Morgan tilts her head, that faux-sympathetic smile stretching wider. “Oh, come on, Lyla, give us something. I’m sure your listeners would love a little insight into—”
“I’m seeing someone,” I say, before I can stop myself.
The words land between us like a dropped glass; too loud, too sharp.
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh? Well, then. Look at that! So who’s the lucky guy?”
I should say no one they know. I should pick a fake name, some vague description of a man from “out of town.”
But my gaze snags across the room, past Colton and his glittering fiancée, to the thought of a man who’s been under my skin since I was a teenager. Broad shoulders, always bent over a toolbox. Storm-gray eyes that could pin you to the spot.
“Damien Lawson,” I hear myself say.
Morgan’s phone jerks slightly, like my words just threw her off balance. “Wait—Colton’s brother?”
“Yes,” I say, steadying my tone. “We’ve been… seeing each other.”
She recovers fast, a spark lighting behind her eyes. “That’s—wow. Quite a story. Do you think the two of you might be willing to do an interview as a couple?”
I laugh lightly, trying to make it sound casual. “We’ll see. He’s not exactly the media type.”
Morgan is grinning now, already backing up to get a wider shot of me. “Oh, this is juicy! Makes sense that he’s back after all this time. I’m sure everyone is looking forward to seeing the two of you. Thank you, Lyla.”
As she moves away, I feel the first real drop in my stomach.
Across the room, Colton is looking straight at me. His expression is warm. And it’s probably because he hasn’t yet heard the fake bomb I just dropped.
I turn back to my table, my pulse loud in my ears. Maybe I can still spin this. Maybe it won’t spread.
Oh, who am I kidding? This is Mariner’s Bluff. Where the only thing better than the fishing is the town gossip. And Morgan Price lives for moments like this.
By the time I’m out the door, the adrenaline is fading, replaced by the sick certainty that Damien is going to hear about it probably before I even make it home.
I make it three steps toward the door before I hear it… my name, carried on a tide of whispers.
“…did she say Damien Lawson?”
“Colton’s brother—”
“After everything?”
I feel bile rising into my throat, but I keep moving, smile fixed just enough to get me past the volunteer at the entrance, who chirps, “Have a great night, Ms. Hart!”
The blast of cold air outside is a slap. It’s only fall, but the cold is descending quickly. My fingers start to freeze as I dig for my keys, fumbling them twice before I can get the car door open. I glance back through the window of the community center and catch Colton still watching me, his arm looped around his fiancée’s waist like a claim.
It’s not just that I said it. It’s that Morgan Price was recording. By now, she’s probably uploaded it to her socials with some headline likeLyla Hart Moves On… With Colton’s Brother. The town will eat it alive. And I want nothing more than to just rewind the last fifteen minutes of my existence.
And Damien?Good lord, what was I thinking?
He was never the kind of guy who liked being the center of attention, and I just painted a bull’s-eye right on his back.
My mind races through the possible ways this could go: he laughs it off, calls me crazy, tells the whole town it’s a lie. Or worse, he says nothing and lets me live in the agony of facing them myself and fessing up.
But whatever happens, I just can’t let him hear it from someone else. I need to get ahead of it… and fast.
The engine on my old car coughs to life, headlights sweeping over the street as I pull out. My hands are tight on the wheel, pulse loud in my ears, as I aim the car across town.
By the time I hit our street, I’m rehearsing my explanation just long enough to realize there’s no version that makes me look sane.
