Page 74

Some things are too unforgivable to forget, much less forgive.

If she expects me to sweep everything that happened under the rug just because ten years have passed, then she doesn’t know me nearly as well as she thinks she does.

Misty is still looking at me when the last person I want to talk to suddenly appears at her side.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s honored us with her esteemed presence. You’re the talk of the town, Max. I didn’t think you’d make it, seeing as you have this big life back in New York,” Peyton interrupts, scanning me from head to toe.

My hand strangles the flute as I brace myself for the panic attack I’m certain is coming now that I’m face-to-face with my biggest tormentor.

I wait for my chest to tighten. For my breathing to turn shallow. For my surroundings to start closing in on me. But nothing happens.

Last night, the sound of her laugh alone had sent me spiraling. Yet today, standing face-to-face with the she-devil herself, I feel… nothing. I’m still breathing. Still standing. Still in control.

I’m too relieved to question why. So instead, I take full advantage of it.

“Peyton.” I nod in greeting. “I heard you’ve done quite well for yourself too. Becoming mayor before thirty is no small feat. That’s quite the accomplishment.”

Peyton’s smile stretches at my false praise. “What can I say? Fairhope loves me.” She holds my stare. “It always has.”

The little jab at the end of her statement brings a smile to my lips.

“True.” I take a slow sip of my drink. “I guess some people can only thrive in small ponds. We all have our limits.”

Peyton’s smile morphs into a sneer, but I don’t miss how Misty’s grin remains perfectly intact.

“Ladies, let’s be civil. People are starting to look,” Misty says, the warning clearly directed at her friend.

“Then we’d better give them something pleasant to look at.” Peyton flashes me a smile that shows far too many teeth. “After all, what kind of hosts would we be if we didn’t welcome every member of the class of 2016 back to Fairhope with open arms?”

I think I’m going to gag.

They want me to be civil. Not to make a scene.

They’re lucky I’m not wrapping my hands around their throats as we speak.

But fine. I’ll play along.

“Very well. Let’s play pretend, then. How is your mother?”

Peyton blinks, seeming momentarily thrown by the question. “She’s fine.”

“I’m glad. I always liked Jennine. She was always decent to me.”

“Yes, well, my mother has always tended to have a soft spot for broken things,” she adds, unable to hide her disdain.

“Peyton,” Misty mutters under her breath, the warning unmistakable.

Peyton just rolls her eyes. “Yes, whatever. My mother is as well as she can be. She still has her salon and is doing very well for herself.”

“Good to hear. And Paul? Is he doing all right? With all the new construction going on in Fairhope, he must be doing well for himself too.”

“I have no idea how my stepdad is doing. He walked out on my mom a few years back. It was this whole thing,” she retorts, clearly annoyed that I brought him up. “I guess she just couldn’t compete with a ghost.”

I don’t bother asking who she’s referring to. It’s pretty clear she means Lucia, Milo’s mom.

I think back to all those Sundays I saw Paul at the cemetery, standing at his wife’s grave with a single red rose in his hand. It was heartbreaking to watch. Not that anyone, aside from Milo and me, knew about his dad’s visits. As far as Fairhope was concerned, Paul had moved on.

The fact that Milo knew differently had always been a point of contention between father and son.