Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Praise for Fight or Flight
- Praise for New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young
- ALSO BY SAMANTHA YOUNG
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Readers Guide
- Excerpt from FIGHT OR FLIGHT
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
She smiled as she approached the counter. Maggie was a small woman, so I assumed Annie got her height from her father’s side. She had the same lovely “are they green, blue, or gray?” eyes as Annie, although hers were slightly dulled with a perpetual hint of sadness.
“Good afternoon, Evie. I’m here to order a book, if possible. My favorite author only releases one book a year and I always ordered it from Penny.”
“Of course.” I turned to the store’s laptop and pulled up the distribution database. “What’s the name and title?”
She told me and I found the book and processed the order.
“Shall I just pay when it comes in?”
“Yeah.” I looked up from the screen. “I haven’t heard of her. What kind of books does she write?”
Maggie smiled. “Mystery. She’s like a modern Agatha Christie.”
“Cool. Are you a big reader?”
“The gallery can get quiet, so it’s nice to have a book under the counter.” She gestured around the room. “You have your pick of them.”
“I do. I’m kind of living my dream right now.”
“You love books like I love art.” She leaned against the counter. “Where does it come from, Evie? That passion?”
No one had asked me that. Not even Roane. The answer was a deep pang in my chest. “I . . . uh . . . my dad died when I was eight . . .”
Maggie’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. It was difficult and, um, my mom fell apart, and books were my solace. My escape.” Suddenly realizing the correlation between my relationship with my mother and Annie’s, I wondered how much I should reveal. Not a lot of people knew about my relationship with my mother, but Maggie and my mom had something in common. They’d both let down their daughters in a big way. But they also weren’t bad people. Not at all.
“My mom’s a recovering alcoholic. In and out of rehab for most of my life. She’s not a bad person,” I hurried to explain. “The very opposite, in fact. But she’s disappointed and hurt me a lot over the years.”
Tears shimmered in Maggie’s eyes as she pressed away from the counter, and I knew those tears weren’t for me. They were for her and Annie.