“Ready?” Cass asked, brushing crumbs from her skirt. “Let’s pretend to be cultured.”
Harmony’s smile came easier this time. She was exactly where she wanted to be—close enough to hear, far enough to choose.
They stepped back into the humming street.
Tosh’s laugh carried across the patio. Candy’s guitar answered like a flirt. Mary’s silhouette crossed the boardwalk, strong and alone. Janie spun in a shop mirror. Zach lingered inside the edges, as comfortable in shadow as most people were in light.
Somewhere nearby, someone else was paying attention, content to stay out of sight, collecting moments the way Harmony collected words. Whoever they were, they’d learned the island’s first rule long ago: you don’t have to be onstage to change a story.
“Come on,” Cass said, tugging Harmony toward the gallery’s open doors. “Before all of the good gossip is taken.”
Harmony laughed. As they crossed the street, a shadow drifted across her path. She paused—just a small hitch in her step—while warm air pressed against her shoulders. Nothing was wrong. Nothing at all.
She was here to write—to let go of the pain of the past year, to collect summer and sunlight and the soft edges of other people’s lives.
But as the gallery lights reflected in the windows, Avalon pulled at her—whispered to her, warned her. It felt like a door clicking shut behind her.
Harmony breathed in salt, coffee, and the low hum of a place she loved. Whatever was coming felt aimed straight at her. Maybe what she feared wasn’t bad. Perhaps it simply hadn’t stepped fully into the light yet.
Somewhere beyond the curve of the bay, the island listened—and so did someone else, quietly thrilled. Harmony thought she was here to write a story. She hadn’t yet realized she’d already walked into one.
Chapter Two
Weaving Lies
JL’s Bar pulsed like a heartbeat—old wood, neon reflections, and gossip steeped in whiskey. Harmony leaned against the wall near the pool table, the cue balanced in her hand like a weapon she hadn’t yet decided whether to use.
Tosh racked the balls with the same precision he used to close real estate deals—controlled, careless, and arrogant all at once. Candy tuned her guitar in the corner, plucking a melody sharpened at the edges. Mary sat at the bar with Mario, her laugh too sharp, her wine too full. Sue and Leo argued near the jukebox—something between flirtation and accusation. Lisa hadn’t come out yet. Maybe she was already figuring out that a single woman would never hold Tosh’s attention for long.
Torie walked in, and the air subtly shifted as the mood darkened. With Torie on the island, the night could turn on a single breath. Harmony had seen it happen: one wrong look, one wrong laugh, and the whole night would tilt.
No one ever knew which version of Torie they’d get from one day to the next. She and Tosh had been dating on and off for years, but their relationship had never been steady or healthy. The breakups always went badly, and their friendship was fragile at best. There was more reliability in unexploded bombs than in whatever held them together.
Torie wanted him to herself, and it would never happen. She moved to the bar and sat on a stool. Her jaw was tight as she fixed her gaze on Tosh, ownership disguised as affection.
Harmony felt alive. She loved nights like this—when people felt safe enough to tell the truth, but vulnerable enough to share too much. It fed her. She watched. She took notes.
“Your break,” Tosh said, sliding the cue toward her. “You always have good aim.” This pulled her attention back to him.
She smiled, a spark of wickedness rising in her eyes. “Only when there’s something worth aiming for.”
“Can’t play without something to lose,” he said. He was smug, sure—but that’s because he usually won. Most people didn’t dare bet against him. Harmony wasn’t most people.
The cue ball cracked the triangle, colors scattering across green felt. Tosh watched the spread, impressed. Torie’s smile dimmed. Something small and sad flickered behind her lashes.
Harmony straightened, chalking her cue with lazy grace. “I hear you’ve been busy,” she said lightly. “Long days. Longer nights.”
Tosh smirked. “You know me.”
“I think everyone on the island does,” she replied. “Might be the problem.”
Torie’s head snapped toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Harmony’s tone stayed mild. “Just that on a small island, people start filling in blanks that aren’t there.”
“Or maybe they start seeing whatisthere,” Torie said.
Harmony’s eyes flicked to Tosh, then back to Torie who hadn’t bothered with a greeting before accusation. “Maybe.” Torie looked away in disgust, clearly not drunk enough for a fight . . . yet.
