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Megan stayed closeby Tione’s side as they crossed the parking lot. Trevor was attached to a harness that encircled his chest, and was enthusiastically sniffing the ground. When they reached the bridge, she paused, and Tione did the same, even though Trevor was trying to pull him over the water.
“You’re ready for this,” he said.
“I am.” Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to take a step. Her footfalls seemed to echo, alerting everyone in the area that she was journeying beyond her safety net. She counted to twenty, and then she was on the other side. Every part of her wanted to turn around, run back to her room and lock the door, but she envisioned her legs as chunks of lead and stood firm.
“Keep it up,” Tione urged.
She did. Forget lead. Her legs were magnets, drawing her toward the township, and she let them carry her forward. Her vision blurred and she was aware of nothing other than the rush of blood in her ears. After what seemed an eternity, the rushing ceased, and she heard ringing. An arm closed around her back, supporting her. Her vision cleared, and she looked around, noting Sanctuary in the distance.
“I did it,” she said, leaning into the solid planes of Tione’s body. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. That was all you.”
She knew it wasn’t. If not for him, she’d be locked in her bedroom by now, a prisoner of her own fear. But she didn’t argue, instead taking in the scenery. The bush was on one side, with patches of native vegetation interspersed with bell-shaped tents on the other.
“Are those the glamping pods?” she asked, recalling reading about them during her research.
“They are. Did you want to have a look?”
“Not now. Trevor would probably rip them up by mistake. I’ll come back later and explore them properly.”
He raised a brow. “By yourself?”
“I’ll ask Brooke to go with me.” She was feeling more confident in her budding friendships every day, and she was ninety percent sure Brooke would agree. Besides, surely if she’d managed to leave once, she could do it again.
“Good for you.”
They kept walking, and after a while the strip of land between the ocean and the road narrowed until she could see waves washing up on the shore. A few surfers spotted the horizon between the sea and sky, but otherwise the beach was empty. Autumn had arrived and the water was too cold for swimming.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Do you surf?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m not a die-hard. I just catch some waves every now and then. You?”
“No. I’m not very athletic.” Something that had bothered Charles, because his co-workers and friends played tennis during summer and squash in winter. He’d wanted her to join them, but she hadn’t been interested. She’d rather go for a walk or attend a yoga session. Still, she had no doubt that if she’d stayed, he’d have eventually gotten his way—probably by playing a guilt card over how much his boss and colleagues enjoyed her company. She could almost hear his voice in her head:today’s the day I get that promotion, I can sense it, as long as you play your part perfectly.
She shook her head. As far as he was concerned, she’d never gotten it right, and his criticism had piled on until she wondered if there actually was something wrong with her. But those days were over, and she was done with playing a role. They passed a sports field and a school. When she squinted, she could make out a cluster of buildings up the road, centered around a wooden pavilion.
“Have I mentioned Faith to you?” he asked.
“You said she owns the ice cream parlor, and that she’d like me.” She’d filed away every piece of information anyone had mentioned about the locals in case she needed it.
“See the little place on the far side of the pavilion?” He pointed. “That’s hers. Want to get an ice cream?”
“Definitely.” They crossed the wooden pavilion, passing by a seafood restaurant, and entered the ice cream parlor, which had a sign reading “The Shack” in large scripted letters above the door. It was brightly lit, with dozens of ice cream flavors arranged in square tubs behind a glass screen, each identified by a small, golden nameplate. The walls were tiled white and green, and the flooring was pale pink. Funky and retro. A woman with deep red hair and lips beamed at them as she came around the counter, a fifties-style floral dress swishing around her knees.
“Tee!” she cried, loudly enough that Megan flinched and drew closer to his side. The woman’s eyes tracked her movement from behind rectangular spectacles. “I don’t see enough of you these days. You’re far too healthy for your own good. And who’s this lovely person?” She held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you have a girlfriend.” She winked at Megan. “You’ve got yourself a good one. Never dates around. In fact, I can’t remember the last—”
“Not my girlfriend,” Tione interrupted, and Megan wondered why his sharp tone hurt. “This is Megan. She’s a guest at Sanctuary, and a professional baker. Megan, this crazy cat is Faith.”
“Nice to meet you,” Megan said.
Faith eyed her, a line forming between her brows, her lips pursed. A moment later, she declared, “Emma Watson.”
Megan glanced at Tione, searching for a clue as to what she meant.
“Faith remembers people by the celebrity they most resemble,” he explained.
“Oh.” She smiled at Faith. “Thank you, that’s a very flattering comparison.”
