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DESPITE TELLING RYAN that we didn’t have to decide anything now about the future of our relationship, I spent the weekend imagining ways of breaking it to my dad that I was moving to New Hampshire and checking out local real estate listings online.

Meanwhile, using my need to research my upcoming truck-stuck-in-the-covered-bridge scenario, Ryan and I went to Stonebridge on Sunday, doing a walk around the picturesque little town before grabbing lunch at the Lakeside Inn.

We had a table so small that our knees knocked together.

It was cozy and charming, and my heart fluttered every time Ryan smiled at me.

On Monday morning, I had a Zoom meeting with Anita. Her background was a spooky gothic castle now, instead of a space battle.

“Suits you,” I said, and her glower honestly just proved my point.

“Meanwhile, you’re looking very relaxed,” she said. “I hope that’s because the words are flowing.”

“They are, actually,” I said. “I’m on track to have the first draft to you in three weeks. Which leaves plenty of time for ironing out any kinks and then polishing it up.”

Her mouth twitched. “Assuming there are no major rewrites required.”

“There aren’t,” I said, actually meaning it. “This feels good, Anita. It feels better than good. I’m a lot happier with it than I was with the last one.”

She tilted her head. “When you finished the last one, you told me you thought it was your strongest work.”

“We both knew I was talking out of my ass, right?”

It wasn’t often that Anita laughed, and she didn’t do it now. She snorted though, which was about as close as she got. “Oh, yes. We both knew.”

I winced. “Ouch, but yeah.”

“You wrote a solid mystery,” she said, arching a brow. “But you’re a better writer than ‘solid.’”

“I think you’ll be pleased,” I said. “I’m excited by these characters again and by this story.”

We went back and forth a little longer about the book and the direction I was taking the characters.

Anita told me the fans would love to see the bookstore owner and the deputy get together and agreed with me that it made the stakes a lot higher.

She also agreed there would be pushback from some quarters but asked me how much I was prepared to say “fuck it” to that sort of criticism.

It turned out we were both looking forward to that part, and I finished the call feeling even more excited about this book than I had been before.

When my phone buzzed, I figured Anita might have thought of something she’d forgotten to mention in our meeting, but it was from a number I didn’t know.

Hi Adam, this is Ben. I got your number from Aunt Harriet’s library note. I was wondering if you’d like to meet up for lunch today? I’d really like to talk to you.

Well, that sounded ominous, right? I tried to figure out what the hell Ben could possibly have to talk to me about, but I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

As far as I could work out, he was new to the group and to Harmony Lake as well, so it wasn’t like he was about to share one of Ryan’s deep, dark secrets with me.

This wasn’t one of my books.

Besides, Ryan didn’t have any deep, dark secrets. Like, maybe he didn’t like maple syrup or something, but nothing that actually mattered . Though maybe the maple syrup thing did matter in these parts. My point was, Ryan was the most genuine, honest guy I’d ever met. Wasn’t he?

I didn’t like the creeping doubt that swirled in my stomach. But more than that, I didn’t like not knowing. So, just like a determined bookstore owner on the trail of a killer, I answered the mysterious invitation that had come out of nowhere.

Hi Ben. That sounds great. What time, and where?

Then, unable to concentrate on my fictional mystery when I might have had a real one on my hands, I stared at my phone while I waited for a reply.

RYAN WAS DOING something loud in the workshop when I approached, and when I stuck my head around the open doors that let in the breeze from the lake, I saw he was working at something on the lathe.

He was wearing ear protectors in addition to his gloves and his eye protectors, and I didn’t want to risk startling him, so I hung back and watched him work.

My gaze fell on the camp bed in the corner by the small refrigerator.

There was a rolled-up sleeping bag on top of it and the familiar cover of the book I’d given him.

I wondered why he hadn’t brought it over to the cabin with the rest of his stuff.

I slipped through the workshop behind him and picked the book up.

It looked as fresh and new as the day I’d given it to him.

The spine wasn’t creased. Either he was more careful with his paperbacks than I was, or he hadn’t even cracked it open yet.

I wasn’t sure why the second idea bothered me so much.

Had I been pushy when I’d asked him to read it and give me feedback?

I’d had friends tell me before—some gently and some not so gently—that I was often more excited to talk about my books than other people were to hear about them.

