Page 7 of Perfect Liar
Drink more wine.
No one else used the beach house anymore.
My father had inherited it from his father, and now it belonged to Isabel and me.
While my sister would object for sure, I’d been thinking seriously about moving in permanently before summer ended. It took me 25 minutes one way to and from the school in Stonington, but striking out on my own would make the drive worth it.
Growing more determined, I made another list, cheating, writing down only good reasons for taking the leap.
Private shoreline.
Water steps away from my back door.
My soul rests better there.
I might forget the sexy stranger filling my mind.
The sea’s whispers might replace his voice.
The deep-blue water might erase his blue eyes.
Oh my god, now you’re getting stupid. Go back to bed.
Days passed, and I still couldn’t clear Will from my thoughts. His elusive presence haunted me, and my curiosity about him became a fixation.
I had walked the fishing pier four times, hoping to see him there again. He wasn’t there, and honestly it came as no surprise. I knew he wasn’t a longshoreman or fishing crew. He didn’t fit the profile.
When walking to work, to the art studio, to Jess’s house, I had searched the streets for him. I had to find him, had to ease the aching in my lower abdomen. I grew more and more irritable and even unpredictable, or so Isabel had said.
I had to get past this, whatever the hell it was.
A text message from Jess pinged my phone.
Running 10 minutes late. Cover me.
We tended bar together at Nick’s restaurant three nights a week, sometimes four nights. The great tips we got helped us pay down our student loan debt. And we needed the distraction to help pass the time.
No problem.
Don’t forget the big party tonight. Be there as soon as I can.
The big party—an annual event celebrating the restaurant’s long run in the community. It drew people for miles throughout New London County, and the timing was perfect.
Don’t take too long!
I hadn’t forgotten. I’d been planning on it.
Because my gut told me Will Hastings would show up. And if I could talk to him, ask him some questions, then maybe the possessed mood taking over my life might let go.
I pulled on the t-shirt with Nick’s latest crimson-and-yellow logo, remembering how my niece, Lissie, thought it resembled the Superman emblem. I tucked it into my cutoff shorts and put some rosy-red stain on my lips.
After walking several blocks to work, I pushed open the restaurant’s signature blue door, and noise from the large crowd hit me in the face. The manager raised her arms and waved me over to the bar.
Only minutes into my shift, I had already mixed two cocktails and served three beers.
As I mixed the next order, Josh Mendes came in from the rear patio and just stood there. I had my back turned, but I could see him in the mirror hanging above the bar.
He watched quietly while I made two skinny margaritas and a whiskey smash.