I blinked. Even though I’d been coming to town more often in the past few weeks, and people were being marginally friendlier, likely trusting that Julian wasn’t dating a serial killer, I’d never encountered someone so… very… aggressivelyfriendly.
I looked at Ash for help, but he just shruggedhelplessly.
“Um. Thanks?” Isaid.
Marta nodded. “Have you thought about an Instagram page? You two could be internetfamous!”
“An Instagram page? For what?” I felt my eyes go wide and I had to swallow against a wave of panic. I’d had an Instagram back in my past life that I’d deleted a long while back. I’d posted shots of my breakfast, my workouts, my novel covers, and whatever outfit of the day Ingrid had chosen for me—making sure everyone had a glimpse of my picture-perfect life, even as it had been unravelling. Was Instagram PTSD a thing? If so, I hadit.
“Sure! You know, about you and Julian. As acouple.”
I frowned. “An Instagram about us as a couple. Just famous for being acouple?”
Poppy rolled her eyes. “A lot of people do it. And I know, because Marta follows and re-posts all ofthem.”
“And I would totally follow you, too.” Marta’s grin was radioactive-bright.
“Well. That’s. Um.” Was there a polite way to sayfuckno?
“Probably never going to happen, because some of us value privacy and don’t need the entire world to know our business,” Cal said from behind thecounter.
“Oh, Cal,” Marta said, grinning. “You’readorable.”
“Anyway,” Poppy interjected. “We’ve gotta get these over to the Scarlet Maple. Marta’s sister’s ‘surprise’bridal shower starts in an hour, and she’ll have our heads if we’re late.” Poppy rolled her eyes. “If you get married, do yourself a favor andelope.”
I nodded. I’d learned thatlesson.
“Tell Julian we say hi!” Marta called over her shoulder as she walked away. “Oh, and tell him I’ll be bringing Pansy in for her checkup nextweek!”
“He’s not Julian’s receptionist,” I heard Poppy hiss, their voices fading as they reached the sidewalk. “I think they have better shit to talk about than your cat,honey.”
Huh. “Was that weird?” I demanded, stepping closer to the register as Ash put my boxes on the counter. “I’m not used to small-town people, it’s true, but that feltweird.”
“Like someone was overly invested in your personal life on the basis of a thirty-second acquaintanceship?” Ash said. His lips turned down in an exaggerated frown and he shook his head. “Nah. Nothing unusual with that, is there,babe?”
“Nope. Welcome to O’Leary,” Cal muttered. “That seemed weirdis practically our townmotto.”
“Oh, Cal,” Ash sing-songed, wrapping his arms around Cal from behind. “You’re soadorable.”
Cal raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “Is this you being cute? Are you attempting to be cute rightnow?”
Ash laughed and squeezed. “Is itworking?”
“You’re cuter when you don’t try.” Cal glanced at me. “You look shell-shocked, Daniel. O’Leary’s a bit much to get usedto.”
“You look like a guy who could use some caffeine,” Ash said. He stepped away from Cal and pointed me to one of the spindly little tables that lined the front of the bakery. “Grab a seat and I’ll bring you acoffee.”
The place was adorably picturesque—the kind of homey look people used professional designers to achieve back in Manhattan, but this place looked authentic. The smells of vanilla and cinnamon seemed baked into the walls. I could see myself writing in here, setting up my laptop on one of the tables by thewindow.
I could also see someone like Marta standing behind me, reading over my shoulder, with zero sense of personal space or boundaries, so maybe I was better sitting on the sofa athome.
At least I’d been writing again. After months and months where my well of ideas had run dry and I’d honestly wondered if I’d used up my lifetime’s allotment of words by age thirty-three, I’d finally cracked my laptop open a few weeks ago. And it had been Julian, of course, who’d given me the inspiration. Julian… and Shane Goode, the sleeper serialkiller.
The story Julian had told me, the picture he’d painted, of Molly Burke and her brother Jamie, of a teenage romance between Molly and Shane, and later of the horrible crimes Shane had committed in the name of love had fascinated thehellout of me. The ideas had bubbled up inside me one night until I couldn’t sleep until I’d gotten out of bed, dug my laptop out of the closet, and written an entire outline for a book. And the words had freakinpouredonto the page, maybe because I knew I’d never be showing them to anyone else and they didn’t have to be perfect. In the absence of fear and disappointment, my creativity had re-emerged.
And I’d set my story in O’Leary, of allplaces.
The bell over the door jangled and a few leaves flew in along with one very wind-blown veterinarian. “Goodness. It’s a monsoon out there,” he told Ash, smoothing his hair with his hand as he walked to thecounter.
