But the little outing was about more than the alcohol that would be sure to take the edge off the shakiness she hadn’t been able to soothe following their trip to the lighthouse, the figure in the woods that had seemed too real, the moment she’d blinked and found herself kneeling in the snow without memory of sinking to the ground.

Gossip flowed like water through this town, and she wanted to drag her fingertips through the currents to tell which way they flowed when it came to what exactly had happened to the reporter.

Mia and Izzy finished the rest of the walk in silence, and Mia was left wondering if the lingering, sidelong glances from Izzy were real or imagined. If the situation had been reversed, Mia would have been more demanding about the incident in the woods. She’d run off, without explanation, completely breaking any kind of proper protocol. She’d endangered not only herself but Izzy as well. For what? For an overactive imagination and a hint of terror lingering behind the fog she knew so well.

But maybe Izzy was going easy on her after the emotionally draining day.

The bar was dark, cozy; the neon signs that hung along the wall buzzed, casting shadows onto the faces of the men who perched on the vinyl stools. The light caught the bottles that lined the shelves, the amber liquid absorbing the pink and yellow into its depths. The paneling was deep mahogany and the leather of the booths forest green.

Max Verdon was working the taps, just like he had been when she was sixteen and trying to sweet-talk him into selling her the strawberry wine he’d kept behind the counter. He was a bit paunchier than she remembered, his stomach pressing out against the buttons of his shirt, his jowls shivering while he laughed. His hair had gone gray but was still thick, while the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened.

“Well, Lord love a duck, look what the cat dragged in,” Max called when he spotted her.

The collective gaze of the room snapped to her and Izzy where they’d been hovering in the doorway.

A flush crept up her neck, and she cursed her pale skin for always giving her away.

She ignored the attention and crossed toward the bar, leaning her forearms against the wood. “How are you, Max?”

“Great, can’t complain, can’t complain.” Max smiled all the way to his eyes. “Beth just had her second. My fourth grandbaby.”

“Congratulations,” Mia murmured. The place was overhot, especially coming in from the cold, and a bead of sweat pearled on her neck before slipping down along her spine. She unzipped her field jacket, then tugged off her hat, shaking out her hair as she did. “Hey, did Sammy make it in tonight?”