“At least he’s not an evil twin.” We share a grin. “But you’re right, shadowing Liam is a good idea.”
Rebecca Evans jogs over from where she’s been talking to Faye, her cheeks pink from the cold.
She’s breathless and grinning by the time she reaches us. “I’m so glad I caught you before you left,” she says, slightly winded. “I forgot to tell everyone about the pumpkin patch festival this weekend at our farm.” Rebecca launches into an excited pitch. “We host it every weekend in October. We have a corn maze, hayrides, a carving workshop, hot cider, and the best damn apple fritters in the state.” She pauses for a breath, her eyes bright with excitement. “Everyone’s invited. I hope you’llcome, Peyton. And bring Liam, of course. It’s a Blue Crescent Harbor tradition and the perfect way to get to know the town.”
The invitation is so warmly offered it makes me feel like I already belong. As if I’m already part of this community they’re inviting me into.
“That sounds amazing,” I say, a smile stretching across my face.
January, who just came out of the bookshop with a bag of new books, adds, “The corn maze is surprisingly challenging. Last year, I got stuck for an hour before Remy had to come find me.”
“Remy?” I ask.
January’s cheeks flush pinker. “He’s my best friend.”
“And my baby brother,” Rebecca chips in. “You’ll meet him Saturday.”
“I’ll be there.”
Rebecca beams and squeezes me in an impulsive hug. “Great! It starts at ten, but come whenever.”
The women disperse, heading for their cars.
Lila hugs me too. “Call me, let me know how the shadow day goes.”
“I will.”
She jogs away to catch up with January, their laughter carrying in the still night air. Rebecca is already halfway down the block, walking backward as she waves to Faye.
I turn toward my car, parked a few spaces down from the bookshop. I slide into the driver’s seat and sit for a moment. Rory is closing up, flipping the sign to “Closed” and adjusting a backpack on her shoulders. Hemingway’s orange face peers out from inside.
My chest fills up in a way it hasn’t in a long time. My marriage might be fake, but these new friendships feel real.
I start the car and pull away from the curb, heading back to the glass house in the woods. Back to Liam.
The thought of him waiting for me doesn’t fill me with dread or discomfort the way it might have a few days ago. Instead, an unfamiliar warmth flutters through me. Is it anticipation? Comfort in the knowledge that I’m not alone in this strange new life?
The town falls away behind me as I wind along the lake road, trees crowding close on either side.
I wonder if Liam is back yet, if he found my note on the fridge, if he re-heated the casserole properly. What will he think of the festival? Will he even want to go?
When I pull into the driveway, the lights are on inside the house, warm and inviting against the dark forest backdrop. Liam’s car is parked in front of the garage.
He’s home.
And I’m surprised by how much I want to tell him about my night.
23
LIAM
When I pull into the driveway on Wednesday night, the house is dark save for the porch lights I have on a timer. Peyton’s car is not parked outside.
I kill the engine and check my phone. No messages. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. This shouldn’t bother me. My wife is an adult. She is not obliged to inform me of her movements. Peyton has every right to go wherever she wants without reporting to me.
We are just roommates with benefits—the legal kind, not the fun kind.
Inside, I flip on the lights and drop my keys in the ceramic dish on the console table. The foyer is empty of boxes. Peyton must’ve finished unpacking.
