“Hey, Stevie.” Brady slides a glass of ice water in front of me. “What can we get you?” he asks, his pen poised over a small notepad.
“Brady.” I sigh heavily, steepling my fingers in front of me. He has to know this is serious. “Get me the fattest stack of bacon pancakes Marlow can make. Really pile them on. I’m thinking Guinness World Record height, you got me?”
I need this. Adam is busy at work—he and Greg the Poacher are dealing with trails that washed out in the weekend storm. We haven’t seen each other since I left his cabin. I have my own mess waiting for me with my podcast. I’ve actively avoided my laptop and phone as I’ve gathered my thoughts since I got home yesterday. I need to face the music. But first—pancakes. I rub my arm where Muffie whacked it with her giant purse. Yes, pancakes will help.
Brady grins, scribbling my order. “I’ll grab the wheelbarrow,” he says, walking back to the kitchen. This kid is unrecognizable from the teenager who was actively trying to ruin Marlow’s life only a few months ago. It’s amazing what honest, clear communication will do. Imagine.
While I wait for my breakfast, my phone hums in my purse. Then it hums a few more times.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look,I remind myself. Pancakes first.
But what if it’s Adam? His square jaw and strong arms pop into my head.
I snatch my phone, swiping it open. I have a handful of texts from Ike and one from Adam.
SHIRTLESS ADAM:
I need to talk to you.
My heart drums in my ears. There are a dozen ways to interpret that message. Is he saying “I need to talk to you because I’ve decided you’re not worth the heartburn” or is this more of a “I need to talk to you because I miss you” message? Adam isn’t his best over text. I’ve learned that. My parents’ lecture yesterday runs through my mind. Adam might not be perfect, but it’s very likely that he’s perfect for me. I’m choosing to assume the best.
ME:
I need to talk to you, too. I miss you.
I push send, then with some trepidation I open Ike’s texts.
IKE:
We need to have a meeting of the Committee to… you know.
IKE:
How’s everyone’s schedule tonight?
Oh no. It’s a group text with Ike, Diana, my mom, Muffie Horowitz, August, Marlow, and Adam. I need those pancakes already.
Luckily, Marlow appears, sliding a comically tall stack of pancakes in front of me along with a small pitcher of maple syrup. “Big enough?” she asks with a laugh.
I pretend to scrutinize the mountain of pancakes. “Almost.” I start the process of buttering them, which is going to take a while. “Did you see Ike’s texts? What do you think that’s about?”I keep things vague, unsure how much Ike has already divulged about the conversation he overheard between Adam and Ruth.
Marlow cringes, tucking her hands in the front pocket of her apron. “I take it you haven’t been online?”
I focus on my butter. “No. Do I dare ask?”
“That guy you took on a tour.” She groans. “He put this video on YouTube and sent it to half the town. I’m sure it’s in your DMs.”
“Crispin?” My butter knife clatters to the counter. “No. What did he ... What ...” I can’t talk. I’m going to be sick.
“He made some crazy accusations.” She snorts. “He said you and Adam are rigging the bet and a bunch of other things.” She swats the air like there’s no way this could be true. “The best part? He said that your original sighting was, uh, Adam in a Bigfoot suit.” She can barely get the words out.
I remember Muffie smashing her purse into me on the sidewalk, Beckett’s haunting thumbs-down, and a half dozen other microaggressions I’ve experienced in the last twenty-four hours. I drag my hands down my face. “That’s why everyone hates me.”
“Maybe.” Marlow pulls my hands away from my face. “But we got into this together. We’ll get out of it together. I have your back, friend.”
But she shouldn’t have to. I have to tell her the truth. “Crispin ... wasn’t ... wrong.” I trip through the words with a wince.
Her eyes widen. “No.”
