"And today?"
She thought about it. "Today it felt good."
He nodded slowly then smiled. "So you're the one with the real deadline pressure. And here I am complaining about my band."
"Yours counts too," she said.
"I'm glad I came over," he said. No irony in it.
Before she could figure out how to respond, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it then grimaced. "Band stuff. We're supposed to run through the new material before Thursday." He started gathering his things. Laptop, bag, the paperback. "I'm sorry, I have to run."
"No, of course. Go."
He stood, then paused. Let his eyes hold hers. "We play Thursdays at the Hard Rock. Nine o'clock." Not quite an invitation. Just information. "In case you want to hear what I've been working on."
"Maybe," she said.
"I hope so." He smiled, quick but guarded, and headed for the door.
The coffee shop went back to its background hum.
Jen sat alone at the table, eyes on the empty chair across from her. The conversation had ended too soon. Interrupted by a fan, then a phone call, then the regular demands of a Thursday. But he'd invited her to see him play. And he'd been sincere when he said he was glad he came over. She'd seen it in his face.
The Hard Rock. Thursdays. Atlantic City.
She opened her email. Amanda's latest was a week old now. Marketing needs fifty pages by end of month. Even rough is fine. Let me know how it's going?
Two weeks. She had two hundred pages. What she didn't have was an ending.
Jen had been telling Amanda for months that she was almost done. Tightening the final act, she'd said. Just landing the reveal. All of it stalling. The longer she waited, the harder it got to admit she was stuck. The fantasy romance had been a distraction at first, a way to keep the words flowing while she figured out how to finish Clementine. But now the distraction had become the thing she actually wanted to write.
Readers like you are the reason I get to keep doing this.
Those words had surprised her. Under the deadline panic and the block and the guilt, she still believed them. That woman, Linda's friend, had been hooked since A Bitter Brew in Brambleton. Had argued about suspects with her book club. Had waited, genuinely waited, to find out if Clementine and Detective Stovers would figure it out.
Those readers deserved an ending.
Jen opened the cozy mystery file. Scrolled past the two hundred pages that worked, down to the place where she'd stopped. The cursor waited after that last line, patient as ever.
She put her fingers on the keys. To see.
The grandfather clock had been moved six inches to the left. Clementine measured it twice to be certain, ignoring the way Detective Stovers watched her from the doorway with that infuriating half-smile. She was close now. She could feel it.
She read it back. It wasn't terrible.
She kept typing.
The parking lot at Cape May Point State Park was nearly full by early afternoon.
Olivia found a spot near the trailhead and sat for a moment, watching families unload from minivans and couples lace up hiking shoes. Beyond the lot, trails wound through woods and wetlands toward the beach. Quieter than Sea Isle, no promenade crowds, no shops or restaurants. Just the rustle of wind through the trees and birdsong from somewhere deeper in the woods.
Michael was already there, leaning against the wooden railing at the trailhead. He pushed off when he saw her car pull in, then seemed to catch himself, force himself to wait.
She got out. Grabbed her water bottle. Walked toward him with a steadiness she didn't feel.
This was the first time she'd seen him since their carpool days back home. The hiking group, the coffee runs afterward. It had all felt innocent then. Just two people who enjoyed the same trails, the same easy silences that came from walking through woods together.
But then February happened. Dan's phone on the kitchen counter. Rachel's name lighting up the screen. After that, the texts with Michael felt like something else entirely.
