Chapter 4 #2
“And he is a wonderful dad, even if he didn’t show you that today.” Becky flutters her hands. “He’s just… protective. And stubborn. And occasionally an idiot. But underneath all that, he’s one of the good ones.”
I don’t want to hear about Ryder Evans’s good qualities, or to humanize him beyond the arrogant hothead who stormed into my classroom.
“Ladies!” Rory calls out, saving me from further interrogation. “Let’s get started. I know we’re all dying to discuss that ending.”
The last standing women join the circle of mismatched chairs that Rory has set up in the middle of the shop.
Once everyone settles, Hemingway, the bookshop’s orange tabby, drops from his perch on a high shelf, surveys the group like he’s assessing his court, and saunters over to January.
He curls in her lap, nudging her hand for scratches she promptly gives.
“Before we start,” Rory continues, “Natalie texted. She’s down with the flu and says to carry on without her.”
A chorus of sympathetic murmurs ripples through the group. I already knew Natalie was sick. She’s my Pilates instructor at Gym and Tonic, and she’s canceled classes for the entire week. My abs haven’t missed the workouts, but I have. Exercise clears my head, but I suck at doing it on my own.
Rory settles into what I’ve come to think of as the moderator’s chair—a wingback with worn velvet upholstery straight off a haunted mansion horror movie set. She crosses her legs and pulls out her copy of this month’s book, annotated and sticky-noted within an inch of its life.
“Let’s talk about this absolute mind-fuck of a novel.” I like how she looks prim in her clothes—a pleated skirt and a light sweater tonight—only to shock you with unexpected savagery. “Starting with the obvious question: did anyone guess the plot twist?”
The conversation flows after that. We dissect the unreliable narrator. Was she untrustworthy from the start, or did she only become unmoored as the story progressed? We argue about the husband’s culpability, the best friend’s betrayal.
I love these women. How we pick apart plots and characters and themes until we’ve squeezed every drop of meaning from the pages.
No one asks about my past. No one demands explanations.
We’re in the moment, talking about someone else’s story instead of our own.
For a few hours, I lose myself in the discussion.
I forget about Mr. Cowboy and his fitted Henley.
By the time Rory calls the meeting to a close, the sky outside is dark. Past the bookshop windows, Main Street shines with old-fashioned streetlamps and the glow from other storefronts.
We file out in a slow procession, calling goodnights and see-you-soons as we disperse into the evening. I’m halfway to my car when Becky loops her arm through mine, steering me back toward the small cluster of women gathered on the sidewalk.
“So,” she says, drawing out the word like she’s winding up for an argument she plans to win. “I know I ask every Wednesday, and you always say no. But a great band is playing at the Moonshine this Friday night, and you should come.”
Rise and Moonshine is the dive bar on the edge of town where I made the mistake of going once, back in September, when I was still figuring out how to exist in Blue Crescent Harbor.
I lasted thirty minutes before some guy backed me into a corner near the pool table, and I had to spell out what no meant, in a way even he couldn’t miss. Great teaching practice.
I haven’t been back since.
“I don’t know, Becky—”
“I promise it won’t be like last time,” she rushes on, squeezing my arm. “The bar isn’t always filled with assholes. That was… bad luck. Bad timing. This weekend will be different. The band is local, and they’re fantastic. We’re all going.”
“Even me,” January confirms, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “And I’m not the biggest fan of loud places.”
“And if anyone bothers you,” Alejandra adds with a wicked grin, “Ruth will arrest them. Right, Sheriff?”
Ruth snorts. “I’m off-duty on Friday night. But I’ll still throw them out if they’re being a dick.”
“I’ll swing by once the restaurant closes.” Aurora nods. “It’ll be fun, Faye. I promise. Just dancing and drinks and good music. No weirdos. Well, no weird weirdos. Only the normal level of Blue Crescent eccentrics.”
“Please?” Lila joins in. “It won’t be the same without you.”
“Why? No offense, but you barely know me,” I point out. Eight months of book club doesn’t make us lifelong friends.
“We know enough,” Lila says firmly. “We know you love romance novels, but pretend you’re reading them ironically.
You make the best comments during discussions.
Everyone who has a kid in first grade loves you.
” I’d call twenty-one out of twenty-two on that.
“You moved here from somewhere you don’t want to talk about, and that’s fine.
We don’t need your life story to want to hang out with you. ”
I glance between them, these women who have become my friends despite my efforts to keep everyone at arm’s length. They’re looking at me with hopeful expressions, like me going actually matters to them.
And what the hell. Why not?
What’s the worst that could happen? I could use the distraction. The noise of a crowded bar to keep the silence at bay and drown out the thoughts that have been infesting my brain since this afternoon.
Blue-violet eyes flash in my mind. That angular jaw dusted with scruff.
My stomach drops.
“Is your brother going?” I blurt the question at Becky, casual but not casual enough.
Her eyebrows shoot up. A smirk plays at the corner of her mouth.
“Ryder? At the Moonshine on a Friday night?” She shakes her head.
“Nah. He doesn’t go out much. Friday nights, he’s either working late or at home with Rhys.
Why?” Her eyes gleam with curiosity and…
speculation. She’s reading into my question, drawing conclusions I don’t want her to draw.
“If your misunderstanding is resolved,” she continues, “no need to avoid him.”
“I’m not avoiding him.” I keep my voice level, unbothered. “I’m just asking.”
“Uh-huh.” Becky is still smirking. “Does that mean you’re in?”
If Ryder Evans won’t be there, then I can go.
“I’m in,” I say.
The women cheer. Becky hugs me. January pats my shoulder. Alejandra promises to do my hair if I want, and Aurora insists I have to try the jalapeno poppers the Moonshine serves because they’re “literally life-changing.”
I laugh, caught up in their enthusiasm despite myself. Maybe this is what I’ve been missing. Not just the book club, but the casual invitations, the affection, the sense of belonging to a community, and not for only one night a week.
We say our final goodnights and disperse for real this time. I climb into my car and sit for a moment before starting the engine, watching through the windshield as the other women drive away, their taillights disappearing down Main Street one by one.
Maybe I can stop watching my back and make new friends. Pretend my life is as uncomplicated as everyone assumes. I bet the most widespread speculation is that I’m fleeing a bad breakup, which in a way is true. But I’m glad no one around here reads TechCrunch or Business Insider.
If I want a fresh start, I need to stop hiding in my cave. And an evening out is the ideal first step. Friday night at the Moonshine. Dancing, drinks, a live band… And no Ryder Evans.
Perfect.