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“Yep. Took a jog. Had a few calories I needed to burn.” I force a laugh and shift in my seat as remnants of the croissant sing in my gut.
“Hmm. I can’t tell. You look great.”
I can’t help smiling at that. If only she knew the exterior doesn’t match the interior. I still feel like that chubby girl, the one no guy ever wanted. The one whose best friend was donuts and cakes and chocolate chip cookies. Instead of letting her know all that, I say, “Thank you. I work hard to maintain myself.”
A silence passes between us, then Eden leans forward and asks, “Can I do a palm reading on you?”
That catches me by surprise. I peer around the coffee shop, then look at her again. Her eyes are bigger, brimming with curiosity. “In here?”
“Sure. Why not?” she shrugs. “It only takes a few seconds.”
I always pictured palm readings in tiny shops, behind closed doors so no one could hear. “Um . . . okay.” I lift a hand and place it palm-up on the table. Eden straightens in her chair, taking my hand in hers with a whirl of excitement. She studies my palm, lightly tracing her fingers over the lines.
“You’ve always wanted to be married,” she says, not taking her eyes off my hand. “But you’re not happy with your marriage right now.”
My heart drops with its next beat. I watch her face, how she frowns, and her full, pinkish-purple lips slightly purse.
“There is something hidden in your marriage—a secret that prevents you from achieving happiness. Whatever it is, it will drive a wedge between you and your husband.” Eden’s dark eyes flicker up to mine and I can’t help staring back into them. She releases my hand and I pull it away, dropping it in my lap.
“Why are you not happy, Jolene Baker? What secrets do you have?” Eden’s questions seem harmless, but each one pricks me like a thorn, and each thorn lodges itself into a different area: the chest, the ribs, the heart.
“I—I should go.” I’m already standing. I shove my chair in and leave the coffee shop, but as I round the building and pass the windows where Eden sits, she watches me go, and I swear she’s smiling as she brings the rim of her coffee cup to her lips.
SEVENTEEN
DOMINIC
Dominic has no idea where he’s going. He’s contemplated going to the park, taking a walk, but he swears on everything the sky is still purple and there’s an M&M in place of the sun. Not to mention, every person he passes in his vehicle appears to be staring at him. His security team asked if he wanted them to tag along but he turned it down. He needs a moment alone.
Perhaps these letters have truly done him in. He was never supposed to turn out like his mother, but her schizophrenic behavior may have bled into him after all. It’s in the DNA, really. He thought he could escape it, but he’s wrong. And why now? He’s so close to winning the seat again. He can feel it.
He pulls into the parking lot across the street from The Bean Bar and kills the engine of the car. He drove past his private home and thought to stop there and have a chat with Jolene. There was a time when he could tell her everything and she’d take him into her arms. She’d hug him and tell him everything would be okay and that they’d get through it. But this was something he was sure she’d never forgive him for. When that thought occurred, he drove past the house instead.
Now, he sits a moment, closing his eyes and letting the worries rinse away in the darkness behind his eyelids. But the letters burn a hole in his pocket. He should set them on fire. Or perhaps he should take them to one of the sheriffs or police officers and have them test for fingerprints. But if he does that, won’t it spark questions? There are no officers he fully trusts, no bad apples who will do things under the table for him. They’re out there, he’s sure, but he’s a good governor. He’s for the people and refuses to let the bad apples reign. No, the last thing he has time for is questions. They’ll ask who Brynn is. Things could get messy.
He opens his eyes, sitting up in the seat again and gripping the wheel. The sky is blue again, and the sun is a bold blinding blip in the sky. Normal again. He should get back to work. He starts the car up, but before he can put it in Drive, he spots a familiar person leaving The Bean Bar.
She saunters out with a laptop case tucked beneath her arm, her hair in two large poofs. She wears dark clothes again that are completely unappealing to him. It’s the witch from the rally. What was her name again? Enid? Eva?
His pulse quickens as he whips out his phone and zooms in to get a clear picture of her face. He snaps one, sends it off to Boaz’s burner phone with the words: We need to figure out who this woman is, then continues watching as an Uber pulls up to the curb and the witch climbs into the backseat.
He’s not sure what takes over him. He has more important things to do with his life. He’s the state governor for goodness’ sake, but nothing feels more important than following this witch.
He tails the car until it pulls into the lot of a retro motel called Scarlet Star. He doesn’t drive into the lot, but he does swing onto the road next to it and watches the witch exit the Uber, climb the stairs, and prance into one of the rooms of the motel.
Wait a minute. Why is she in a motel? Why doesn’t she have a house or an apartment? Could this mean she isn’t from North Carolina? What Boaz said hits Dominic like a pound of bricks about Brynn possibly having friends who knew about their night together. Had Brynn told anyone about their date? If she had, that person would know who he is . . . but why would they be bothering him now? Even if they are curious, why not come directly to him? Surely, they weren’t there the night he and Boaz dealt with Brynn. What happened with her wasn’t even supposed to happen. It was an honest mistake.
Dominic drives away from the motel with more questions than answers. His phone rings, and it’s Melissa calling to let him know about a meeting at 12:30. He tells Melissa he’ll be there and along the way, it becomes clear to Dominic that he’d underestimated this witchy woman. Now, he must find out everything about her.
EIGHTEEN
BRYNN
It took me a minute to gain my composure after Dominic’s invitation to his private rental. When Dom rounded the corner to reach the restrooms, I sat back in my seat and took a huge swallow of my sugary cocktail. As I took another gulp, I noticed a white light emanating from Dom’s seat.
His cellphone.
He left it there, or perhaps it fell out of his pocket when he stood.