It was a fair criticism, probably. Ryan hadn’t given any indication he’d thought that, but then, how well did I know him?

It felt ridiculous to be having thoughts like this when only this morning I’d been looking up real estate listings in Caldwell Crossing, but Ben’s mysterious invitation to lunch was hanging over my mood like a cloud threatening a storm.

I’d told Ryan a few nights ago that I worried everything could go to shit in a second, and that was sure hitting hard right now, wasn’t it?

Ryan straightened up and turned around. “Shit!” He put a hand on his chest, grinning, and then switched the lathe off. The sudden silence felt stark. “You scared me.”

His warm expression filled at least half the gaping space in my gut that my self-doubt had hollowed out. I was overreacting, that was all. Taking one and one and coming up with a number science hadn’t even imagined yet.

He tugged his ear protectors off, following them with earbuds. Then he pushed his eye protectors up onto his head and wiped his gloves on the thighs of his jeans. Sawdust glinted in the sunlight like motes of pollen.

I set the book back down. “Would you believe I’ve been standing here staring at you for hours?”

He tilted his head and made a face. “Seriously?”

“Nah, I’ve been here for about two minutes.” I moved closer to him so I could tuck today’s note into the pocket of his apron. “So, Ben’s invited me to go to lunch with him today.”

“Huh,” he said. “Cool.”

It wasn’t the reaction of a man with a dark secret to hide. “Want to come?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’d love to, but I had a call from a guy I know out near Mapleview who runs a mobile sawmill. He’s gonna hook me up with some white ash. He says the property owner doesn’t want it all, so he’s willing to sell it to me for cheap if I clear it away. Raincheck?”

“Okay,” I said. “Want me to bring you anything?”

“No, I’m good. We’ve got that leftover pasta bake. I’ll heat that up later.”

I reached up and wiped a smudge of sawdust off his cheek. Or maybe there was nothing there at all and I just wanted to touch him. “Sounds great. I’ll see you later then.”

“See you.”

I tilted my head for a kiss, wishing that I could shake the last tendrils of this ridiculous sudden doubt.

Clearly it was partly the result of spending too many hours dreaming up intricate fictional mysteries but mostly just my personality.

I needed to work on that. The problem with humans being such good identifiers of patterns was that when the shit had hit the fan for you a couple of times before in your life, you kept waiting for the next time.

Which was unfair on Ryan, but it was also unfair on me. Self-sabotage was ugly.

“I’ll get something for dinner then,” I said.

“Great.” He reached for his eye protectors, so I waggled my fingers at him in an incredibly awkward wave and left him to work.

A short while later, I headed off into Caldwell Crossing, keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the map screen of my little rental car.

Ben had asked to meet at Lucy’s Bar. My stomach rumbled in anticipation of getting another one of those amazing blue cheese burgers, despite the weirdness of this whole meeting.

Unless I was overthinking this situation?

Maybe Ben was looking for a friend and had picked the other new guy in the group.

Just because “I’d really like to talk to you” sounded ominous to me, there was a possibility he hadn’t meant it that way at all.

Anyway, there was no point worrying about it being something bad until I got there and found out, right?

Yeah, it was a shame that anxiety wasn’t rational like that.

I found a park on Periwinkle and walked from there to the pub. It was another gorgeous day. Warm, without being too hot, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. Even in the middle of town the air smelled fresh and clean. I could definitely imagine moving here.

When I entered the bar, I looked around for Ben and saw him sitting at a table in the corner. He glanced up worriedly as I approached, and my stomach swooped because that didn’t bode well. Also, Sam was sitting with him.

“Hey, Adam,” Sam said, standing as I approached. “Glad you could make it.”

“No problem,” I said, taking a seat and casting a wary look at Ben. He managed a wan smile.

Sam nudged a laminated menu toward me.

The server came and took our orders, and we sat awkwardly for a moment until she returned with our sodas. Just when I was starting to wonder if I should have ordered a double shot of alcohol instead—it seemed like it might be that kind of a conversation—Sam said, earnestly, “It’s nothing bad .”

That didn’t fill me with confidence, funnily enough.

I jabbed a clump of ice with my straw and nodded.

Ben cleared his throat. “Uh, okay, this is really awkward.”

“Did you sleep with Ryan?” I blurted.