Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
It’s not a lie if you look the part.
Licorice tea is the bane of my existence.
I’m the worst daughter in the world.
Of course I remember you, Nora.
The sentence bounced around my skull for the rest of the too-short night.
I glanced at the wall beside my bed. Just a few inches separated our rooms.
He hadn’t forgotten me. So what? Should he get a gold star for basic human decency?
Of course I remember you, Nora.
I turned onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow like I could suffocate that memory out of me. But the way he had said it… like it was obvious. Like I should have known.
Don’t be silly, little Nora. Of course I, a New York Times bestselling author, remembered you. Be grateful.
I couldn’t help but feel the smallest thrill that he did. And… then I was immediately disgusted with myself.
He was no more special than anyone else here. Just because he popped out a few books a year, had millions of fans, and—I guess—some people thought he was easy on the eyes.
Who cares? Not me.
So why the pretending in the first place? For whose benefit—mine or his?
Because the thing is, he must also remember screwing me over.
So what was this? Regret? Shame?
Because he thought he’d never see me again and now he was like, Oh shit, she got here even without my help?
He was a pompous ass no matter what. Fame really did a number on people. Some people, anyway.
In my heart, I knew Lew Elliot was nothing like John.
Not that I’d ever met Lew Elliot. But I just knew.
No one with such a rich imagination—someone who created wonderful worlds—could be a bad person.
He was probably the kind of guy you’d meet for a pint in the local pub on a Friday night and talk about Writer’s Digest.
The kind of guy who would’ve been best buddies with Dad.
I rolled onto my back, stretching my limbs. The memory of the Instagram post invaded my mind—the one about John’s relationship troubles.
Maybe that’s why he was doing this whole competition thing.
Taking part must feel like a near-certain victory for him. Boost his ego a little.
But I wouldn’t let that happen. Not without a fight.
I needed to ban all John Kater related thoughts from my head immediately.
Maybe I should buy the human equivalent of a shock collar and zap myself every time my thoughts went to him.
My foot bumped against my laptop.
My last written line read:
“—and then something awesome happened.”
Sometimes present-Nora hated past-Nora.
Minutes later, the sun attacked my eyes like tiny daggers.
I had the vague memory of someone knocking on my door.
Pain radiated from my temples.
I caught my reflection in the mirror hanging from the back of the door.
My hair stuck up in all directions. I had dark circles. And with my striped bra, I resembled a slutty Beetlejuice Halloween costume.
Thank god this was a brains-not-beauty competition.
I rolled my ass out of bed and tied the duvet around me like a toga.
Today’s Nora would get a head start.
Today’s Nora would show that she meant business.
By the time the others joined, I’d be scrubbed, caffeinated, and ready to exorcize John Kater out of my mind.
I trotted into the kitchen and filled the espresso maker, scanning the contents of the fridge by prodding and sniffing things—
—when I heard a sound behind me.
I turned and stared at May.
“Fuck,” I swore. Pain shot through my foot.
I hadn’t watched where I’d been going and had stubbed my toe on the corner of the kitchen island.
“You okay?” she asked, slipping in through the now-open patio doors.
“Outstanding,” I whimpered, tears swimming in my eyes.
Why on earth are there be so many nerve endings in the human toe?
And why the hell was May up so goddamn early?
But to my horror, Jeremy waved a gloved hand at me, stepping in behind her.
He wore a navy duffle coat that looked a little big on him.
He was followed by Elaine.
A crisp white fur-lined jacket hugged her waist with a golden buckle.
Her cheeks were flushed red, the tip of her nose rosy pink.
Her mouth twisted into something unpleasant. Disgust? Pity?
To make matters worse, she was accompanied by Charlene, whose glasses had fogged up—
—which thankfully gave me time to tug my blanket back over my cleavage.
“Oh, you’re finally up,” Charlene said, taking off her glasses to rub the fog away.
Finally…?
I glanced at the clock above the kitchen door.
And froze.
I hadn’t been sleeping for minutes. But hours.
No—worse. Half the day.
The clock ticked its way dangerously close to 11:30 a.m.
Shit.
An apology ready on my tongue, I turned—
—and nearly crashed into a wall.
Not a wall.
John.
He hadn’t come in from the patio but the hall.
His arms were full of firewood. His gaze found me, trailing down the bedsheet and back up to my Robert Smith hairdo.
I gritted my teeth.
“You poor thing,” Elaine said suddenly, dropping her coat—one that looked like it contained at least ten fluffy bunnies—over an armchair. “No wonder you didn’t join us this morning. You’re sick.”
