Page 97 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

As it turns out, I don’t have time to follow her instructions for hours. Glasses girl isn’t the last customer to come in, eager to talk about my post. Twelve more women, plus a small gaggle of high school girls, find me to congratulate me.

Inevitably, they all have their own stories of humiliation, bitterness, and sometimes, revenge. One woman tells me about stealing her cheating high school boyfriend’s car, and her subsequent arrest the next day during math class. Another managed to sneak blue hair dye in her bully’s shampoo bottle, only to make his unsuspecting little sister come out Smurf-colored.

“I never took credit or apologized,” the hair dye woman tells me. “You were brave enough to put your real name on that article. I wish I’d done that, too.”

When I finally do find time to sneak back to my office and read the comments, I find not all of them are positive. One comment in particular bugs me.

Anonymous: You’re such a badass for fucking over those assholes. Never apologize. They got what they deserved.

I type and retype my reply over and over. The guys didn’t deserve it. I meant every word that I typed, especially the apology. Don’t let yourself get bitter like I did.

In the end, I decide not to post it. I’d only be feeding the trolls, encouraging people to double down. Already, people are replying to the comment telling Anonymous they missed the point. Hopefully, they’ll be heard. On the whole, the reaction is overwhelmingly positive—people praise me for my growth instead of blindly rooting for revenge.

Although after I see a TikTok fancam of my picture, set to Taylor Swift’s “Antihero,” I quickly exit the app.

I occasionally got fan emails when I wrote as Peppermint. This feels different, though. It’s something more than gossip and schadenfreude. It’s solidarity, women gathering together to share their pain, plus the ways they succeeded and failed to heal themselves.

Turns out, the anonymous voice I hid behind for years turned out to be less powerful than my real one.

It’s overwhelming to sort through, but one notification catches my attention. It’s an Instagram post from glasses girl, showing the Staff Picks table.

It’s official: Peppermint is a romance girlie. If you can’t make it to the Copper Cup, here are all her pics. #TeamPeppermint

It gets hundreds of likes and dozens of comments.

OMG she’s just like me!

Putting all these in my shopping cart immediately.

@ BrinleyWindsor, what are you reading now??

This time, I actually reply.

Thanks for asking! I’m reading a cowboy romance, Rode Hard and Put Away Wet, which is actually way more wholesome than it sounds. Next up is an indie author, Ruth Timothy. Her new small-town romance comes out this week.

Replies to that come in quickly.

Book club, anyone?

Do you have those in stock for when I stop by the store?

I loooooove Ruth Timothy! What other indie authors should I read?

As I scroll through the comments, something clicks. The Copper Cup has always been a bookshop café, but it’s been general—fiction, nonfiction, whatever sold. What if I leaned in? What if I pivoted the shop toward romance? It could be a space built specifically for the readers who showed up for me. I could redo the space in pinks and whites. Eden would definitely help me plan a grand re-opening, and maybe Maura could make me a new sign, if she ever decides to forgive me.

I don’t have the full vision yet, but the seed is planted in my head. Maybe I’ll talk it out with Beau later.

If he hasn’t taken the out from our relationship.

A few days ago, it felt like my relationship was the only thing going right. And now…it’s complicated. Luckily, a text comes in to distract me.

Cat

Our girl is trending.

Pippa

I’m not saying I’m proud of you because I’m still mad. But also I might be a little proud of you.