Page 42 of The Exit Strategy

“Nana Mae,” Cole groans.

There’s more to that story, I’m sure.

“Lemonade stand,” Nana Mae says. “You and me, sweetheart. Starts at nine.”

“But…work—” I spin to find Cole. Surely he’ll help me out of this. But when I find him glaring at my apron, I know I’m all alone. You’d think I’d be used to that by now. “I actually have work to do.”

“Your spreadsheets will survive one day without you,” Nana Mae says, offering no room for argument. She leans in and whispers, “Paula Van Holten’s granddaughter will be there too. Cole may call you Viper, but that woman’s the real deal, and we’re not gonna allow her to get her claws into our Cole, you hear me?”

That giant ball of jealousy I used to wear like camouflage anytime Cole’s ex was around bursts free from my ribs like I’m a goddamn storm cloud built for spite.

Cole’s mouth twitches. I see it. He sees me see it, and then he focuses on his clipboard.

“Her mama and Cole’s mama might’ve been friends and competitors back in the day,” Nana Mae continues. “But they’ve already taken too much. They’re not getting Cole too, you hear me?”

“Fine,” I growl. I don’t know how long I’ll be in Porchlight Cove, but I can’t handle another one of Cole’s girlfriend-bullies in close proximity, so if I have to play bouncer for him, I will.

This is strictly for my professional sanity. Nothing else.

I need?—

In front of Cole, in his favorite mug, steam rises from thecoffee he beat me to making. I steal it while he isn’t looking, except his head lifts the instant his mug hits my lips. He watches me take a long drink and set it back down, but he says absolutely nothing.

Jesus, it’s good. Strong, slightly over-extracted, exactly how he likes it.

His sparkling green eyes give him away. He knows about the decaf. He’s known for a while, and the prick never said a word.

“You could’ve warnedme the festival wasn’t just for The Haven,” I grumble as I move around Nana Mae in the booth that’s attracting kids and bees by the handful.

“This is how we show off all Cole’s hard work, dear. Everyone who lives here already knows how great he is.”

I snort but continue juicing the lemons.

It feels as though the entire town showed up from the mainland. Couples with strollers fill the streets. Teenagers who clearly have nowhere better to be snicker and take selfies.

And not a single one of them knows who I am.

Today, I just get to be a woman squeezing lemons at a lemonade stand.

The freedom of it hits me so hard, I set down the pitcher and grip the edge of the table.

This is what it felt like before the bar, before Grace’s campaign, before hundreds of thousands of strangers appointed themselves the jury of my character. But now, I have Nana Mae at my side, and Cole, who runs booth to booth, fixing things that aren’t his responsibility.

“You’re staring into space, dear.” Nana Mae bumps myhip with hers. “Pour and smile. That little hussy Paula and her granddaughter Lola are heading this way.”

My spine instantly straightens. Lola sounds…sexy.

I glance down at my T-shirt, cutoff denim shorts, and Nana Mae’s apron that covers me from collarbone to knee, and cringe.

Did I even brush my hair today?

Then I stomp my foot because how I look doesn’t matter.

I’m not Cole’s and he’s not mine.

I pour more glasses of lemonade when the frost hits our tent.

“Paula,” Nana Mae hisses.