounds. Group chat.
Great. More waiting. My stomach clenched again.
The ding of a microwave snapped me out of it.
John, who’d stood up at some point without me noticing, set a plate down in front of me. It was piled with fried peppers, onions, and eggs. I nearly cried.
He flung a dishcloth onto his shoulder. “You should eat. Your growling stomach is distracting.”
