Page 31

This won’t do. I need food. Actual food. Preferably something greasy enough to soak up those tequila shots from earlier. I glance around the room and realize there isn’t a phone anywhere, so I guess calling room service is out of the question. Maybe the dining room downstairs is still open. If not, I’ll have to venture into town to find a place to get some food.

I grab my purse and head downstairs, where I find Mrs. Trott standing behind the reception desk, reading none other than my latest release, Crashing Echoes.

“I hope it doesn’t give you too many nightmares,” I say lightly, eyeing the cover.

As if caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Mrs. Trott quickly hides the book beneath the counter and plants a smile on her face. “Good evening, Ms. Morgan. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Shit. I must have really hurt her feelings if she’s forcing a smile this hard.

“I was wondering if I could have some dinner sent to my room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Morgan, but the kitchen closes at ten.”

“It’s past ten already?” I glance at my phone, confirming it’s a quarter past.

“I could see if the cook is still here. Perhaps he could make you something. A sandwich? Or I could check the kitchen. There might be a quiche or two already prepared for tomorrow’s brunch.”

“No, no. No need.” I wave her off. “I wouldn’t want to be any more of a bother. I’ve been told there are a couple of Starbucks open on Main Street. I’ll try there.”

“The town diner is open until midnight. Maybe you can try your luck there. Beats overpriced chain food.” She smiles, this one looking far less forced than the last.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely try there first.”

“The front gate locks automatically at midnight, but your room key has the access code printed on the back.”

“Good to know. I appreciate it. Good night, Mrs. Trott.”

“Good night, Ms. Morgan.”

“Please… call me Max.”

“Max it is, then.” And there it is. A full-fledged smile. “Good night.”

I offer her a beaming smile of my own, happy to remedy her first impression of me. There are enough people in this town that dislike me already. Why add more to the list.

I get into my car and make the short drive to Main Street. As soon as I arrive, I immediately understand why Sienna was so up in arms about the changes to our little town. The bones of the street are still the same, but everything else feels… off.

The humble storefronts I’ve known since childhood have been replaced by trendy restaurants and upscale bars, their polished signs glowing beneath sleek black awnings. An organic grocery store sits where Roy’s Garage used to be, and just a few doors down, the Rhodes’ old hardware store has been turned into a Pilates studio. And sure enough, not one but two fucking Starbucks light up opposite ends of the street. If it weren’t for the old white church overlooking the town square and the Town Hall still standing where it always has been, I might question whether this was Fairhope at all.

I continue to drive slowly down Main Street, searching for something, anything, that resembles the hometown I remember. And then I see it. The Cushmans’ diner. Still sitting in the same spot it has since our founding father, John Alder, first planted his roots on this itty-bitty piece of land and gave Fairhope its name.

Something in my chest loosens at the sight. Whatever swept through this town, the Cushmans held on, keeping their little piece of Fairhope alive. I wonder if they still own it, though, or if it too has fallen into the hands of newcomers from the city. My question is answered the second I open the door, the familiar chime overhead announcing my arrival.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or is that our Max walking through the door?” Betty Cushman shouts from behind the long counter, still wearing the same flowered apron she used to wear when I worked here part-time.

“Hi, Betty. Long time no see.” I wave with a smile.

“Oh, no you don’t, missy. You come right over here for the bear hug that’s waiting for you!” she says, rushing out from behind the counter while yelling toward the kitchen. “Bill! Get your ass out here!”

Before I even have a chance to look toward the kitchen, Betty wraps me in the very bear hug she threatened me with.

“Oh, Max. Oh, Max. I can’t believe it. You’re home.” Her voice wavers with emotion.

Usually, being touched makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. But for some reason, Betty’s embrace has the opposite effect on me. I melt against her, my body relaxing in a way it hasn’t in a long time. For the first time since arriving in this godforsaken town, I don’t hate being here quite so much. I feel… missed.

“Troublemaker? Is that you?” I hear Bill say from somewhere behind Betty.

I always hated that nickname, but right now, it brings back some of the few good memories I have of living here. Memories I’d shamefully buried the day I swore never to think about Fairhope again.