Jessica is wiping her eyes, still giggling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—you were being so romantic and then?—”
“And then I got attacked by a bird and licked by a dog. Yes. Very romantic.”
“It’s kind of perfect, actually.”
She’s glowing in the sunrise light, hair wild, eyes bright with laughter. There’s sand on her cardigan, and she’s looking at me like I’m ridiculous and wonderful and maybe, possibly, worth knowing.
Jack is slowly backing away. “I’m just going to... Scout, come on. Let’s give them...yeah. Nice seeing you both. Good luck with the, uh, bird situation.”
He disappears up the beach, Scout bounding after him, and then it’s just us again. Me, Jessica, and the ghost of Sigmund’s disapproval.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I agree.
The laughter is fading, and something more serious is taking its place. She opens her mouth—probably to finally ask the question—but I can’t let her.
If she asks, I’m just answering. If I tell her first, I’m choosing to be brave. It was my idea in the first place.
“Wait,” I say. “Before you ask whatever you came here to ask—I need to say something.”
She closes her mouth. Waits.
I take a breath. The deepest breath of my life.
“I’m Coastal Quill.”
Jessica goes very still.
“The letters,” I continue, before I can lose my nerve. “The correspondence program. Coastal Quill—that’s me. I’ve been writing to you for months. And I knew. I knew it was you the whole time. I figured it out a few weeks ago. I knew you were Between the Lines and I should have told you immediately but I was scared and I’m telling you now because you just told me about insurance claims and manila folders and David and you were so brave and I can’t—I can’t let you be braver than me anymore. That’s why I asked you to come here today.”
I’m rambling, but I can’t stop.
“But that’s not all. I’m also—I’m V. Langley. The author. The one whose books you’ve been reviewing for years. The one you said lost his authenticity. The one who kicked you off his ARC team because your review destroyed me even though you were completely right.” I’m standing now, hands spread like I’m surrendering. “I’m all of them. The landlord, the pen pal, the author. Three people who are actually just one very scared man who’s been hiding from you because I was terrified that if you saw all of me at once, you’d?—”
“Stop.”
I obey.
Jessica is staring at me. Her face is unreadable.
“I was about to ask you,” she says quietly. “I was going to ask if you were Coastal Quill.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. The timing. The things you said that matched things he wrote.” She laughs, but it’s hollow. “I spent all of book club last night listening to my friends analyze the evidence.”
“I’m sorry I stole your moment.”
“Don’t.” Her voice hardens. “Don’t make jokes right now.”
“I’m not?—”
“Youknew.” The words explode out of her. “You knew I was Between the Lines. You knew we were exchanging letters—that I was telling you things I’ve never toldanyone—and you didn’t tell me?”
“I was trying to find the right time?—”
“Theright time?” She stands abruptly, backing away from the log. “I told you about David in those letters, Scott. I told you about the insurance job. About feeling impractical and stupid and unworthy. I told you things I just told youagainfive minutes ago because I didn’t know you’d already heard them!” Her voice breaks. “Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?”
