Page 4 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“It’s the date of my first novel,” he says.
I look over at him, frowning. “Your first book was published at the end of May six years ago.”
Silence. Pure silence, during which I realize what I’ve said.
“Sometimes, Miss Lucy,” Soren murmurs finally, “I get the feeling that you’re a bigger fan of mine than you let on.”
I swallow. “It’s because I remember you telling me, Man Bun. That’s all.”
His answering hum is musing, maybe even skeptical. “You seem to remember a lot of what I tell you.”
“I remember a regular amount,” I say, and I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the cars and stores that we’re passing. Do I sound normal enough? Unaffected? “So…your first novel?” Because holy crap. Is there a Soren Mackenzie book I haven’t read yet? How did I not know about this?
Keep it together. Never let him see you fangirl.
“The first one I ever wrote,” he says with a nod. “Not the first one I published. It will probably never see the light of day. It was bad. I shopped it around; no one wanted it. But it was the first one I finished.” He glances at me. “Now listen to the voicemail. Just…be prepared.”
“Be prepared for what?” I say, but I’m already pulling up his missed calls. It’s a good thing I’m not attached to that heart monitor anymore, because my pulse is galloping again, driven by that feeling I can’t put my finger on—that feeling like there’s somewhere I’m supposed to be.
I find the log of voicemails two seconds later and immediately spot mine, right at the top. With one trembling finger, I press the play button and hold the phone up to my ear.
And I don’t know what I’m expecting to hear. I really don’t. But whatever I’m expecting…it’s not this.
“Soren,”my own voice says. It’s low, worried, like I’m trying not to be overheard. “I think I just learned a really scary secret, and now I don’t know what to do, and I’m freaking out, so come to the bookshop as soon as possible. Please hurry.” And on that ominous note, Voicemail Heidi hangs up.
I stare out the windshield for a moment, watching the street lamps whiz by as I try to process. Then I play the voicemail again—once, twice, three times. And by the time I’ve memorized the message, my mind is reeling.
Crap.
Crap.
Do I have a secret?
I’m not really a secret-keeper. I’ll keep confidences, and there are things that I don’t share because they’re personal or painful, but I wouldn’t call thosesecrets.
Has that changed? Is there something I’m supposed to know? Is that what this nagging feeling has been? I feel like the parents inHome Alonemust have felt before they realized they left their kid behind.
Do I have a kid somewhere that I’ve forgotten about?
But no—of course not.
That’s impossible.
Stupid.Stupid Heidi.I swallow the little stab of pain and blink forcefully.
Okay. Focus.
I turn in my seat to face Soren. “I left you this voicemail? I didn’t text you or anything?”
Soren shakes his head and then gestures to the phone. “No texts. Go ahead and check.”
“You’re really going to let me poke around on your phone?” I say.
“Sure,” he says with a shrug.
“Is your current manuscript on here?”
“Ah,” he says, and the word sits awkwardly in between us. “Maybe? But it’s trash.”
