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“She’s fine,” Coop says. “She’s just… well, she’s moving. This weekend.”
Hazel’s moving?A million questions race through my mind. Where is she going? Is she leaving Friendly? Why does she need to recover? What happened?
What amIgoing to do if she moves?
When I graduated at the top of my class at Harvard Law, everyone thought I’d move to DC or NYC. They expected me to do big, earth-changing things. They were shocked when I moved back to Friendly and hung my shingle. Many people were disappointed that I’d opt for a small-town law practice and thought I was wasting my potential.
But I’ve never regretted it. Not once. Because every now and then, Hazel joins me at the beach when I’m fishing.
I live in Friendly becauseHazellives in Friendly. No one knows that, of course. My best friend, Tuck—Hazel’s brother—would skin me alive. He made it clear long ago that I was to steer clear of his baby sister.
My eyes meet Sean’s, and I’m brought back to the here and now.
I force my thoughts of Hazel to the outer reaches of my mind. I’ve never been able to push her out entirely. She’s hardwired into my brain, like breathing. Always there.
But right now, the judge and the prosecutor are waiting in the courtroom, and their patience is wearing thin. If I’m going to work some legal magic with Sean Carey, now’s the time.
“Actually, Coop, I’m calling about a client. How quickly can you get to the courthouse?”
Chapter 3
Hazel
WithHoneytuckedundermy arm like a football, I speed-walk to the Sticks & Stones Boutique. Though it’s still a couple of weeks before the crush of summer tourists, I have to dart around families hauling carts and wagons to the beach.
Honey squirms, wanting to greet everyone we pass. But after the morning’s events, I don’t have the patience for small talk. There’s only one person I can bear to face right now.
When Honey and I reach Sticks & Stones, I growl with frustration at the sign on the door announcing that the shop is closed for lunch. Pressing my nose to the glass, I peer inside. Spotting Margo straightening a display of folded shirts not far from the door, I sigh with relief.
Despite being pregnant with twins, my sister-in-law looks stunning, dressed to the nines in a summer dress that hugs her belly and then flares into a flirty skirt. The same dress hangs in the front window of the boutique, showcasing the store’s new maternity line.
“Margo,” I shout, banging on the door with the flat of my hand. Hearing Margo’s name, Honey’s tail whips into high gear, and she barks for Margo’s attention, too.
Hearing the noise, Margo looks up from her task. Her face stretches into a smile, and she comes to the door to let us in. “You must have read my mind! A new shipment arrived this morning.”
There are very few things in this world that I love more than helping Margo unbox new clothes. Knowing that I have as much appreciation for well-made garments as she does, she often calls me when she gets a new shipment. I run my hands over every piece, carefully checking for flaws.
What Margo doesn’t know is that when I’m fingering the fabric, I’m reimagining it as something else. A design of myown.
As a seamstress, I sew lots of beautiful clothes—but always using someone else’s pattern. My designs live only inside my head, except for the ones that I’m compelled to transfer to a secret sketchbook. I keep the sketchbook tucked beneath a loose floorboard in my bedroom that I discovered when I was eleven years old.
No one even knows the sketchbook exists, but lately, I’ve been tempted to show Margo. I know without a doubt that she’d support me, but fear holds me back.
My eyes flick to a display case that holds a colorful variety of accessories. Dog collars hang next to matching sunhats, and each has a tag with the Hazel & Honey label—mylabel. With Margo’s help, I’ve rebranded and expanded my business. Before I met her, I sold coordinating pet and owner accessories through an Etsy shop called Doggie Designs by Hazel. Now, I have a professional name and logo, and Margo carries my accessories in her store and sells them through her online storefront.
But the designs for the accessories are simple. It’s thefabric choicesthat stand out—and the novelty of owners coordinating with their pets.
And Honey is the face of the company. Not me.
The thing is, even if Ididmanage to bring my designs to life, I’d never have the courage to wear them. They’re standouts if I do say so myself, and I’m, well,not.
I’ve never sought the spotlight for myself. And after decades of living in the shadows of everyone around me, I’m like a wolf spider scurrying away from the beam of a flashlight.
But I can’t think about any of that right now. My eyes meet Margo’s, and she must see something needy in my face, because her moss-green eyes narrow in concern.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I take a deep breath. “I’m moving out of my mother’s house.”
