“This was taken by her ex?” Dean asks.
“I’m guessing so,” I say. “The one inside must have been shot by a pap. This was probably shot by her ex. He’s into food photography, so I guess he knows his way around a camera. And then he dropped it online because he was pissed she’s not helping him get an intro for his restaurant.”
Dean runs a hand over the back of his neck as I tell him about last night’s encounter. “This is such a mess.”
Then his phone beeps, and he checks it, groaning heavily. “What is it?” I ask, though it feels like putting my finger in the fire.
He waves his phone like he wants to chuck it. “I just got an email from Webflix. The meeting is canceled. They’re looking elsewhere for security.”
I fucked up everything.
44
A LITTLE GESTURE
RIPLEY
Think, Ripley, think.
If this had happened to Haven, what would you do?
I’d find a way to fix it. That’s what I do—fix problems. I need to focus on that instead of freaking out and pacing the lavender fields, unable to do any of my work. All I can do is stare at these pictures of us on my phone.
As soon as Dean appeared, I left the cottage and rushed to the house, finding my grandma in the kitchen, staring at her phone and the pictures her bestie had sent her. And before Grandma left for her in-person French class, she showed the snaps to me.
My heart sank like an anchor to the ocean floor as I read the captions. I owe so many explanations to so many people—starting with my sister.
But first, I need to deal with the man. With Grandma gone to her class, I head for the store before it opens, Hudson trottingalongside me. Inside the shop, I FaceTime Chloe rather than text. She’s up already, walking dogs, and sounds concerned when she answers. When I tell her it’s an emergency, she patches in Bridget.
My pulse spikes with worry. Wasting no time, I tell them about the pictures, and then about Banks’s partner showing up unexpectedly this morning. “What do I do?”
Bridget’s been putting on makeup, and she stops, furrows her brow, foundation brush in hand. “Why doyouhave to do something?”
“Because it’s a mess. Becausehisbusiness partner showed up. And, well, Banks never wanted him to know about us while we were working together. While he was protecting me.” I feel guilty all over as I admit the full scope of the sneaking around. “Banks was always the one who risked the most. And I feel awful.”
“But why doyouhave to fix it?” Bridget asks again.
This seems like a trick question.
“Why do you keep asking me that?” I fire back.
“Just answer,” she says, loving but firm.
I huff out a harsh breath. “Because I’m fucking in love with him, okay?” I blurt out and my god, that hurt. Like ripping a jagged stone from my chest.
And my asshole friends just smile. Both of them. “Good,” Bridget says, her peach lipstick shiny.
Chloe grins too. “I’m proud of you, Ripley.”
Up is down. Black is white. “Why are you smiling? Why are you proud of me? This is awful.”
“It is. But it’s also amazing that you fell in love. Especially when you were convinced you never would again,” Chloe says as the sunrises above her, its light mocking me, like it’s bringing all my mistakes into the day.
And they may be right, but what good did falling in love do? “It’s a mess. And I need to fix it. I have to,” I say, desperation driving me on.
Bridget’s smile disappears. Once her expression turns serious, she says, “Well, there’s one thing you could do.”
She tells me, and it sounds awful. My chest squeezes painfully at her suggestion. But I also know she’s probably right.
