Everyone turned toward her, and she managed a small wave that felt awkward and insufficient. A few people said,“Hi, Emily.” Then the silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable.
Sally stepped forward, her smile as natural as breathing. “Emily, I’ve been meaning to ask. What brought you to Starlight Shores? We don’t get many visitors this early in the season.”
The question was innocent enough, but Emily’s mind raced through possible answers. The truth was too complicated and too raw. She settled for something vague and hopefully believable. “I needed somewhere quiet to work. The lighthouse cottages seemed perfect.”
“What kind of work do you do?” someone asked from across the circle.
“I’m an… artist.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. Was she still an artist if she hadn’t touched a brush in months?
Melissa’s voice cut through her spiral of doubt. “Creative work requires solitude. You can’t produce anything meaningful when you’re constantly interrupted.”
She glanced at her, surprised by the unexpected support. Melissa’s expression remained indifferent, but she didn’t look away.
Emily nodded. “That’s true. Sometimes you need space to figure out what you’re trying to say.”
“Or remember why you wanted to say it in the first place,” Melissa added quietly.
A moment of understanding passed between them.
Clint stood across the circle, his beer halfway to his mouth. He lowered it slowly, his gaze moving between Emily and Melissa with what looked like genuine interest rather than his usual guardedness.
The conversation shifted to safer topics. She heard snippets of discussion about the upcoming Harbor Festival, concerns about coastal erosion, and someone’s recent fishing expedition. She let the voices wash over her, grateful to fade back into the crowd’s periphery. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly as attention moved elsewhere.
Gradually, the gathering began to disperse. People drifted toward the food table for final helpings or stood in small clusters finishing conversations. The energy shifted from communal to intimate as the crowd broke into smaller, more natural groupings.
Sally wrapped Winnie in a warm embrace near the fire pit. “Same time next week?”
“Of course. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for always making space for us.” Sally pulled back, her eyes bright with affection. “This place has always been special because of you.”
Emily watched the exchange from her position near the food table. That easy intimacy, the history between them evident in every gesture, was beautiful and painful all at once. She’d had friendships like that in Chicago. People she’d known for years, shared meals with, and trusted completely. Until the scandal hit, and those same people stopped returning her calls.
Sally waved goodbye to the remaining guests and headed toward the parking area. Others followed her lead, offering thanks to Winnie and friendly farewells to neighbors. The courtyard emptied in comfortable waves until only a handful of people remained.
Clint emerged from Driftwood Cottage with a large plastic bin and began collecting empty bottles and stray plates. His movements were efficient, like someone who’d done this routine countless times. Winnie joined him with another container, and they worked in tandem without needing to coordinate.
Winnie stacked paper plates. “You don’t have to do that tonight. It can wait until morning.”
“Takes five minutes now.” Clint dumped bottles into the recycling bin with a satisfying clatter. “Besides, you know you’ll be out here at dawn if I don’t.”
“I would not.”
He smiled. “You absolutely would. Remember last month when you tried to move that table by yourself?”
Winnie waved a dismissive hand. “That table was lighter than it looked.”
“It took three of us to carry it out here in the first place.”
Their easy rapport was evident in every exchange. The way Clint anticipated what Winnie needed before she asked, and the way she accepted his help without making him feel like he was hovering. She felt a pang of longing for that kind of comfortable connection.
Melissa shifted beside her, drawing Emily’s attention back to their corner near the food table. They’d somehow ended up as the last non-family members in the courtyard, two women who’d spent the evening hiding in plain sight.
“Well,” Melissa said after a moment, “that wasn’t completely terrible.”
Emily managed a small laugh. “High praise.”
Melissa’s expression softened slightly. “I mean it. I expected worse. Thanks for showing up. Made it easier having someone else who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.”
