Fog rolled in from the deep ocean, low and heavy, swallowing the horizon. Below my window, I could hear the hum of volunteers already stringing the last of the paper lanterns across Main Street. I watched a cluster of them walk down the alley and turn the corner, arms braced on the sill, trying to decide if I still lived here.
From somewhere across the street came the faint, buzzing chaos of Fallfest—hammering, laughter, a band from the high school already warming up. The Cove never seemed to rest.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Seventeen unread messages. I silenced it without checking.
Outside, a gull screamed. Inside, my reflection blinked back at me on my screen—pale, wrinkled pajama shirt, hair in the same low bun from Serena’s wedding. I’d fallen asleep without washing the liner from my eyelids. My mascara left twin bruisesbeneath my eyes, further highlighting the dark circles exposed by the faded concealer.
I pressed a hand to my chest. The ache was softer now, but it hadn’t gone.
After a shower and a fresh set of clothing—the last left unpacked—I feltvaguelylike a new woman.
Downstairs, Captain’s Table was a blur of apple cider and clinking utensils and conversation. My mother moved behind the counter, pen marks littering her hands, red-faced as she poured what appeared to be the thousandth coffee of the morning. Her hair was half up, half everywhere.
“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” she greeted without looking up. “You missed breakfast rush. We ran out of apple cider pancakes, but we’ve still got regular. Hungry?”
I slid onto a stool. “Starving.”
She grinned faintly, then glanced over. Her expression softened. “Rough night?”
I didn’t answer right away. The roar of noise around me pressed into my skull and made it hard to focus. I rubbed my temples and gratefully accepted a glass of ice water from her.
“She looked happy,” I said finally. “Serena.”
“The kind of happy that breaks your heart a little?”
“Yeah.”
She ripped a piece of paper from her pad and hung it in the kitchen window. “You did what you could, darlin’. People choose what they think will hurt least. Sometimes, it’s the wrong thing.”
“I can’t say if she chose wrong,” I murmured. “Just… not what I would’ve.”
We stood there for a while, my mother reaching forward to pat my hand. She looked better today. It could’ve just been because she was in the place she loved. Or maybe, after all these years, we were finallyseeingeach other.
The bell above the door rang almost inaudibly above the crush of conversation and tinkling ceramic.
“Hey,” Georgie said in my ear, making me nearly jump out of my seat. She wore the black Bluebell Cove volunteer shirt we designed especially for Fallfest, barely visible beneath a puffy jacket. I had no idea how she was so clear-eyed and overflowing with energy. “Ready for Fallfest?” she added with a clap and a little shimmy.
I groaned. “Can we keep the sudden noises to a minimum?”
Georgie laughed, hopping onto the stool beside me. “I take it you didn’t sleep any better last night,” she quipped.
Truthfully, I slept like the dead. It was something else souring my mood—a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed problem that refused to vacate my thoughts.
“Hey there Georgette,” my mother greeted, pouring a coffee for us both from a fresh pot.
I knocked it back, ignoring the burn and the acrid taste. Hopefully the solution to a caffeine hangover wasmorecaffeine.
When my mother left to take an order, I cleared my throat. “I, uh. Need to tell you something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I booked a flight.”
Georgie went to rip open a sugar packet and paused mid-air. “A flight?”
“To New York.”
Georgie blinked at me, then dropped her sugar packet, shooting a tiny spray of white granules across the terrazzo. “So you’re gonna ghost your own life again, huh?” Her tone was light and teasing, but I heard the edge.
