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A woman in a Hawaiian shirt and cutoff shorts with silvery-blonde hair down to her waist emerges from the ramshackle cottage carrying a bushel of sticks. She’s trailed by a woman wearing jeans and Converse sneakers, who looks as beautiful as she did in a body-skimming dress.
“Come on down. All are welcome.” The woman with the silver hair, who I guess must be the infamous Maeve, throws her arms open. From the corner of my eye, I see recognition and something else I can’t read registering on Hope’s face.
“Will?” Hope squints against the fading light.
At the base of my spine, my flight instinct buzzes. My teeth grit in an effort to silence it.
“Looks like we could have carpooled.” I grimace at the hokey tone and then manage to trip over a tree root. All eyes are on me as I recover and approach the bonfire.
Maeve’s lips twitch up, the smirk of a mean girl spotting fresh prey in the school cafeteria.
“I ... uh ... I didn’t know if I should call first or ...”
“You two know each other,” Maeve says, looking between Hope and me.
“Not really. We met a few nights ago. At a wedding.”
“We’re working together to plan my brother-in-law’s surprise party.” Hope sounds unsure.
“I didn’t know Hope would be here,” I say.
Maeve winks, as if she can see the layer beneath the layer I’m showing her. The skin around her eyes is only just beginning to crease, but something about her reminds me of someone much, much older. That blend of youth and age is disorienting.
“Any friend of Hope’s is a friend of mine. Come on in, Will. We’re just about to roast the marshmallows Ashley brought.” Maeve pivots and heads to speak to the man in the suit, leaving me standing there, staring at Hope.
“I promise I’m not stalking you or anything,” I say, sounding exactly like a man who is stalking someone. I clear my throat to get the catch out.
Hope fixes an unflinching gaze on me. In the fading sunlight, her green eyes are ringed with gold.
“Let me get this straight. First, you follow me up to an abandoned roof-deck, lie about who you are—then you coincidentally show up in the middle of the woods ...” She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “It’s concerning.”
She’s right. I’m one run-in away from a restraining order. “Oh, God. Hope, I know how it looks—”
Her smile reaches to her eyes, and it’s immediately contagious.
“Maybe you’re the one stalking me,” I tease.
She scoffs. “You should be so lucky.”
Her eyes brim with amusement, just as they did the night of the wedding. This time, though, her face isn’t cast in shadows, and I note all the ways that lightness brightens her features.
Women sabbatical,I remind myself and force my feet to inch backward.
A bark of laughter erupts from two women standing on the other side of the fire. Hope glances at them, and her expression dims.
“Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t realize so many people come to these ... meditations. I’m not great in groups. It’s nice to have a familiar face in my age bracket.” Hope steps to the right and gestures meaningfully with her chin to the man sitting on Maeve’s porch swing.
Sheriff Wilson’s watching the sunset with an intensity that’s almost reverent. He looks just like he did in my memory—maybe slightly grayer. Maybe slightly sadder.
“Who are you here to ... uh ... connect with?”Connectis the word Bailey used. It’s probably more appropriate thanbe manipulated with.
Hope’s expression shudders, and my question registers in my brain. I’m an idiot.
“Don’t answer that,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay. I’m not here for that,” she says, a sharp edge to her voice. “I just wanted to see what all the fuss is about.”
“I’m s—”
