We fall quiet.
I try to shove away catastrophic thoughts.
Sloane, breathe. They said everything’s fine.
Needing something—anything—to shift my brain out of panic mode, I grab my tablet. I need frivolity. Chaos. Gossip. Something that doesn’t involve the emotional stability of my family.
I open the local press roundup from the Elm Hollow Gazette.
I was hoping for an apple pie recipe.
Instead, the universe bitch-slaps me across the face.
Coffee goes down the wrong pipe.
I choke violently.
“Sloane? Are you okay?” Mom stands quickly, alarmed—then curious once she realizes I’m not dying. “What happened? Did they cancel the pumpkin fair?”
I can’t speak.
I turn the screen toward her with a trembling finger.
The headline takes up half the page.
#ElmHollowSpotted
The Elm Hollow Gazette
??Front Page Headline
“Weather Alert: Unseasonal Heatwave on Main Street”
BREAKING NEWS: The Testosterone Five spotted among lace and satin
My mother reads.
Then she sees the photo.
Then she looks at me.
And the melancholy mystery from five minutes ago evaporates—replaced by a wicked sparkle I know far too well.
“Oh,” she murmurs, lips curving. “Interesting shopping choice for your… ‘client.’”
“It’s a disaster!” I explode, snatching the tablet back. “What the hell is he doing? He’s supposed to be in image rehab! He’s supposed to keep a low profile! Not go lingerie shopping with the ‘Elm Hollow Beefcake Brigade’ like he’s in some kind of movie!”
My mother giggles softly.
She refills her tea without taking her eyes off me.
“Well, sweetheart, I admit that ‘easy to take off’ isn’t exactly monk-adjacent behavior. But you have to admit—he has good taste. That bodysuit is gorgeous.”
“That’s not the point!”
Heat rushes up my neck.
“The point is he’s ruining the strategy! And—”
