But not tonight. Tonight I’m pretending to be normal. I’m resting. No work in the morning. Ryan and I will talk eventually, when he’s ready. I don’t have to figure everything out today. Which was another one of Dianne’s mantras. I’m starting to realize I haven’t appreciated her enough. I should get her a gift or something.

For a few hours, I watch bakers create beautiful, intricate treats out of disparate ingredients, the flickering light of the screen the only brightness in the room, before my phone dings with an incoming message.

Trina: Thought you might find this interesting.

There’s a link included, so I click on it. When it loads, it’s a social media post about Charles Hall, which is strange. I didn’t mention anything about Charles when we were out for coffee. I had figured his role in this was ultimately unimportant. In the story of my life, he might be a catalyst, but he’s still always going to be just a side character. Nothing was going to change if she knew about it or not, so I didn’t bother bringing it up.

But she’s right. I am interested. Scrolling down a bit, I read the caption.

Charles Hall’s anticipated Midnight on Main Street will be delayed indefinitely. We know this is a hard blow for his fans, but after months of trying to find the right home for it, there doesn’t seem to be a publisher that is the right fit. Alas, we will not give up the fight, dear Charlatans. Onward and upward.

“Does this idiot write his own social media captions?” I mutter to myself as I type out a response to Trina.

Scarlett: He calls his fans “Charlatans”?

Trina: You read that whole post and that was your takeaway?

Scarlett: It means someone who deceives others.

Trina: Seems appropriate to me.

I pull the corners of my lips down and nod. She’s not wrong. But before I can tell her that, she messages again.

Trina: No one is publishing his book.

Scarlett: Yes, I can read.

Trina: That isn’t the least bit interesting to you?

Smiling softly to myself, I glance up as one of the bakers pours batter into a cake pan. Maybe Ryan was right. Maybe the bad guy doesn’t get to win this time.

Wait…

I blink rapidly a few times, trying to convince myself that this is a coincidence. But how could it be? Not twelve hours ago, Charles Hall’s smug-ass face was telling me he got an amazing deal for that book by selling me out. Why did it die today of all days?

Pushing the Call button, I lean forward to mute the television as I press my phone to my ear. It only takes one ring for Trina to answer.

“There it is,” she says, self-satisfied.

“You knew about Charles.”

“Yes.”

“Ryan told you.”

“Also yes.”