“Sure. We’re leaving town, too.” She gestured at Sawyer and Clara. “Right now, in fact. But I’ll be back tomorrow sometime, probably in the afternoon?” She looked at Sawyer, who nodded.

“I’ll give my colleague your number so she can be in touch if there are any issues. I’ll be reachable by phone, too. But I don’t foresee any problems.”

“Sounds like you’re on top of everything,” Eve said.

“I am. Of course I can’t guarantee anything, but I’m almost certain that by the time we see each other again, you’ll have papers in front of you that will start the process of getting rid of this place. You’ll be free.”

Free.

She looked at the building. It was looking good. The windows were sparkling, the door had a fresh coat of paint, and she and Clara had planted some moonflowers in pots. Her gaze wandered up to the roof. It felt simultaneously like a lifetime ago and like just yesterday that she’d been stranded up there. She had wanted to escape Sawyer’s notice so badly that she’d semijokingly thought of rappelling down the building.

Now she had that freedom she’d so desperately wanted. This…was not what she’d thought it would feel like.

Clara dropped the bomb in the car.

In the car.

“Sawyer,” she said, “Remember how you said it’s easier to talk about serious things in the car?”

Eve sat up so abruptly that her seat belt engaged.

“What’s up?” Sawyer said casually.

Oh boy.

“I’m gay.”

“What?”

“I’m a lesbian. I like girls. I mean, I like boys, too, but I like-like girls. You know what I mean.”

Clara glanced at Eve in the rearview mirror. Eve nodded encouragingly. This was not how she would have delivered the news, but then, it wasn’t her news to deliver.

There was a long silence. She couldn’t see Sawyer, but she could feel him reeling. “Is this why you never dated?” he finally asked.

“I dated. I just didn’t date boys.”

“What?”

Clara chuckled. “Relax. I didn’t really date girls, either. I thought I might have a little thing with Lily Markerville, but it didn’t last. And really, that’s mostly why I didn’t tell you. It’s not like this town is exactly teeming with teenage lesbians.”

You never knew. Eve herself had witnessed a young woman—not Clara and not Lily Markerville, who she assumed was Miss It’s Not Theoretical—taking The Joy of Lesbian Sex from the Little Free Library several weeks ago.

“That’s mostly why you didn’t tell me?” Sawyer asked quietly. “What’s the rest?”

Good job, Sawyer. That was the right question. Not that this needed to be a huge production—Eve was hoping for not a huge production—but Clara was trying to gloss over this too quickly.