Page 65 of Ghosts Don't Cry

I’m not looking for him. I’mnot.

“Well.” Cassidy looks around. “They didn’t do this halfway, did they?”

“Booth in the back?” I suggest, already moving.

We slide into the booth, and Cassidy leaves to order drinks. Left alone, I watch the door. Each time it opens, my heart flips. Every time someone else walks through, relief and disappointment war in equal measure.

“You’re doing it again.” Cassidy places a drink in front of me. “That ghost-seeing thing.”

“Sorry. Everything is so different, but still the same in places.”

“Like him?”

“Yeah.” I run my finger around the rim of my glass. “He’s so different now. The way he moves and talks, but his eyes …”

“Are the same?”

“I thought that the first time I saw him, but no.” I think about how he looked at me. “They’re harder now, colder. It makes me think he’s trying to prove something.”

“To you?”

I think about how he looked framed in his doorway, all that prison-built muscle and ink hiding the boy I used to know. “To this whole town.”

I take a sip of my drink, a cocktail made from vodka and elderflower that Sullivan’s would never have served, and let the alcohol burn away the memories that won’t leave me no matter how much I try to force them away.

“Do you think he took Amy and Kate up on their offer the other night?” The question leaves my lips before I can stop it.

She lifts one shoulder. “Not if he has any sense. Those two would eat him alive.”

“I overheard Kate telling at The Jittery Squirrel this morning that he’s meeting them here tonight.” The admission costs me. “What if he does?”

“Then we act like the adults we’ve become.” Cassidy’s voice is firm, but her eyes are gentle. “Adults who have built lives that don’t revolve around the past and high school drama. And if they try anything, I’ll remind them about why they used to be scared of me in cheerleading practice.”

I summon a smile, which fades when the door swings open again. My heart stops, then starts again when a group of people from the bank walk in. Carol from the front desk waves as they pass our booth.

“You know,” Cassidy says a few minutes later. “You are allowed to still care about him, and what happened.”

“What?”

“Lily.” She reaches across the table and catches my hand, squeezing my fingers. “You spent years becoming someone this town respects instead of whispers about. Building a career, making a difference with those kids, and proving you’re more than what happened in school. That doesn’t disappear just because seeing him again hurts.”

I blink hard and reach for my drink.

We fall into easier conversation after that. Cassidy tells me about a custom order she’s working on—matching beds for three elderly pugs whose owner treats them like royalty. I tell her about Marcus’s latest fish palace theory, and how Zack is convinced his pet rock is learning to read.

We’re being normal. Just two friends having drinks on a Friday night, not thinking about the past or the ghosts that walk through it.

The door opens again. Amy enters first, wearing something that probably cost more than my classroom supplies budget for the entire year. Kate follows, heels clicking against the polished floor. Both of them walk with the kind of confidence that comes from never being told no. They scan the room like predators, checking territory, taking in who’s here, who’s watching, and who matters.

Their eyes find us. Amy’s smile sharpens.

“Lily!” Her voice carries across the bar, pitched to turn heads. Several people look up. “What a surprise seeing you here.”

They make their way over, all practiced grace and predatory smiles. Kate’s perfume arrives before she does, something expensive and cloying that makes my head hurt and my stomach clench. Under the table, Cassidy’s knee presses against mine in silent warning to breathe.

“Mind if we join you?” Amy slides into our booth without waiting for an answer, forcing me to shift closer to the wall. Kate follows, boxing us in. “We’re meeting someone, but there’s no reason we can’t wait with friends, right?”

The wordfriendsdrips with poisoned honey. My fingers tighten around my glass.