I hit the first stoplight out by the old feed store, finger tapping the wheel. The sun’s glaring off the windshield, and the heater might be blowing cold air, but hey, at least I’m not on fire. So, you know. Progress.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder.
I grab it without thinking. One-handed, reckless. Add it to the list.
Sal:Hey, you left town, right? Because there’s been some drama at your apartment. A break-in or something. I heard from Bex.
Oh god.
Sal and Bex, my old neighbors and colleagues. They know better than anyone what I’m leaving behind.
I stare at the screen, pulse thudding in my ears. My stomach drops.
Lo:I’m gone. Was it… him?
Sal:Probably. I mean, who else…?
The light turns green. I don’t move.
At least no one knows about here, right? Not a single soul in my life outside of this town knows I’m from here. I was always vague. New York, sometimes Chicago.
I’ll be safe here, at least for a while. Which is something I never thought I’d say about Honeysuckle Grove.
CHAPTER 6
Hayes
Mornings in Honeysuckle Grove always smell of cinnamon and freshly baked bread.
The square’s buzzing, more than usual, even for Winterfest week. People are milling around in those “Honeysuckle Strong” shirts Levi Cruz handed out last winter, the ones that shrink in the wash and make everyone look like they’re stuffed into pastel sausages.
Someone’s arguing about parking.
Someone else is playing the accordion. Loudly. Off-key.
I love this weird town. God help me.
I’ve got a clipboard tucked under one arm and a crumpled granola bar wrapper in my pocket because breakfast didn’t happen. Again. Too many meetings this morning, budget updates, mayoral hand-wringing about parade logistics, and three separate calls about who gets to sit closest to the ice sculpture at the Gala.
Spoiler: no one cares. Except Sylvia Hammond. Who cares deeply.
I round the corner by the florist when something, or rather,someone, crashes into me.
Reflex kicks in. I reach out, arms steady, and catch them before they can fall.
And suddenly, the world stops spinning.
Because it’s her.
Lo Marsh.
In the flesh.
In my arms.
And for a moment, that’s all there is.
The crowd fades. The town disappears. Even the accordion dies down. Or maybe I’ve just gone deaf from shock. Honestly, either seems likely.
