This place was her second home. And tonight, everything looked normal—feltnormal.
But it wasn’t. Not for her.
Joy forced herself to keep her shoulders back, her head high, and the corners of her mouth turned up just enough to look approachable, not strained. If she could fool everyone else, maybe she could fool herself too.
Smile. You know how to smile. Even a tiny-ass baby knows how to smile.
The weight of familiar Oak Creek gazes clung to her wherever she went, making it nearly impossible to force the upward movement of her lips. They weren’t watching her because she was an exceptional waitress—she never had been, not even on her best days.
She wished they were staring for thenormal Joy reasonsshe’d been getting looks for all her life—her knack for pulling pranks or her tendency to burst into off-key songs at the most unexpected moments.
Her penchant for climbing trees or cannonballing into lakes with a wild yell. She was used to those kinds of stares, earned from a lifetime of antics and shenanigans growing up in Oak Creek.
But this was different,heavier, and she couldn’t escape it.
Everyone was watching because of what had happened a month ago. She pretended not to notice their stares or the hushed whispers as she passed by. But hell if she couldn’t basically hear their thoughts.
Poor thing. You know she was attacked in her own house. Can you imagine?
Bless her heart, beaten like that. Hospitalized and everything.
Our hapless little wild child, reduced to this.
Joy clenched her teeth and moved faster. Oak Creek was a good town, filled with kind people whom she loved and trusted. But even kind people had a knack for turning someone else’s trauma into a form of entertainment. It wasn’t cruelty; it was curiosity mixed with pity.
And God, did Joy hate pity.
Sloane—sweet, quiet, supportive, former-roommate Sloane—caught Joy’s eye from across the room and gave her a quick smile. It was a good smile…gentle, understanding—just like the woman herself. But behind it lay the same concern Joy saw from everyone these days.
Pity mixed with unease, like Joy was a grenade with the pin half pulled.
“How’s it going?” Sloane asked as they crossed paths at the beverage station.
Joy grabbed a pot of coffee and poured two cups with a steady hand she didn’t feel. “Busy, which is good. Keeps my mind occupied.” She flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes.
Sloane nodded, her brow creased. “Yeah, it’s good. But you can’t keep running on fumes forever. You doing okay?”
The question felt like a punch. Joy wanted to snap back that she was fine, but the words caught in her throat. She had no right to complain to Sloane, of all people.
Sloane had been there that night too. She’d been taken. Joy’s body had borne the brunt of the beating, but Sloane had endured just as much.
“I’m good,” Joy forced out, her voice overly bright. She reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand before darting back into the fray. She didn’t miss the way Sloane’s eyes followed her, filled with quiet worry.
Just smile, damn it. Lips up. Don’t give people anything to see or worry about.
But no matter how she tried, she knew it looked more like a grimace.
She had barely turned toward her next table when she spotted Mrs. Fuller, the town’s unofficial grandmother, waving her down. The elderly woman was seated near the door, wearing her usual hand-knit cardigan and a smile that belied her sharp tongue.
“Joy, dear,” Mrs. Fuller called, “have you had a chance to look for my casserole dish yet? The one I sent over after your…incident.”
Incident.
Joy’s stomach tightened. She forced a polite smile and crossed to Mrs. Fuller’s table. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fuller. Things have been a little hectic, but I’ll get it back to you soon. Promise.”
Mrs. Fuller patted Joy’s hand. “No rush, dear. Just wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost in the shuffle.”
Joy nodded, her hands trembling as she moved to the next table. She told herself it was the coffeepot—not the wave of panic rising in her chest. The casseroles had been a kind gesture from the community, a tangible sign of support in the wake of the attack. But every time Joy thought about them, she was transported back to that night.
