Backup Plan - Emily Goodwin Page 0,13

the book pretty well, with some original storylines set up for some side characters, giving them more screen time than I’d written in for them.

Breaking my self-imposed rule of avoiding social media this trip so I can focus on my book, I go to Instagram and reply to a few comments and messages. I do my best to interact with fans because it honestly still blows my fucking mind I have fans.

Then I fall down the Free Britney rabbit hole until the doorbell rings. My stomach grumbles at the thought of pizza, and I don’t even bother with a plate. I take the entire box back to the screened-in porch, shoving a piece in my mouth.

“This is so good,” I tell Balloon, picking off a pepperoni and tossing it to him. He gets gassy if he gets too much people food, but he sleeps with Dad and Wendy, not me.

There’s a ceiling fan out here on the porch, and when the weather is a little cooler and you crank that thing on high, it’s really pleasant out here. But with a warm, sticky breeze coming in from the lake, it’s hot no matter how hard that little fan spins. I suffer through the heat so I can eat two more pieces of pizza, slowly sipping the rest of the Merlot. I look out at the water as I eat, doing my best not to think of anything, which really just reminds me how talkative my damn brain is.

Like for real, just shut up every once in a while. Live in the moment and feel the zen or whatever the fuck you’re supposed to do, okay? Rolling my eyes at myself, I put the pizza crust back in the box. I ordered crust with garlic sauce brushed on it, thinking it would be like a breadstick and I’d be able to eat it. It’s strange, I know, that I love breadsticks but don’t like pizza crust.

Stopping myself from eating yet another slice of pizza and then being gassy the rest of the night just like Balloon, I close the box and get up, feeling instant relief when I step into the air-conditioned living room. The sun is still shining through the large windows, but it has that evening glow, the kind that promises a reprieve from the harshness of the hot sun while still holding onto the heat of the day.

My heart swells in my chest as I look around the living room. It’s so different yet the same, with updated photos on the gallery wall. Most are of me, a few are of Balloon, and the rest are Dad and Wendy. Wendy’s husband passed before they had children, and she confessed not that long ago she still regrets never allowing herself to move on and have a baby before she became too old to. But it all worked out, she says, because she met my father when she needed him most.

There’s a large stone fireplace centered in the far wall in the living room, perfect for winter nights when the lake is nearly frozen over and frost and snow cling to the surrounding trees. I came here two Christmases ago, arriving the day before Christmas Eve and then not being able to leave until the end of December thanks to a snowstorm. Since I moved, I’ve only returned to Silver Ridge a handful of times, and it’s all quick trips.

Two days for Thanksgiving. Three for Christmas. One for Dad’s birthday. Dad picks me up from the airport and drives to the house. We’re busy and time flies and I don’t leave the house. It’s safe, keeping me in a little bubble. Come home with a reason, stay distracted, and then leave.

I haven’t been back like this in, hell, six years. Not having a busy schedule or an organized agenda makes me anxious. Because when I don’t know exactly what to do every minute of every day, my mind starts to wander.

And being back here…looking around the house and hearing the happy chatter and distant rumble of boats out on the lake…it makes me worry my heart will wander as well.

Chapter Six

Sam

Chloe Fisher is in town.

Rory’s words echo through my head for the millionth time. Chloe. In town. This town. The one I’m in right now. It’s no surprise, not any more than it is for me to come back. Chloe’s from Silver Ridge and her father still lives here.

So why the fuck is it getting under my skin so much?