Her phone.
“You really should put your phone behind the counter. Someone is going to swipe it and run one of these days,” I say.
She scrunches her face. “Nah, small town. Where would they run to?”
I laugh, and she presses her jaw to my cheek. “Thank you for keeping my brother company. He needed it more than he knows.”
I can’t breathe.
Now tears flood my eyes, welling for all to see.
She pulls me into her arms instantly. “We are dead serious when we say this place is your home, Evie. Make sure you don’t forget that.”
I shake my head furiously.
When both of us are blubbering like babies, we part.
“We better keep moving if you’re going to catch the last bus, Miss Evie.” Em shoots Iris a look, something like a tangle of sadness and gratitude.
“Of course.” I give Iris one last look.
She tilts her head as she watches us go. On the sidewalk, I blow out a low, wobbly breath.
God, this is so hard.
Ten minutes later, Em pulls into the bus terminal. He kills the engine on his truck and jumps out, grabbing my bag. “You want me to walk with you?”
“No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything.”
He gives me one last tight hug and nods. Pulling his cap down, he climbs back up into his truck and drives away.
I wander through the terminal and find my bus number before scouting out a spot to sit. Only three minutes until call. I pull out my phone and shoot Allie a text.
Coming back today, you want to eat at Murphy’s?
My phone buzzes.
OMG! Yes! It’s been at least twenty years, girl.
I chuckle. It kind of feels like I lived a lifetime on that little island. Or maybe it’s all that happened. It’s weighted heavier because it mattered, it meant so much more than anything else I’ve ever lived through.
The speaker overhead crackles with a static-laced call for the city. I stand, pulling the handle of my rolling bag up, and head for my ticket away from Bay Shore. Away from Fire Island. Away from Callum McCreary.
Toward my life . . .
My career.
The author life I have worked years for. The only thing I have wanted since I was young.
So why do I feel so damn hollow?
Livvy glances from the last page of the manuscript up to me. I’m a bundle of nerves, knowing all too well that the work she has in her hands is not what she wanted to see. Not what I was contracted to write.
Gripping the armrests of the chair I sit restlessly on, I hold my breath, worrying my bottom lip through my teeth.
Finally placing the pages down, she takes her time straightening them. She clears her throat, leaning back in her chair before her hands land in her lap.
“Well,that”—she nods to the manuscript—“is not what I was expecting.”
