Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“Nothing!”
“Don’t lie to me, Hattie. Remember how long we’ve been friends? I know when you’re holding out.”
I resist the urge to tell her she’d have never known about us at all if I hadn’t come clean.
The nightmare Ethan shared about Taylor Rollins—he wouldn’t want me to tell Margot in a billion years.
It’s too big. Too devastating. Too unspeakable.
And it also could have broad ramifications for the family if it ever came out.
God, the media alone would crucify him, maximizing misery for every Blackthorn.
If Ethan wanted Margot to know, obviously he would have told her by now. Or at least asked me to tell her.
He didn’t ask me to keep it a secret, but I’m sure that’s implied.
“Spill,” Margot says, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Are you for real? That might work on a date, but it doesn’t work on me,” I say, mentally fumbling for what I can tell her.
Basically nothing.
Her lip juts out in a pout. “I thought we were besties.”
“We are. Don’t be silly.”
“So tell me! What’s going on with him? What did you find out?”
With a sigh, I give in, offering the one little tidbit that seems weird, but harmless.
“We found a letter recently.”
“We as in you and Ethan?”
“Yep. Remember that fishing boat wreck by the old house?” I briefly explain walking through the old boat and finding that worn letter stuffed in a secret compartment.
She snickers when I mention Ethan’s lighter, but sobers when I explain the letter’s contents.
“So it was written by PopPop? Strange.”
“To your mom, yeah.”
“And it was in the boat all this time? Like before we messed around there as kids?”
“Probably. He found it not far from where you hid the lighter,” I say. “I’m surprised you never noticed.”
“Oh, I was oblivious that young. Pirate fantasies aside, I didn’t think there would be anything to find.” She chews her lip, screwing up her face. “And Ethan took it?”
“Yeah. He’s probably forgotten about it, honestly. It wasn’t a big deal and he has a lot on his plate with that ski lodge deal.”
“What did it say?”
“Not sure. He just skimmed it, but some of the writing was hard to make out. He just read out a few random lines. Something about your mom leaving town and your granddad letting her go? And something about a mistake, maybe? I don’t know. Tons of drama.”
“Secrets, secrets.” Margot’s long pastel-blue nails flash as she pulls out another bunch of flowers, stroking the petals like a pet bird. “I’m glad I love them. My family’s rich and weird, which means we’re full of them.”
At least that gets her off my ass about Ethan’s past. I force a grin and laugh.
“Yeah, I bet. Just don’t get too worked up about it. I don’t think he cares that much since he hasn’t mentioned it again. It’s not like there’s anything earthshaking in there.”
“Probably not. Still, I’ll have to ask him the next time I see him.” Margot flashes a wicked grin. “PopPop took enough mysteries to the grave. I wonder if it’s about the lake house?”
I throw her a puzzled look.
“That cabin he had with my grandma upstate, not too far from Bar Harbor. He didn’t go there much after Grams died. I’ve heard it’s in kinda rough shape. But it hasn’t come up yet and I’m wondering if it has my name on it. I need to talk to Wilkes soon.”
“Could be,” I agree, encouraging her distraction.
“If there’s anything bonkers there, we’re going to find out,” she whispers, a determined look crossing her face. “Trust me to keep digging.”
18
ALL THE HEAT (ETHAN)
There’s nothing worse than New York when a summer heat wave hits.
Give me Phoenix or Las Vegas any day, where people have a real excuse to huddle inside their air-conditioned caves until the desert goes dark, and nobody questions it.
New York City is at its best in the cooler months, when the asphalt doesn’t turn into an oven and the trash in the alleys doesn’t leave your nose reeling.
The sun brings out the worst in the people, too. Grouchy tourists and overactive kids, plus frustrated residents who just wish the seasonal drop-in crowd would fucking disappear.
I don’t like New York in hell mode.
I especially don’t like being stuck here, sorting out office business at our headquarters in Manhattan. Gramps needed a proper office within striking distance of Maine for his large prestigious firm, even if he called most of the shots from Portland.
I also hate the minefield that’s staying with my parents—and knowing they’ll skewer me alive if they find out I’m crashing in a hotel or Airbnb.
For all their selfish distance, they take it weirdly personally if I’m in town and I don’t come home.
With Hattie by my side, though, the whole affair feels tolerable.
Since her bookstore hasn’t had its grand reopening yet, she has the luxury of traveling along like a second shadow.