11. Salem
SALEM
By the time I got to the café, I was ten minutes late, under-caffeinated, and already dreading whatever version of myself I was going to have to be for the next hour.
The café was one of those Gray Harbor places that looked like it had been assembled by someone with a very specific Pinterest board. Exposed brick. Hanging plants. Tiny gold light fixtures that cast the kind of warm glow that made everything look more romantic than it deserved to be.
I spotted Rowan immediately.
She was already at a small corner table, half-curled over a giant blueberry muffin with one leg tucked under her, looking like she’d claimed the table at least twenty minutes ago.
There was a second coffee sitting across from her, untouched, which either meant she’d ordered for me or she’d ordered two for herself and was pacing accordingly.
A few feet away, Alba stood waiting on a drink, wearing a rust-colored sweater dress that somehow managed to look both cozy and like she was about to run a production meeting.
Every time I saw Alba, I was reminded that her closet must be extraordinary.
She turned when I walked in, her expression doing the thing it did — lighting up when she saw me.
They both noticed me at the same time.
“You came,” Alba said.
“I considered faking my death in the parking lot,” I said, sliding into the chair across from Rowan.
She pushed the second coffee toward me without a word.
I looked down at it. Exactly what I would have ordered. The woman knew me at a cellular level.
“I take back at least thirty percent of the bad things I’ve thought about you this week.”
“Only thirty?” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
“That is significantly more than I extend to most people. Take the win.”
She softened slightly.
Alba settled into the last chair, and I realized I had skipped a step.
“Sorry. Rowan, this is Alba. She runs the Butcher’s Den, and she’s the reason my face is on the internet.
” I gestured between them. “Alba, this is Rowan. She’s my best friend, and the reason I was at the haunted house in the first place.
She is directly responsible for all the bad decisions I’ve made in the last decade. ”
Rowan extended her hand. “I prefer to think of it as curated experiences.”
“She would.”
Alba shook it. “I feel like we have a lot to discuss.”
“We absolutely do,” Rowan said, leaning forward.
A server materialized. Breakfast tacos, a pastry basket, and something with avocado that was definitely too expensive to be called toast landed on the table. I reached for a croissant before anyone had finished sitting down.
“Correct instinct,” Rowan said. “Carb load before any significant conversation.”
Alba set her cup down. “How are you actually feeling about all of this?”
I exhaled slowly. “Like I accidentally tripped into a Hallmark movie directed by Satan.”
Rowan choked on her muffin. Her hand landed on mine, which I chose to interpret as solidarity rather than the Heimlich.
Alba laughed, bright and genuine. “That bad?”
“No,” I said. “And somehow that’s worse. Not bad. Just—weirdly intense.”
Rowan studied me over the rim of her coffee. “Good ‘weirdly intense’ or bad ‘weirdly intense?’”
I broke off a piece of croissant I didn’t need and used it to avoid answering immediately. “Complicated ‘weirdly intense.’”
“Ah,” Alba said. “The most dangerous kind.”
“Speaking of dangerous”—I pointed at her with the pastry—“you owe us an explanation about Lucy.”
Alba settled back in her chair, cup in both hands.
“Oh, Lucy. Lucy has been in love with Ethan for years. I would have warned you about her, but I preemptively told her about the PR arrangement, hoping she would”—she paused, visibly choosing her words—“adjust her expectations. She’s genuinely helpful to the organization, but intense would be the word I’d use. ”
Rowan let out a low whistle.
My stomach tightened immediately, which was deeply annoying because I had been working hard on not having feelings about this, and my stomach had not received the memo.
“Great,” I said flatly.
“It’s not great. It’s a speed bump, and it’s exhausting, honestly. She is exhausting.”
I set the croissant down. “How long is ‘years?’”
Alba wrapped both hands around her cup. “Long enough that anyone in our circle has at some point assumed they’d end up together. They went out a few times. Nothing serious. And then there was one night—”
Rowan’s eyes went wide. “So, they have slept together.”
“Yes.”
I looked down at the table. “Cool. Love that for me.”
“It was a while ago,” Alba said simply. “And it didn’t go anywhere. Ethan was clear about that.”
“Why didn’t it go anywhere?” I asked before I could decide whether I wanted the answer. “If she’s that persistent, and they already—”
“Because it’s not about Lucy,” Alba said. “I mean, I think he liked her at one point, but…”
Rowan frowned. “What does that mean?”
Alba sighed. “Ethan doesn’t date. Like, as a rule. Not Lucy specifically. Not anyone specifically. He’s polite about it, which somehow makes it worse, because you can’t even be mad at him properly.”
“Oh yes, I heard this,” I said. “Define ‘doesn’t date.’”
“Doesn’t let anything get far enough to count as dating,” Alba said. “He’ll do the casual thing, the undefined thing, easy to walk away from. Lucy’s just the one who didn’t take the hint. Most people do.”
“Why?” I hated how much I needed the answer.
Alba turned her cup slowly on the table.
