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My thoughts scatter as a high-pitched voice fills my ears. “Guess who’s at Annie’s this morning?” asks Darla Templeton.
There’s a telltale gleam in her eye. She’s what my friend, Zoey, would call a Lilac Lady: a busybody retiree whose main hobby is lobbing gossip bombs.
My stomach drops. “Who?”
I already know the answer. I can see it in the way she maintains laser focus on my face as she gauges my reaction. Years of practice keep my features in a mask of mild curiosity.
Darla’s Pomeranian, Hercules, yaps at the ankles of a woman hurrying down the sidewalk. Darla tugs his leash, but her eyes never veer from my face.
“Lucas Adler.”
I nod and smile, ignoring a spike of anxiety at the sound of his name. “I saw the article this morning. He’s developing the old campgrounds, right?”
Darla’s throat bobs. I imagine she’s salivating behind her mauve lipstick. “Have you talked to him? I bet you’re excited to see him again. The three of you were thick as thieves in school, weren’t you?”
The three of us.
Me. Jeremy. And Lucas.
“We were, yes,” I say, but my voice edges toward brittleness. Darla’s eyes narrow.
“Celeste!”
I spin gratefully toward the familiar voice. Zoey hustles down the sidewalk toward me, hauling a tote full of groceries and holding two takeout coffee cups. I’ve never been so glad to see someone in my life.
“Hey, Zoey!” I wave, then turn to Darla with a big smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day. Bye, Hercules.”
Darla sniffs at the dismissal but musters a smile before dragging Hercules away.
Zoey reaches me and hands me a latte. Pushing dark hair away from her eyes, she frowns at Darla’s retreating figure. “What did she want?”
“The usual. Torture with a side of slander.”
“Figures.”
I take a sip of latte. “Thank you so much.”
Zoey leans over and takes a deep breath near a bucket of peonies. “How’s the morning going, besides Darla?” When she straightens, she doesn’t quite meet my eye.
Shit.
“So you saw the article?” I guess.
Zoey nods and finally looks at me. The worry in her gaze is alarming. For a second, I think she knows—then I remember she can’t know. We were friendly but not friends in high school, and no one knows except Lucas and me why he’s the last person on Earth I want to see.
“I know you have a lot of great memories up at the camp. How are you feeling about the plans to convert it into a resort?”
I almost spit out my drink. “Resort?” I echo. At her questioning blink, I admit, “I only read the first sentence.”
“Ah. Yeah, they want to turn it into one of those fancy retreat-type places. Rebuild all the cabins. Turn the Lodge and Art Barn into a restaurant and spa.”
I swallow hard.
From a business standpoint, it makes perfect sense, and I can easily envision it being a success. Sleepy Sun River, Idaho, has been a favorite escape for the elite and eccentric since the 1930s. Hemingway was a frequent guest, as well as A-List Hollywood types. Not much has changed since then. Our international film festival brings famous faces in droves every spring, and the mountain generates massive tourism every winter. While condo complexes abound, especially outside town, there aren’t many luxury resorts in the area.
He’s going to make a killing.
“Did you stay in touch with Lucas?” asks Zoey, snapping me out of my reverie.
