Page 47 of Library or Lattes?

But why did it feel like something was missing?

When I walked inside, the house was cold and empty. Pop must have been called to a complicated job. I walked straight into my bedroom, sat on the bed, and took out my phone.

Me: Want to talk?

Lennie: Not tonight

Okay, it definitely wasn’t the right time to talk about Carter or complain about James.

Me: Ofc. Tomorrow. Here if you need me before then.

Me: Thanks for all the help tonight ❤

Lennie: Night. Love you xx

Me: Love you xx

So instead of pouring my angry, confused heart out to my best friend, I got changed and slid into a cold bed.

Any time I felt alone, I reached straight under my pillow for Mom’s notebook.

I opened it at a random page, pretending she was there with me, whispering all the words in my ear.

Today Mike asked me if I ever regretted not going to New York with Lisa May that summer after graduation.

Honest answer? Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like. But I don’t think wondering is the same as regret.

I think about the version of Alison who went. Who’s living in some tiny apartment, working three jobs, chasing something she can’t name. Maybe she’s happy. Maybe she found what she was looking for.

But instead I found Mike. And Oak Falls. And a life that feels like mine …

It was like the universe was sending me signs from every direction. A letter that said Go, Willa, take the money and run! Carter, who agreed. But Mom, who thought staying was cool too. I hugged the notebook, slid it under my pillow, then drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep.

Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best mood when I walked into the coffee shop for my Sunday-morning shift.

James was already there, just standing behind the counter taking up too much space, wearing a green-checked flannel today over a white T-shirt. Ugh, the green was the same dark emerald as the scarf I was about to take off. His eyes flicked up as I walked in, but suddenly he was very focused on the coffee machine.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

Soon the coffee shop was filled with regulars, and I was giving them their orders almost before they’d asked. Not that James was impressed. And not that I was trying to impress him.

“Does she have a hip flask?” James whispered angrily into my ear as he nodded toward old Mrs. Porter sitting at the window.

“We just ignore it,” I answered before smiling at a customer who motioned for a refill.

“Ignore it?” James echoed, following me like an annoying shadow. Then he crashed into something and swore under his breath.

I looked down to see that he’d broken one of the ceramic pumpkins. Usually when things were broken, I didn’t see the use in getting angry. It was just a thing. No big deal. But today, I lost it.

“For goodness’ sake, can you watch where you’re going?”

“Well, that’s why I moved them into the corner, so people won’t trip on them. And you keep moving them back, for some unknown reason!” he snapped.

“Unknown reason? The reason is that you can’t just swoop in and change the way things are just because you like it better some other way.”

He stared at me for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “How about this? Stop putting crap all over the place. I don’t think the floor is the best place for a stupid ceramic pumpkin. Why do you?” he seethed.

He’d never called my decorations crap before. And he’d never looked at me like that. Like I was the problem. I fled to make someone a mocha.