Time to play nice.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound casual. Not like someone who just overheard her name dropped like a warning.
Sam looks up from his plate, and when he sees me, he smiles. Not the guarded kind, either. This one’s soft, like he’s genuinely glad I’m still standing.
“Morning.”
The sound of it curls somewhere low in my chest, damn him.
Phern, already seated at his left, offers a grunt. It’s not quite hostile, but definitely not friendly either.
I slide into the seat on his right and suddenly the big table between us feels more like a battlefield. The smell of eggs and toast drifts up, but I can’t taste anything through the knot in my throat.
The silence is heavy, thick with everything unsaid.
Sam pushes a mug toward me. “Coffee?”
“God, yes.” I grab it with both hands like it’s the only solid thing in the room.
He chuckles under his breath, and that brief sound cuts through the tension like a sliver of light. But it doesn’t last.
Phern busies herself with her food, but I can feel her watching me from the corner of her eye. Judging. Calculating. Waiting for me to slip.
And honestly? She’s not wrong to. Because I am lying.And I’m sitting right between the two people I lied to. No pressure.
The scrape of Phern’s fork against her plate is the only sound for a few long seconds. She chews slowly, deliberately, before setting it down with a soft clink that somehow echoes louder than it should.
“So, Charlotte,” she says, cutting right through the silence.
I glance up, mug halfway to my lips.
She smiles, but it’s the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You said you’re on vacation?”
I nod slowly, forcing a neutral tone. “Yeah. Thought I’d get out of LA for a bit. Recharge.”
“In a town with one gas station, no airport, and zero cell reception,” she muses, reaching for her own mug. “You must really hate people.”
I let out a dry laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Crowds aren’t really my thing.”
“Hm.” She sips her coffee, watching me over the rim like a hawk. “And you just happened to end up right outside our driveway. In a storm. After previously writing heinous pieces about my brother.”
The air stills. Even the fire crackling in the hearth sounds quieter.
Sam doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me, but I feel every ounce of his attention.
My mouth goes dry.
“I swear I’m not here to cause trouble. And I had no idea it was going to storm like that. If I had, do you really think I’d driven into flood waters in a Prius wearing leggings and a t-shirt?”
“You’re here for a story. Just admit it.”
I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“God. You people make me sick. You ran him out of Nashville and now you’re chasing him down here? Should we prepare for more? Peeping Tom’s with cameras who look through our windows?”
Sam exhales through his nose. It’s subtle, not quite a sigh, but close. And he says, “Phern.”
“Whatever.” Phern pushes back from the table and stands. “Enjoy your eggs.”
