“Sloane plays violin.”
Brighton nodded, but as they got closer, coming to a stop in front of the porch, Sloane and her friends came into clearer focus.
Crystal-clear, high-definition, familiar focus.
“Adele,” she said, her heart creeping into her throat as her friend put the car in park. “Is…is Sloane in a string quartet?”
“Yeah,” Adele said, turning off the car. “They’re actually kind of a big deal, but god, don’t tell her I said so. I don’t get any of it, really.”
Brighton didn’t respond, her mouth suddenly dry. The woman who had to be Sloane—the woman Brighton had seen dozens of times on Instagram, warm-brown skin and soft curls around her face—ran around the car to Adele’s side, all but hauling Adele out of the car and hugging her. Soon Adele was surrounded by her mom and sister, laughter and exclamations about new glasses and longer braids echoing in Brighton’s ears.
She had to move.
She knew she did.
Or did she? She could simply stay in the car all season. Sounded plausible. Adele could bring her food and water and blankets. She’d just keep the engine running for heat, refill the gas tank in town every few days. It would be fine.
Totally possible.
She peeked out the window again, gauging where the person in the black hat had ended up. She spotted her by the front porch steps, quietly standing apart from the others with the dog still by her side.
Lola had always wanted a dog. Brighton’s family had had cats—still did, Luna and Hazel—but as a kid, Lola had stoppedto pet every dog they met on the sidewalks or on the beach. Her mom had never let her get one—too loud and needy and extroverted—and Brighton had always suspected Lola really wanted one for those very reasons.
A companion for when the nights got too long living with her mother, the days too quiet in her pristine lake house.
Lola.
HerLola.
It couldn’t be…
But it was. She was here, and Brighton had no clue what to do. It didn’t seem like she’d noticed Brighton quite yet, but that would change the moment Brighton moved. The earth would tip on its axis, reverse orbit.
Adele shut the driver’s-side door, then rapped on the window with her knuckle, urging Brighton out of the car. Brighton’s fingers curled into the worn leather of her bag as she breathed…
And breathed…
And breathed…
Finally, she managed to move her fingers to the handle…pull it—the soft release of the door opening was a bomb exploding. She froze, glancing up at the woman in the black hat, still hoping she’d hallucinated the whole thing. But no, she—Lola—was watching Nina Berry flock around Adele and Sloane with a sort of wonder spilling across her expression.
Brighton stayed still, giving herself this moment to take in her former best friend.
Former girlfriend, former fiancée.
Former everything.
God, she was gorgeous. Always had been—that dark-and-silver hair, that full red mouth, eyes light-brown and always soperceptive, noticing things no one else ever did. Brighton felt her own eyes start to fill, themissingshe hadn’t let herself feel in years flooding back in like a river into a dry valley.
She shook her head. Had to get it together. Had to. It was either that or live in this rental, possibly becoming a headline in Winter River’s local paper, and she’d rather not sully Nina Berry’s good name.
One leg…then the next. She looped her bag around her body, clicked the car door shut as quietly as possible. Maybe she could make a run for it, duck her head and yell about a bathroom emergency, one that would keep her in her room for the next…week.
She was fucked.
She stood still, a statue—just wrap some Christmas lights around her and call it a day—and waited for the apocalypse. Seconds passed, whole lifetimes it felt like, until—
“Brighton!”