“Officially? He says he’s not staying. Gray Harbor’s temporary, the plan was always to go back to the life he had before he moved her to help his grandpa, so why start something he’d just have to leave?
” She made a face. “Which, fine, sure, very logical, mature. Except he’s been saying that for almost two years and hasn’t actually gone anywhere, so personally I think that’s a load of shit”
“What do you actually think it is?” Rowan asked, leaning in.
“I think he lost his grandad and his Nan within about a year and a half of each other, right before all of this, and he lost both his parents very young. I don’t think he’s ever actually dealt with that.
I think it’s a lot easier to tell yourself you’re keeping things light because you’re leaving than to admit you’re keeping things light because you’re terrified of caring about something here and losing it too. ” She shrugged. “But nobody asked me.
I felt a wave of compassion for Ethan suddenly. Losing all your family must be a catastrophic hill to climb. It landed somewhere I didn’t love—a little too close to making sense.
“She’s not mean, Lucy,” Alba continued. “She’s smart, and she is great at what she does for the foundation.
But she has this habit of hovering, like if she waits long enough in the right orbit, he’ll realize something he hasn’t realized.
I don’t think it’s entirely her fault.” She paused.
“She’s just very used to getting what she wants. ”
“Spoiled,” I said.
Alba pointed at me. “Yes, but I wouldn’t say that out loud.”
I thought of the coffee she’d placed on the table. The pat on the top of it. The smile. “She does seem very practiced.”
“She is, and she won’t be openly rude to you. She’s too controlled for that.”
Rowan leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling briefly. “So, basically, this is going to stay weird.”
“That’s an accurate summary,” Alba said. “My actual advice? Forget the rule. Forget Lucy. You are being paid a good amount of money to spend time with an extremely attractive man who clearly likes you. Have fun with it. When else does that happen?”
“Can we talk about literally anything else?” I mutter. “My brain is starting to make sounds.”
“Yes,” Rowan blurted, pivoting smoothly. “Alba—what’s next for the charity? Do you do this kind of PR thing often?”
Alba laughed. “I wish. This is fairly new territory for us. Honestly, I feel like we’re barely keeping up with what it’s generated.
We should be doing more with it, but every time the two of them stand next to each other”—she glanced at me—“people just see it. The chemistry does the work. I feel like a pageant mom who just pointed her kid at a stage and the kid started winning.”
“Please.” I pressed both hands to my face. “Any other topic.”
“Sorry,” she said, not looking remotely apologetic. “The next few weeks are important. We’re over on donations for the year, which is great, but I want to build momentum going into next year. The more we raise now, the more we can actually offer.”
“It’s an incredible cause.”
Alba straightened slightly. “Okay. Awkward pivot. Can we talk about Paul?”
Rowan, who had been in the process of taking a sip of coffee, lowered her cup and used it to cover the bottom half of her face like a shield. “If we must,” she said, from behind it.
“You went out with him. How did we not meet already?” Alba asked.
Rowan set the cup down with a thud. “ It was very brief. I was helping my dad with his website. He wanted to meet at his bowling league. Paul was there. We made a lot of eye contact, which in retrospect was my first red flag.”
“Eye contact is genuinely dangerous,” Alba said with complete solemnity.
“Extremely. Anyway. After an irresponsible quantity of cheap beer, I went home with him.”
I nodded. Alba went still in the way of someone watching a nature documentary reach its pivotal moment.
Rowan continued. “I thought it was a one-time thing. You know. What happens in bowling alleys stays in bowling alleys.”
“A classic and understandable assumption,” Alba said.
“He asked me out the next morning as I was leaving… I said yes. Because cute. Charming. Surprisingly funny. I was willing to overlook the bowling alley origin story.”
Rowan took a long sip. “He took me to a decent restaurant but spent the entire dinner on his phone. Texting someone. Smiling at his phone. Living what appeared to be a full and satisfying digital life that had nothing to do with me. Just nodding every few minutes like I was a podcast he’d forgotten to pause. ”
Alba winced. “No.”
“Yes. So, I excused myself, paid the entire bill—”
“You paid?”
“I panicked,” Rowan said without apology. “Also, I refuse to be financially connected to a man who texts through appetizers. It’s a principle. If he ever texts me, I’m blocking him. Even though he still has yet to reach out in any way.”
Alba looked genuinely pained. “He talks about you constantly, which is why I asked. I love him—he’s one of Miles’s best friends—but what he did was not okay, and you were right to leave.”
Rowan’s expression softened. Being told she’d been right was her love language.
“Block away if needed,” Alba said.
Rowan smiled into her coffee.
Alba took a breath. “Okay. Can we be done talking about men for the rest of this table sitting?”
“Seconded,” I said immediately. “I am reading the most unhinged book right now, and I need to tell someone about it.”
They leaned in. The sun shifted outside, spilling through the window until the table glowed in late-afternoon light. It felt like one of those moments you don’t recognize as important until years later.
“Tentacles?” Rowan shrieked.
Alba already had a pen out. “Name of the book. Now.”
I laughed. This was a great morning with great company, and for a little while, that was enough.