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Needing to make sure Milo really leaves this time, I follow him to the front door and hold it open as he grabs his backpack and slings it over one shoulder. He then grabs the trash bag and steps onto the porch, but before heading down the steps, he turns back to me.
“You know… you can invite me over anytime, right? We don’t have to study. Maybe we could… I don’t know… watch TV or something?”
“Why would you want to come over to my house and watch TV? You’re the one with the big-ass flat-screen,” I say, honestly confused by the suggestion.
Milo lets out another quiet laugh. “God, Max. How can you be one of the smartest people I know and still be this clueless?”
I’m about to ask what he means by that, but the question dies on my lips when he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Thanks for the study session.” He pauses, his expression turning gentle. “And for the talk earlier. You’re a good friend.”
With one last smile that makes my knees feel suspiciously weak, he turns and walks down the porch steps. I stand there with the door still open, watching as he crosses the yard and tosses the trash bag into the bin by the curb.
I swear my eyes are playing tricks on me because when he heads across the street toward his house, there’s almost a skip in his step. Just before going inside, Milo glances back, catching me still standing there, and gives me a little wave. Dumbfounded, I wave back, my cheeks suddenly feeling warm.
I’m still trying to process what just happened when I notice the curtain in his living room shift. It’s quick, but not quick enough to keep me from catching a glimpse of Peyton’s familiar blonde hair. I refuse to let her ruin what was otherwise a pretty great afternoon, so I close the door and push her from my thoughts.
Milo, on the other hand… never seems to leave them.
My fingertips drift to the spot on my cheek where he kissed me. Despite myself, I can’t stop the stupid smile that follows.
However, the buzz of my phone against the coffee table snaps me out of my reverie. Still smiling, I cross the room, figuring it’s Dad checking in. But the second I look at the screen, my smile disappears when I see a notification of a message received from an unknown number.
When I open the message, my stomach drops.
Unknown Number: I told you to stay away. You didn’t listen. Now live with the consequences. You brought all of this on yourself, bitch.
Chapter 9
Sunday
“What do you mean, dead?” Cathie asks on the line as I stand at my bedroom window, watching car after car pull into the B&B parking lot below.
“I don’t know what else you want me to say, Cathie. Dead feels pretty self-explanatory.”
“Yeah, but how?”
“I’m not entirely sure. From what I could gather from Sienna, it looks like Jordan slipped and fell from her bedroom balcony and landed wrong.”
And when I say wrong, I mean her body was impaled on the iron fence surrounding the beds of roses around the Victorian house. Sienna said the groundskeeper got quite a shock this morning when he found Jordan speared right through the belly by the spikes. An image I’d rather not share with my overimaginative friend if I don’t have to.
“So what does this mean? Are they going to cancel the reunion now?”
“I doubt it.” I frown, leaning against the desk just so I can turn my back on the steady stream of arriving luncheon guests. “Like I said, nothing ever happens in Fairhope. One dead body isn’t enough to derail a week this town’s been planning for months.” When the line goes quiet, my frown deepens. “You think I should go home now, don’t you?”
“Honestly? Kind of, yeah. It’s fucking creepy that this reunion is still taking place when one of your own is dead.”
Jordan was never one of my own. She was a fucking bully. Not one part of me is sad that she’s dead. But I get Cathie’s point.
I bite my lower lip and glance at my laptop, thinking about the chapters I managed to write the night before. I still can’t believe that I wrote a whopping three chapters. Three fucking amazing chapters. Not the drivel I’ve been writing lately. How am I supposed to go home when I finally have my muse back?
“I don’t think I can leave now,” I admit. “Not just yet anyway.”
“Because you got your words back,” she sighs knowingly. “If I were in your shoes, I might not want to go home either.”
“I need to see this through. Maybe I’ll change my mind tomorrow, but for today—”
“For today, you need to be there. I get it, babe. I do. Just be careful, okay. This reunion starting with someone dying doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”
