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But my aunt’s romance collection isn’t what whirls my mind at ninety miles an hour.
“You called Zoey my friend,” I say in astonishment. She’s never said one kind thing about Zoey Durand.
“Isn’t that what she is?” my aunt questions.
“Yes.” She’s more than a friend. Fuck my hesitance. There is a difference between being private and guarded and being timid. I refuse to be shy towards my aunt—towards anyone. So I add, “But she’s more than a friend to me.”
“Clearly. I saw you holding hands.”
I can’t read the emotion in her voice. And she’s avoiding my eyes.
Interesting.
In high school, Aunt Effie heard rumors around town that Zoey and I were together, and she’d caution me, “Pick another girl, October. There are plenty of better fish in the lake. Don’t choose the bottom-feeders. You’re a Brambilla. You’re worth more.”
“She’s not a bottom-feeder,” I’d snap back, and I’d strut away like Aunt Effie wasn’t worth my time.
Sometimes I’d hear her sigh. Sometimes I’d glance back and see her smile. I like to believe she’s proud of the girls she’s raised. Of the women we are. Opinionated (Babette more so). Confident. Unflinching, even towards her.
“You and Zoey were holding hands?” Babette asks while sitting on the bottom stair and cupping a chamomile tea. She stirs in extra honey. “When? Where?”
“The Lock Ceremony,” Aunt Effie answers before I can. “When they so rudely sprinted away.”
“Please,” I say sharply. “No one missed us. Baby didn’t even know we left.”
Babette mutters into her tea, “I have major regrets. I would’ve loved to see you two holding hands and sprinting away. I would’ve applauded.”
God, I love my sister. Figgy and Rosemary are perched on her shoulder. Chirping happily. My lovebirds adore her too.
Aunt Effie moans, “Girls.”
“Aunt Effie,” Babette counters. “You should be proud of October. She’s choosing Zoey over this town’s dumb obsession with hating the Durands—and you should be proud of me for behaving atrociously and calling Isabella a kiss-ass.” She bats her lashes.
“She’s too far gone,” Aunt Effie mutters to herself about Baby, and my sister and I laugh a little. The sound dies in my throat as my aunt turns on me. “Did you not hear the part where I said I’m doing Zoey a favor?”
I cross my arms. “You really think this is a favor?”
“It’s a book event. For exposure. It could help her on release day.”
Oh please. I’m not that easily fooled. “Zoey didn’t ask for a book event. And seeing as how you called a publisher to get her book cancelled—”
“I did not do that,” she interrupts hotly and takes an angry seat on the floral-patterned couch. The cushion squeaks, and her fluffy dog, Sugar, perks from her sleeping spot on the book. We all watch Sugar bounce onto Aunt Effie’s lap before my aunt’s eyes snap up to me. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter who. Why’d you call the publisher then?” I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I understand how gossip can warp the truth.
Sugar licks Aunt Effie’s hand before panting happily. At least someone adores my aunt unconditionally. I watch my aunt pat Sugar’s head tenderly. “I called to get information. Something Zoey hasn’t provided to anyone in the town. And as far as I can tell, her publishing deal doesn’t exist.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re basing that off a few phone calls? You couldn’t have gotten a hold of every New York City publisher.”
She considers this for a moment. “True. So this book event is better timing than ever. Zoey can promote her little creation, and we, the townspeople, can ask the questions we need to ask. This book is about us after all.”
I have her actual motive now.
Babette sips her tea. “Technically it’s about the history of the town.”
“And we are the history of this town, Babette,” our aunt declares like it’s written in stone. “No book on Mistpoint Harbor is complete without mentioning the Brambillas.”
I grind my teeth. This isn’t going to end well for Zoey. “And if she refuses to attend this book event?” Complete with a fucking Q&A.
Aunt Effie stares me down. “She’s your more-than-friend, October. You’ll need to find a way to get her to the event. I’m sure you can find some avenue to convince her.”
Babette raises her brows at me. “I’m sensing another batch of nukadells.”
Our aunt scoffs at the word, but she doesn’t chastise my sister. “Yes, baked goods might be a good way to cozy up to Zoey.”
“Oh, I know another way October can cozy up to Zoey,” Babette says, and she raises her fingers in a V-formation up to her lips, demonstrating a vulgar gesture that brings a rare smile out of me.
Our aunt turns sharply.
Babette doesn’t stop wagging her tongue between her fingers.
“Babette Louise Brambilla!”
My sister is dying in a fit of laughter. “She’s twenty-five, Aunt Effie. She doesn’t need ear-muffs.” To me, she says, “Though, you could also rely on snuggles. I hear those are better than sex at times.”
