Emma patted Sloane’s shoulder. “You’ve been given an opportunity some only can dream about. Sure, you didn’t ask for it, and it comes at a cost to your pride, but think of the upside. You’ve spent years writing in secret, and now you might be able to make a living at it—and use it to help you fund your future business. All you have to do is finally be the girl who says something, and then you can move on. So stop spiraling and start figuring out what to do next. Capisce?”

Sloane sighed this time, giving her groans a rest.

“Capisce.”

But then her phone started ringing.

It hadn’t gotten this much action in years. Caller ID read Unknown. Since the blog had gone viral a week ago, she’d been getting all kinds of calls, texts, messages, and emails. Strangers, friends—her dentist’s cousin’s sister. Everyone wanted to talk, while all Sloane wanted to do was throw the phone, her laptop, and the internet as a whole into the bay for a while.

“I take back my capisce, Emma,” she hurried. “I take back my capisce!”

Emma laughed. Then she was pushing Sloane to the door.

“Hoping your problems will go away doesn’t actually make them go away.”

“You sound like a cheesy fortune cookie.”

Emma continued laughing. “Well, handle your shit doesn’t have as cute of a ring to it, does it?”

Sloane didn’t answer. Instead she was pushed out into the hall that smelled vaguely like Lysol wipes.

“And, Sloane.” Emma had switched back to that maternal tone. “You’re in town for a few weeks, right? Go do something other than sulk at the old homestead. Catch a movie or go to the park. Get some vitamin D. Okay?”

“All right, mother dearest.”

Emma smirked and then shut the door between them.

“No sulking at home?” Sloane muttered to herself like the fool she had decided she was becoming. “Guess I have no choice but to change venue.”

Since Sloane had been back in her hometown of Arbor Bay, she’d been playing hide-and-seek with three people. They just didn’t know it.

The first was her brother, Callum. He was, as he’d always been, a good big brother. Which meant he was, as he’d always been, a pain in her backside. That pain only became more pronounced when, like Emma, he let it be known that he was offended that Sloane wouldn’t tell him who Guy was…or that she’d fallen in love with him in high school. Since they were under the same roof again, their close proximity was only making her already-fried nerves extra crispy. If he wasn’t annoying her for details, he was huffing around the house because he didn’t have them. That huffing would only get worse when he realized she’d told Emma about the literary agent before him.