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The room bathes in awkward silence, and then Zoey clears her throat and raises a hand. “Hi, um, my name is Zoey Durand. As most of you know, I’m writing a book about Mistpoint Harbor. Which is why you all are here.” She claps her hands—a high-pitched static noise screeches through the amps.
I wince with everyone else, but not because my ears hurt.
People are still cringing and muttering as Zoey fumbles with the microphone. “Sorry about that. Technology, right?” She laughs at herself, the sound dying. “Anyway, um, the book—it’s still in development, so I can’t give too much away. You know…copyright. Publisher rules. All that good stuff.”
I steal a quick glance at Aunt Effie. Her lips are pursed, and her whole demeanor reads do not fuck this up for me. My aunt doesn’t want an event planning failure on her town council resume. Even if she’s hoping to just catch Zoey in a lie.
Zoey waves a hand towards my aunt. “First off, I’d like to thank Effie Brambilla for putting this together and inviting me here today.”
Aunt Effie produces a warm but manufactured smile. “Welcome, everyone. I’m thrilled you’re as intrigued in Zoey’s novel as I am.”
The audience claps lightly.
Zoey catches my gaze, and I nod to her. Keep going. She takes a breath and continues, “Instead of a reading, since the book is currently in draft, I’ll be taking questions.”
Colt lets out an irritated noise. “Why the hell did she agree to this?” He’s asking me quietly while snatching a cupcake.
For me, is the real truth.
To be on my aunt’s good side, is the answer I should give him. But I’m not entertaining him right now. I wish he’d shut up and let me be Zoey’s cheerleader.
“Any questions?” Zoey asks with some confidence.
She’s okay.
She has this.
Benny rises from the audience. “What is your book about? Can you give us a summary?”
Zoey smiles. “Great question, Benny. Unfortunately, that’s classified information. The publisher doesn’t want me to share any summaries yet.”
Decent reply.
Benny is glaring. “Okay, then how do we know you’re going to accurately depict Mistpoint Harbor? And shouldn’t you have gotten permission from the town?” Grumblings and angry whispers fill the audience.
Aunt Effie steps forward. “One question at a time, please.”
I’m sure she wants to give Zoey an opportunity to answer every question. My aunt is gathering information like it’s made of gold.
Zoey taps the podium. “You know, I didn’t think I’d have to get permission from the town because I’m not using real names. Everyone here will be given an alias.”
That causes way more whispers.
My gaze is darting to every moving mouth and side-eye. I glower at them, as if I can do anything from over here.
“What if I don’t want an alias?” Angela whines from her seat.
Aunt Effie tries to hush the audience again, and while the whispers grow, Zoey forces a shaky smile and Colt turns back to me.
“Go away, Colt.”
He’s still here. “So you and my sister are a thing again?”
“What?” I peel my gaze away from Zoey. “No.” Fuck, that hurts. I wish it didn’t. The truth is, I want to come alive with Zoey. I want to stop punishing myself, and maybe I never will.
Maybe I never can, but I don’t want to keep hurting her.
Hurting us.
My ribs constrict around my lungs with each sharp breath, and I remember all week how Zoey has tried to reach me. She’d say things like, “You can keep pushing me away, or you can realize that we’re two undeserving girls who deserve each other.”
Her way of saying, you deserve me, Kenobi.
Even if I believe that, it doesn’t change the fact that Zoey won’t be in Mistpoint Harbor for much longer.
Colt frowns at me. “No?”
“She’s leaving town after she solves your mystery.”
“My mystery?” He lets out a dry sound, then whispers, “I didn’t ask her to come here, OB.”
“No. Your best friend did that all on his own,” I grit out hotly. I’m boiling. Furious that I’m falling for Zoey again, and she’s just going to leave. Angry with myself because I don’t want this to end now, even knowing this will be short-lived. Even knowing that pain lies in the wings. Ready for me once she’s gone.
Colt whispers, “But if she stayed—”
“She’s not staying,” I snap. Even putting that option into the air is cruel. Because it won’t happen. It can’t. And dreaming about a reality where it does paves an even greater pathway to pain.
At least let me spare my heart a teaspoon of agony.
“How long will you be in Mistpoint for research?” I tune into the Q&A as another one of my cousins questions Zoey.
“There is no strict time limit. It could be a few days or a few weeks.” Please be weeks.
“Don’t you have a deadline?”
“Yes…” She draws out the word. “But the publisher is willing to work with me.” She sounds cagey but confident. Everyone begins to shout again.
