Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
JESSICA
Iwalk off the beach, up the dune path, through the quiet morning streets of Twin Waves, my breathing even and steps measured.
The Fiction Nook is dark when I let myself in through the back door. Caroline won’t be here for another hour. I head upstairs to my apartment, shower off the sand and the memory of his hands in my hair, and change into something that doesn’t smell like salt and reek of poor decisions.
By the time I come back down, I’ve had enough coffee to function.
I turn on the lights. Check the register tape. Rearrange the new releases display. All the typical opening tasks, performed in order, because this is a regular day.
A completely normal day where nothing significant occurred.
Austen finds me reorganizing the new releases display for the third time.
He meows.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
He stares.
“I am. I’m completely fine. Nothing happened.”
He jumps onto the counter and continues staring with that unnerving cat intensity.
“A man kissed me on a beach and then told me he’s been three different people and knew who I was the whole time we were exchanging deeply personal letters. That’s all. It’s not a big deal.”
Austen blinks slowly.
“It’s NOT.”
He turns around and shows me his butt, which is cat for “you’re lying to yourself and I’m done with this conversation.”
“Rude,” I tell him.
He ignores me.
Caroline arrives fifteen minutes early, which means she’s heard something.
“Morning!” she says, too brightly. “How are you? Good? Great? Everything normal and fine?”
“Yep.” I pop the P and avoid her gaze, typing inventory numbers into my laptop.
“Cool. Cool cool cool.” She sets down her bag. “So. Anything interesting happen this morning? Any...morning activities? Dawn-related events?”
“I opened the store.”
“Right. Yes. The store.” She taps her fingers on the counter. “Nothing else? No beach walks? No romantic encounters? No—”
“Caroline.”
“Yes?”
“If you have something to ask, just ask.”
She takes a breath. “Mrs. Sanders saw you walking back from the beach at 6:30 AM. She told her sister. Her sister told the woman who runs the bait shop. The bait shop woman told literally everyone who came in this morning.” She pauses.
“Also, someone saw Scott Avery’s car in the beach parking lot.
At dawn. On the same morning you were mysteriously walking back from the beach. ”
“People in this town need hobbies.”
“Romance is their hobby. You know this.” She leans against the counter. “So? What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Jessica.”
“Nothing I want to talk about.”
She opens her mouth, probably to push, then stops. Something in my face must tell her to back off.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “But if you change your mind...”
“I won’t.”
“But if you do…”
“I won’t.”
She holds up her hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll be in the stockroom. Pretending I don’t have a million questions.”
She disappears, and I go back to entering inventory.
The morning passes.
I help customers. I process orders. I recommend books to Mrs. Henderson, who wants “enemies to lovers, but the sad kind, where they’re fighting because they’re scared.”
“This one,” I say, handing her a novel without really looking at it. “Secret identity. He lies to her. She has to decide if she can forgive him.”
“Perfect.” She peers at me over her glasses. “You look tired, dear.”
“Early morning.”
“Hmm.” She doesn’t push, which I appreciate. Just pays for her book and leaves.
At noon, my phone buzzes.
Scott: Can we talk?
I look at the message for exactly three seconds. Then I put my phone in the desk drawer and close it.
At 12:15, it buzzes again. And again at 12:30.
I don’t check.
At one pm, Caroline pokes her head into the office.
“Your phone’s been buzzing a lot.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to answer it?”
“No.”
“Is it Mr. Avery?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”
She hesitates in the doorway. “Jessica...are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that eleven times today. I’ve been counting.”
“Then you should have better things to do.”
It comes out sharper than I intended. Caroline’s face flickers—hurt, then understanding, then careful neutrality.
“Right. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone.”
She closes the door, and I sit there in the silence, staring at the drawer where my phone is buzzing.
I should feel bad for snapping at her. I should feel something. But there’s just…nothing. A flat, empty space where emotions should be.
This is familiar. This is how I survived David. You just stop feeling things. You go through the motions. You smile when you’re supposed to smile and work when you’re supposed to work and eventually the numbness becomes normal.
It’s fine.
I’m fine.
Everything is fine.
At three pm, I finally check my phone.
Scott: Can we talk?
Scott: I understand if you need time.
Scott: I just want you to know I’m here when you’re ready.
Scott: I meant everything, Jessica. Every letter. Every word. It was all real.
Scott: I know that doesn’t fix anything. I just needed you to know.
Five messages. Twelve hours of silence from me.
I type a response.
Me: I need space.
His reply is immediate.
Scott: Okay. Take whatever you need. I’ll be here.
I put the phone back in the drawer.
The book club group chat has been active all day. I’ve been ignoring it, but the notifications keep piling up.
Michelle: Has anyone heard from Jessica today?
Amber: Caroline said she’s being weird.
Jo: Define weird.
Amber: Like, aggressively normal. Smiling but not really. Very “everything is fine” energy.
Hazel: That’s concerning.
Grandma Hensley: Should I do reconnaissance?
Michelle: No.
Grandma Hensley: I have very good binoculars.
Hazel: Everyone, leave her alone. She’ll talk when she’s ready.
They’re going to want to talk about it. About Scott. About the beach. About whatever happened that has the whole town buzzing.
I just want to get through tonight and tomorrow and the day after until this whole thing becomes a distant memory that doesn’t matter anymore.
That’s how you survive, right?
You just keep not feeling until the thing that hurt you stops mattering.
It worked with David.
It’ll work with this.
I close the store at six. Feed Austen. Change into something that doesn’t have bookstore dust on it.
My phone buzzes one more time.
Scott: I know you need space. I’m respecting that. But we still have the author reveal event to plan on Thursday when the committee meets. I understand if you want someone else to work with me. I’ll do whatever makes this easier for you.
He’s giving me an out. Part of me wants to take it by handing off the event planning to Michelle or Amber. That way, I’d never have to see him again. But I’ve spent too many years being a coward.
Me: See you then.
Scott: Okay. Thank you.
Scott: Jessica?
Me: Yeah?
Scott: I’m sorry. For all of it.
I put my phone in my purse and head upstairs to read next month’s Bookaholic’s Anonymous pick.