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In what world would Milo, Fairhope’s favorite son, ever have a crush on me?

No. No way. He must have been messing with me. Or maybe he was just trying to be nice. Yep. That sounds more like Milo. Always trying to be nice.

By the time I finally fall asleep, I’ve convinced myself that’s all it was. Milo being Milo. The next morning, however, I’m not so sure.

When I open my front door to head to my weekend job, I find a package tied with a blue ribbon sitting on my doorstep. My heart stutters when I open the box and find a laptop inside. Granted, it’s secondhand, but to me, it might as well be brand new because it’s in perfect condition. But it’s the small handwritten note tucked inside that really makes my heart skip a beat.

To Max,

Hope this helps your muse.

I’d love to read more of your stories, if you’ll let me.

Love,

Milo

P.S. I thought of a great pen name.

Max Usher.

If you’re going to write horror, might as well borrow from the best.

Edgar Allan Poe would approve.

Chapter 5

Saturday

“Hmm…I should probably apologize,” I mutter when I see Mrs. Trott come into the bar by the lounge area, only to scurry off the moment she spots me sitting there with Sienna.

“For what? For wanting to preserve your privacy?” Sienna scoffs. “Fuck that. It’s her own fault for telling everyone your business. If that had happened to me, I’d have gone online and bashed the hell out of this place with a scathing review.”

“Ever the bleeding heart, I see.” I chuckle sarcastically. “Glad some things never change around here.”

“Don’t hold your breath when it comes to things staying the same. Fairhope looks nothing like the town we left behind.”

“So you’ve said.” I frown.

The way Sienna keeps warning me about how much Fairhope has changed makes me wonder if she’s talking about more than just the landscape.

Sienna takes a long pull of her whiskey before signaling to the bartender for another. I continue sipping my sparkling water, waiting for her to come out and say whatever it is she’s clearly hesitating to tell me.

“Better you hear this from me before you see it for yourself,” she finally mutters before turning on her barstool to face me. “The town… Well, it got a major facelift after the settlement went through. Then COVID hit, and suddenly everyone and their grandmother wanted to escape the big cities for some peace and quiet, somewhere they could work remotely and be in touch with nature or some shit. And just like that, the town got one hell of a gentrified makeover.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Bad? How about fucking disastrous. Fairhope has two Starbucks now. Two, Max! On the same damn street. Because, God forbid, anyone is forced to walk more than a couple of blocks for their caramel macchiato.” Sienna scowls. “And that’s just the start. Half the places we grew up with have been replaced by swanky restaurants and overpriced shops selling shit no one who grew up here could ever afford,” she adds, scrunching her nose in disgust. “Somewhere along the way, Fairhope stopped looking like Fairhope and started looking like some rich asshole’s idea of small-town Maine.”

I take in everything she’s telling me, not sure how I should feel about these changes. Not because the town has been invaded by wealthy remote workers and hipsters but because of how it got that way in the first place.

“All growth is good growth, right?”

Sienna throws me a disparaging look that says otherwise. Still, when her attention shift briefly to the black leather gloves covering my hands, her mood softens. Even though she doesn’t say anything, I have to fight the sudden urge to tuck my hands beneath the counter.

“They built a memorial.” That’s all she says for my heart to stop beating.

“Oh?” I swallow dryly before taking a large gulp of my water. “That was nice of them.”