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“Maeve knew things about Bailey she couldn’t have guessed.”
“Everything she said was generic. Haven’t you ever heard of the Barnum effect?”
Tanya and I exchange a look.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s the idea that some of us have a tendency to believe things like horoscopes or fortune tellers are accurate, even though they’re so vague they could apply to anyone ever.”
“Some of us, huh?” Tanya’s hands go to her hips.
My phone rings, rescuing us all from the awkward tension seeping into the room. The caller ID displays the name “Kingsette Inn.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks.
A rational part of me knows I have no right to be angry. He didn’t owe me his life story. God knows I was happy not to share mine. But ... Will should have told me who he was.
I consider letting his call go to voice mail. If I do that, then I’ll have to call back—again. Tessa didn’t ask me to play phone tag with Will; she asked me to coordinate Noah’s party with him. A small request compared to all the things she’s done for me in the last few years.
Another shrill ring and Logan angles to better see whose call I’m purposefully ignoring. He can be as overprotective as Tessa. And as infuriating.
I excuse myself and head back to my room, closing the door behind myself.
“Hope Gold.”
“Hey, Hope, it’s ... uh ... Will. From the other night on the roof-deck.”
My heart does a strange flutter-sink-twist thing at the sound of his voice.
“I remember.” My voice is colder than I mean for it to be. I sit on my bed. “The bartender who is actually not a bartender, right?”
“Iwasa bartender that night. I’m also the owner. Or temporary manager, you could say.” He sounds amused at that, as if it’s a joke.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You said your boss was a pushover, that he lets you get away with whatever.”
“There’s some truth in there,” he says. “Why does it matter, anyway?”
It doesn’t matter. Or it shouldn’t matter. “A lie by omission is still a lie,” I say.
“In that case, we’re even.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t tell me about your husband.” His voice goes soft on the wordhusband.
“That’s different. We both admitted to long stories.” I stand, too agitated to sit, and pace my room.
“Whether I’m married or not, widowed or not, shouldn’t change how you act toward me. Whether you’re the damn owner of the Inn—”
“You’re right. I should have told you who I was.” The sound of floorboards creaking punctuates his confession. “I guess I liked the anonymity. It’s hard to come back to your hometown, where half the folks never wanted to see you again and the other half feel vindicated because they always knew you’d come back with your tail between your legs.”
I’m silent for a long moment as the truth of what he just admitted settles between us. “I can understand that—the anonymity part, at least. Kingsette has its charm and its starry nights, but also its strong opinions and gossip.”
“That it does ...” He clears his throat.
I search for a way to fill the silence, but my thoughts are stuck on that roof-deck, when for a little while, I wasn’t Hope-the-pathetic-widow. I was anonymous, like Will. The symmetry is a salve to my anger.
