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“When’s the publishing date?!”
“You really can’t tell us anything about the book?!”
“Read the first page!”
“Shh, one at a time! One at a time!” Aunt Effie tries to settle down the crowd.
I focus back on Colt, just as he tosses my perfectly good cupcake into the trash.
How dare he. I’m a heartbeat away from calling him a jackass.
But he’s…uneasy, bothered by something—a noise, I think. He touches his ear. Maybe the chaos of muddled voices is disturbing him. And I realize he didn’t purposefully chuck the cupcake to piss me off.
Colt notices I’m studying him, and he forces a salty smile. “As her big brother, I need to remind you that if you hurt her, I will come for you.”
Babette leans over the table. “As October’s sister, I need to remind you that if you come for my sister, you’re going to be dealing with me.”
I interject coldly, “No one is coming for anyone,” and I try my best to concentrate on Zoey as she answers a few more easy questions.
My sister’s phone pings. “Shit, I forgot to put it on silent.” She slips the cell out of her purse and reads a text. “Hank wants to meet up for lunch tomorrow.”
“The forty-year-old?” I whisper. Babette.
“Fifty.”
“Excuse me, what?” Colt hears and makes a face. “You’re not dating a fifty-year-old.”
Babette glares at him. “Since when do you have a say in my love life or what I can and cannot do. And for your information, it’s not a date. It’s a platonic lunch.”
“You two are going alone though,” Colt assumes.
“Yeah.”
“So it’s not platonic.”
Babette stares him down. “It’s platonic. So platonic that you can come with and see for yourself.”
“Fine,” Colt says into a swig from his flask. “Text me the details.”
“I don’t have your number.”
Colt grabs a Marvel pen from a bookshelf and then looks to me. “Your arm.”
My brows arch. “My arm?”
“Yeah, I’m not touching Baby.”
Babette seems a little surprised that he’d either remember her aversion to touch or that he’s respecting her wishes. Her lips part, and she’s lost for words.
“I have your number, Colt,” I remind him. “I can text it to my sister.”
“Right.” He puts the flask back to his mouth, then side-eyes the bookshelf. He blinks hard too many times. He seems drunk.
“Are you alright?” Babette asks.
“No, I’m not alright. Isn’t that what you all want to hear? That I’m losing my fucking mind?” His voice rises, and the chairs creak as the audience shifts and ogles Colt.
“Um.” Zoey speaks into the microphone, her concern on her brother. “Any other questions?” She tries to draw attention off him.
Aunt Effie struts over to me while the Q&A continues. She tries to grip my elbow like I’m twelve, but I jerk out of the hold and glare.
She recoils a little but lifts her chin and whispers, “This is a shit show.”
“You did put Zoey on the spot.” We watch Zoey vaguely respond to a question about the length of the book.
Aunt Effie takes a steadying breath. “Yes, well, maybe so. But it’s not my reputation she’s ruining. If she wants to dig a bigger grave for the Durands, then so be it.” She pauses for a second. “This book…she really has a publishing deal in New York?”
“Of course she does,” I say coldly. “She has an English degree from a university in Chicago. It’s been her goal to be a writer. She wouldn’t make it up.” Why am I lying for her? Because you love her, you idiot.
“I believe you, October,” Aunt Effie says quietly. “It’s her I don’t trust.” And then she slips away and furtively whispers to another relative.
A guest asks, “What points of interest will be included in your book?”
“The most popular spots,” Zoey answers with more ease. “The Museum of Curses & Curiosities, Harbor Perk, the Wharf—”
“Your dad’s shitty bar,” Benny adds into a cough in his fist. When he catches my glare across the bookstore, he shakes his head at me like I’m the fool for dipping into the Durand pond.
“That shithole is a Mistpoint staple, so yes, Benny, that’ll be included,” Zoey bites back, and I’d smile for Zoey if her brother wasn’t stewing in front of me.
Colt pockets his flask. “What’s wrong with the Pelican, Benny?”
“Your sister literally just called it a shithole, man. It is what it is.”
“Colt,” Zoey warns as her brother detaches himself from the sweets table and approaches the audience.
“Yeah, Colt,” Benny says, a little on edge. “Go home. Eat a donut. You don’t look good.”
“What’s your problem?”
“What’s my problem?” Benny scowls. “You’re coming at me.”
“You’re sitting there, coughing into your fist like you’re fourteen not twenty-nine. Show my sister some fucking respect. She’s writing an American classic—”
“Colt.” Zoey is beet-red.
“—but you’d rather poke fun at her like she’s a monkey in a cage, and she’s not going to do whatever you tell her to!”
