“Here’s what I’m working on.” She shoves a USB into the slot and navigates to a folder with multiple files. “This is all my research. I know you’re apparently a Canadian history buff. Have you heard of Camp X?”
“Would you believe I know of Camp X because of the Eric Walters book?”
“Stunning. You’re a king. That would not surprise me in the slightest.”
“So what’s happening at Camp X?”
“I have all this research, aside from one woman who hasn’t gotten back to me yet, a half-finished outline, and a handful of scenes that wouldn't leave me alone. What I know for certain is my main character’s grandmother dies, so she’s going through her house and finds a box in the rafters with letters about Camp X, which leads her to discover that her grandma was involved there. I’m thinking grandma potentially had an affair and her real grandfather was one of the agents.”
“Damn. That’s a good twist.”
“Thank you. I thought it might be a bit predictable, and perhaps a little anti-feminist, reducing her work like that. I want to do a double twist, like she had this affair, yes, and that’s what the granddaughter is shocked about at first, but she was also this badass spy who pulled off a secret mission. That’s actually the piece of research I’m waiting for.”
“About a specific mission?”
“Mmm yeah. They recruited French Canadians, trained them, then dropped them in France to, sort of, hide in plain sight. They’d pretend to be French citizens and steal intelligence from the German army. It’s a really cool story. As soon as I stumbled upon it, I knew this was grandma’s story.”
Addie’s voice comes out high and fast. She opens documents with interviews and articles from the past, scrolling through them quickly as she explains her thought process. Her eyes are glued to her screen as she talks, which allows me to stare at her side profile. If passion was a visible substance, she’d be glowing golden right now. Her red eyebrows furrow, doe eyes, made wider from her lenses, squint and expand as she speaks. Her upturned nose scrunches and her rounded cheeks tint even pinker.
Oh, holy shit. I’m in trouble. She is something else.
“Incredible,” I whisper while she’s still going through her files.
Her fingers pause on the track pad and her eyes shift to mine.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey,” I say. “Did you know you’re beautiful?”
She licks her lips and looks down. “No, One Direction, I didn’t.”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. It’s a loud guffaw, unsuitable for this quiet section of the library, and I cover my mouth immediately. She does the same after she lets out a forceful snort.
I never got to have this experience as a teenager, the giddy giggling with your crush while everyone makes eyes at you to shut up. But right here, in the old section of the Beaver Creek Library, I feel the first love of sixteen.
Chapter Thirteen
Zander
When I get to Gran’s house for tea the next day, the first thing Lucy does is take a huge dump. I did not expect it. I especially did not expect it dead smack in the middle of the driveway.
I groan and pull a poop bag from the dispenser on her leash. She kicks her back legs against the asphalt while I bend to collect at least a pound of shit.
“I know what you eat, but, girl, what did you eat?” I ask.
Lucy turns her head and gives me some nasty side eye before heading up the driveway on her usual trek to grandma’s house. I drop her leash and let her go wait on the porch for me. She lays down on Gran’s welcome mat, tail thumping on a printed ladybug. I straighten with a sigh.
“Hey,” a vaguely familiar man says as he passes the house.
Vaguely familiar means nothing in this town. I probably know him from some version of my life here. Though, I feel like I know this guy from something recent. His grey-blond hair and angular, almost too pointed jaw are so distinct, and he’s frowning at me like he knows what I’ve done. It’s also possiblehe just reminds me of the guy fromAtlantis. I could be overthinking this.
I nod back to him. “Hey.”
He looks between me, Gran’s modest bungalow, and the car with a line of rubber ducks along the dashboard parked by the curb. Which, on closer inspection, must belong to Addie.Huh. I respect Gran’s game.
“Sorry, but did I see you at the library yesterday?” he asks. He pulls out an AirPod and shoves it into the pocket of his hoodie.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I was working there for a bit.”
