Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Rish said your dad’s house is haunted now?” He raises an eyebrow and goes back around the bar. “Or should I say again?”
“There’s a good possibility.”
“Wouldn’t it have had to be haunted before? Unless someone died there recently or something, and as far as I know, there have been no murders in Silver Ridge in over fifteen years.”
“Don’t jinx it.” I pull my hand through the strap of my wristlet purse and put it on the counter in front of me. “And you mean there haven’t been any murders that we know of. I stand by what I said before and there has to be at least one body dumped in the lake every other year.”
“The lake is pretty populated this time of the year. Wouldn’t one end up floating up to the surface?”
“Not if you know what you’re doing.”
He laughs and reaches below the bar for a glass. “You’re so weird, Fisher.”
“And you’re boring.”
We both laugh, and he makes me a cocktail. I take a few sips and turn in my chair, looking out at the patrons, seeing if there’s anyone I know. My heart speeds up a little at the thought, and I’m torn either way on someone recognizing me. I love to talk about my books, and I’m so fucking proud of what I’ve accomplished. It wasn’t easy, and I hope my story of refusing to give up after seventy-six rejection letters can give another aspiring writing some hope.
Mrs. Clemmons, my high school English teacher, is sitting at a table with a few of her girlfriends. She has to be nearing retirement now, and her whole face lights up when she sees me. Waving like mad, she turns to her friends, no doubt telling them who I am before getting up. As she weaves her way through the crowd, a blonde woman takes a step back from her friends, who are hanging around a pool table, and accidentally bumps into Mrs. Clemmons. The blonde turns to apologize, and I recognize her right away.
It’s Lauren fucking Wallace.
Ugh. Of course she’s here tonight of all nights, though it doesn’t surprise me she still lives in Silver Ridge. She was Queen Bee during our youth, why give that up? I’m rather proud of myself, though, for not feeling unnerved by the sight of her. She was all big and bad back in middle and high school, but she can’t make me feel small, for I’ve built a successful career on the very things she used to make fun of me for.
“Oh, Chloe!” Mrs. Clemmons coos, coming closer. I smile at her, and then see someone else, someone who does unnerve me.
Sam.
The breath catches in my chest and I choke on my words, sputtering to say hi to Mrs. Clemmons. Sam smiles, and I can see his blue eyes sparkle from all the way across the room. He goes around the pool table—the same fucking pool table Lauren is standing next to. He’s talking to someone else, and the guy turns slightly to pick his beer up from the table, though I don’t need to see his face to recognize Mason.
He hands a pool stick to Sam, saying something that makes Sam give him an annoyed look, which in turn makes Mason laugh. A woman with short dark hair comes up next to Mason, and he slips his arm around her. If he’s here with the dark-haired woman, then is Sam here with Lauren?
No wonder he only invited me over for dinner—for a family dinner.
“How are you, dear?” Mrs. Clemmons asks, and I tear my eyes away from Sam, forcing a smile. Act normal, Chloe. Sam isn’t interested, not now, not ever.
“I’m…I’m…” I’m fucking furious, and annoyed as shit at myself for being furious, for still holding onto even a shred of hope that Sam would see me as anything more than his tag-along sister. “Good,” I finally spit out. “I’ve been good. How about you? Are you still teaching?”
“Oh, you remember!” Mrs. Clemmons laughs and brings a hand to her heart.
“Of course! And I remember it was you who told me not to get too hung up on the beginning of a story and I can let the backstory unfold along with character development. That advice definitely helped.”
Mrs. Clemmons beams. “Oh my goodness, wait until I tell my students—and yes, I am teaching. This is my last year and then retirement, here I come!”
“That’s exciting, congrats!”
She waves her hand in the air. “Not as exciting as you! Just look at you! Books in stores, doing interviews on TV, and having a series turned into a popular show! We are just so proud of you, Chloe.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I just followed my dream of being a weirdo.” It’s something I’ve said more than once, and Karina has warned me not to use the same line over and over or it will make me sound too scripted.