Chapter
One
April Evans knewshe was prone to astrological panic.
She’d always put a lot of stock in the stars, knew when some planet’s position was messing with everyone’s communication skills, and had three different zodiac-themed tattoos. Still, she’d like to thinkpanicwas the wrong word, despite what her parents would say about it. She was simply dealing with at least twenty complicated feelings at any given time, just like any triple Scorpio.
But right now, as she stood in her own driveway and handed her house keys over to a divorced MILF with shiny brown hair named Trudy while her two kids poked their fingers through the holes of April’s cat carriers, April definitely felt a sense of astrological doom.
“So garbage day is on Monday,” she said to Trudy, even though these sorts of details were posted on the refrigerator. “And if you have any trouble with that hallway bathroom faucet, just shoot me a text.”
“Perfect,” Trudy said, tucking the keys into her linen shorts. “I know the kids and I are going to love summering here. Your house is adorable. So eclectic!”
April smiled without her teeth, her eyes gazing up at heradmittedly adorable mint-green bungalow. She’d bought it nearly eight years ago, the first year her tattoo shop made a profit, and now she was a landlord, renting it out to a Clover Lake summer person for the next three months because she could no longer afford her mortgage.
She looked at her houseplants on the front porch, which Trudy had promised to water, but had a sinking feeling in her gut they’d all be dried out and brown by August.
Just like her life.
Okay, fine, that was dramatic, but in her defense, her horoscope for the last month had been nothing but darkness and gloom, words likechangeandriskanddecisionsconstantly floating before her eyes. She shivered, thinking of Madame Andromeda’s declaration about her life just this very morning.
Lately, you’ve been feeling small and overlooked. For a Scorpio, this is unfamiliar territory. So this week, try to view challenges as bright new opportunities to grow—there is always something beautiful hiding in the unexpected.
She was fucking tired ofunexpected. And while she was a devout believer in Andromeda’s clairvoyant insights, this proclamation was simply a sugarcoated way of saying,Buckle up, bitch.
And she’d really, really rather not.
“Mommy, can’t we keep the kitties?” one of Trudy’s kids asked. The smaller one—named Coltrane or Copeland or something else that sounded like a jazz musician’s last name—pressed their face against the carrier’s door. Bianca del Kitty, April’s grouchy lynx point Siamese cat she’d had for seven years and who was named for one of April’s favorite drag queens, hissed, while Bob the Drag Cat, her beloved orange dumb-dumb and thenamesake of another incredible queen, lounged in his own carrier like he was at a spa.
“I don’t think so, honey,” Trudy said, but then lifted her eyebrows at April. “Any chance you need a couple of cat sitters for the summer?” She placed a hand on top of each of her children’s heads. “They’d take good care of them.”
April pressed a hand to her chest, appalled. This woman had taken her house—granted, April had freely offered it to her—but she would not take her fucking cats.
They were literally all she had at this point.
Two cats, one broken-down business, and a partridge in a pear tree.
In reality, she knew she had a lot more than that, like disapproving parents and a failed engagement and a best friend who lived three thousand miles away and hadn’t responded to her last four texts. And let’s not forget a love life that made her want to drill a hole through her skull. Adduncertain financial futureto the list, and she was a veritable cornucopia of success.
“I’m good, thanks,” she said as calmly as she could, then said a quick goodbye before she could addvictim of catnappingto her list of accolades. She grabbed both carrier handles and hauled them to her ten-year-old turquoise MINI Cooper, which was already stuffed to overflowing. She didn’t look at her house as she backed out of the driveway, nor did she mentally acknowledge the lump rising in her throat. And she definitely didn’t glance at Wonderlust Ink as she drove through downtown, her tattoo shop, which she’d only just closed four weeks ago.
Permanently.
She’d been fighting against the decision for over a year. Just six months ago, she’d let Mac go—her only employee, who was now working at a fancy shop in Concord—but that had hardly fixed April’s financial woes. A small town like Clover Lake had only somany regular clients, and the summer crowd was no longer keeping her in the black. She’d lived in the red for the last two years, but when she started struggling to pay for high-quality ink and other crucial supplies, she knew it was time to throw in the proverbial towel.
So, about a month ago, she’d referred her regulars to Mac, flipped the sign toClosedon her shop door, and proceeded to spend the next week on her couch eating jalapeño Cheetos and trying to will Paris and Rory fromGilmore Girlsto kiss.
Needless to say, they never smashed, and April had to face the reality of her situation, which was how she ended up renting out her home, packing her bags for the summer, and taking a job teaching art classes at Cloverwild, the ritzy new resort opening in just a few days on the north shore. The position came with room and board—a tiny lakeside cabin complete with a cabinmate—and the owner, Mia Gallagher, had asked absolutely zero questions about April’s suddenly wide-open summer schedule and need for housing when she’d applied.
April hadn’t exactly told anyone about closing her business. Not her parents; not her best friend, Ramona. Only Bianca and Bob knew her secrets, and they weren’t talking. In Clover Lake, it was only a matter of time before the news broke, but she’d like to maintain her dignity as long as possible.
She pulled into a parking spot in front of Clover Moon Café, then stepped out into the warm June sunshine. The New Hampshire weather wouldn’t get truly hot until July, so she cracked the windows, promised Bianca and Bob she’d only be a second, then ducked into the café for some coffee. She’d already enjoyed one cup this morning in her quaint kitchen, soaking up the way the pale sunlight streamed through her vintage-style windows for the last time, but she needed another hit to get through this day.
She stepped inside, the bell over the door dinging, and took in the familiar vibe of Clover Moon, all rustic wood, navy and greenaccents, and mismatched chairs. She slid onto a barstool and smiled at the owner, Owen—a bald man in his late forties covered in tattoos, a lot of which April had done herself.
“Usual latte, please,” April said. “Oat milk if you’ve got it.”
“I’ve got it,” he said, wiping down the counter in front of her. “Triple?”