My mouth dropped open.
Immediate snarky responses lined up on my tongue.
But then I noticed the stern crease between Charlene’s brows flatten into pity.
And I did a horrible, terrible thing.
I fake-coughed into my duvet and ran with it.
“Yes, something is up.”
I sat on the barstool with the speed of a grandma and flattened my hair while massaging my throbbing foot with the other hand.
“I’m so sorry. I really tried to join.”
Charlene tilted her head and pressed the back of her hand against my forehead in the most mom gesture ever.
“No fever—that’s lucky. You think you’ll be able to continue?”
I straightened. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Her brow rose.
“I mean… I’ll try my best,” I added, letting my shoulders slump forward.
“You really do look awful,” Elaine said, like someone had asked her opinion.
“Thanks, Elaine,” I gritted out between my teeth.
May patted my shoulder and handed me a mug. “No caffeine if you’re unwell. It’s dehydrating.”
I forced a smile as I caught John’s face across the room.
He lounged in one of the armchairs, ankle propped on one knee, looking like he was hiding a smirk.
Either he was glad I was “sick,” or he didn’t believe the BS coming out of my mouth.
Or maybe he just enjoyed seeing me this messy.
I fake-coughed again, then raised my mug in a mock salute.
He returned it—with my espresso, which Elaine had just handed him. Bastard.
“And here I thought you packed up and left last night.” He sipped, knowing full well I’d been here. With him. In the hall.
Of course I remember you, Nora.
I shifted on the chair, trying to shake off the prickle that ran up my spine. “Wouldn’t that have been convenient?” I muttered.
“I even knocked. You must’ve been out cold.”
But I didn’t answer, because at that moment my stomach let out a growl so loud it might’ve startled the crows outside—if the patio door had still been open.
“Where did you guys go?” I asked, grimacing as I sipped what turned out to be some kind of licorice tea. Whoever invented this beverage was clearly a sadist.
The organizer pointed at the agenda tacked to the back of the door. “As discussed last night, we toured the grounds. It was voluntary, but may have offered insight into Lew Elliot’s life.”
My heart sank. Not because I thought a few pine trees would fix the scene I was stuck on, but because I needed to prove I wanted to be here.
“We saw the bench where he wrote his first novel,” Jeremy said, rubbing his hands in front of the radiator. “It was mesmerizing.”
“Sounds amazing. I’m really sorry I missed it,” I said, hoping my regret looked genuine.
It seemed that only I heard John’s snort.
I tried to catch Charlene’s eye but failed. She was deep in conversation with Jeremy, talking about Lew Elliot’s work ethic and the importance of nature. I turned to the agenda instead. Writing time. Tour of grounds. Group chat.
Great. More waiting. My stomach clenched again.
The ding of a microwave snapped me out of it.
John, who’d stood up at some point without me noticing, set a plate down in front of me. It was piled with fried peppers, onions, and eggs. I nearly cried.
He flung a dishcloth onto his shoulder. “You should eat. Your growling stomach is distracting.”
I stared up at him, resisting the urge to check if my mascara was smudged.
“Or don’t,” he added. “If you faint, that’s one less person I’m competing against.” He crossed his arms, smirking.
Like hell. “Did you... just make me breakfast?”
“Leftovers.”
I considered pushing the plate away. Considered going upstairs. Maybe reclaiming some dignity, like Elaine perched over the barstool, delicately nibbling her food. Maybe even putting on pants.
But this was reality, and I’d inhaled half the plate before I met John’s smug look again. He was making a fool of me in front of everyone and knew it. But the buttery peppers and hearty eggs were too good to resist.
“Exactly what I needed,” I said, rinsing my plate and tugging the duvet tighter. “Halfway back to Healthy Town.”
“A true miracle,” John muttered.
“Good,” said Charlene, oblivious to the subtext. She sat at the kitchen table and opened her laptop. “See you guys back here in ten?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
I tackled the disaster that was my sleep-face.
After brushing my hair into a low ponytail, dabbing on concealer, mascara, and red lipstick, I felt marginally more human.
I pulled on the first things from my bag—oversized denim overalls, a leopard print T-shirt, cozy socks—and hurried back downstairs.
“We were just starting,” Jeremy said, clicking his pen with his usual cheer.
The group had formed a circle. I slid into the seat next to May, who’d picked up her knitting and gave me a wink. Elaine perched at the edge of her chair, notebook ready, her platinum curls cascading over her back like a silken waterfall.