I take a sip of coffee, then a bite of pancake, and close my eyes for a second.
“Colson,” I groan seriously, “This is so good.”
He beams at me and my soul seems to jolt back into place. Colson feels like a key piece in coming back to myself.
We’recleaningupaftera slow breakfast. Another pot of coffee is brewing in the French press. I open the fridge to grab some cream, and when I close it, I notice there’s a short list on the door that seems like a new addition. I’m guessing it’s a woman’s handwriting and a few bullet points.
“What’s this list for?” I ask.
Colson sighs and then says, “Found it. I think it was some of the things my mom wanted to do when I came up here in the summer. Just—” He rubs his face with his hands. “Never got thechance.”
My heart. It hurts.
I reach for his hand and hold it. “Well, looks like we have some work to do.”
Colson nods, threatening a smile but doesn’t let it come through.
“The Basement? Oooh—”
He launches into an almost panicked explanation. “Yeah, I’m really not sure what she means because the basement of this place is fully renovated. She has this projector, and a screen, and all the storage she asked for. A full guest suite. I even called the contractor, there was nothing waiting to be finished. I don’t know what—”
I take a finger and put it over his lips.
“I don’t think she meant this basement, I think she meant The Basement.” I hold back my amusement of Colson trying hard to figure it out.
“What the hell do you mean?” He laughs. “What’s the difference?”
I turn, looping my arms around his neck and kissing him. “Colson, The Basement is a place. It’s kind of a Golden Harbor secret.”
“Okay?”
“It’s a speakeasy. Hidden entrance. Cocktails and apps. Something that doesn’t really fit with the small town vibe. It kind of started as a joke, but it’s sort of perfect.”
“A speakeasy? You’re kidding me.”
“No. Not kidding. We should go tonight.”
Colson shrugs his shoulders and says, “Works for me.”
thirty-nine
Colson
Sadiedoesn’thesitatewhenwe stop in front of what looks like a closed laundromat, but I do.
There’s a flickering OPEN sign in the window, but the lights inside are off, and a handwritten sign taped to the door readsOUT OF ORDER. I glance down at her, then back at the door.
“This is either a speakeasy,” I say, “or we’re about to get arrested.”
She smiles, adjusting the strap of her flowy black summer dress like this is all part of the plan. The dress moves when she does, light and effortless, and I have to remind myself to keep my eyes up otherwise I’ll have a situation that you’d hate to see in public.
“Relax,” she says. “Trust me.”
“Says every person before they walk into impending danger.”
Sadie winks and then steps past me, knocking—not on the door, but on the side of a washing machine visible through the window. Three quick taps. A pause. Then two more.
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
