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ALLISON

B y the time Gram and I get back to the bungalow, I’ve mentally rehearsed five different ways to confront Connor.

Most of them involve yelling.

One involves throwing my flip-flop at him.

All of them end with him finally telling me what the hell is going on.

I escort Gram to her bungalow with a to-go cup of sangria and a warning to please stay out of trouble, and far, far away from Captain Jimmy, for the next fifteen minutes.

She eyes me like a naughty child caught stealing cookies. “I’m older than you. I can do what I want.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Wrong angle, Allie.

I try again, softer. “You can stream Golden Girls on your TV. Want me to show you how?”

The sass vanishes instantly. She clasps her hands like I just handed her a winning lottery ticket. “I didn’t know you could do that here. I love my girls. I miss watching them.”

I follow her inside, avoiding direct eye contact with the flamboyant pink straw hat and the see-through tropical cover-up tossed over the chair.

She chatters nonstop. “You know, I’ve been told I’m horny like Blanche but quick-witted and sarcastic like Sophia.”

I think I just vomited in my mouth.

She hands me the remote, after pulling it from beneath a stack of Playgirl -adjacent magazines featuring shirtless men in cowboy hats.

I pretend I don’t see them. At all.

“Sophia’s fierce. Like me,” she says proudly.

“Yes, you are.”

I’m only half-listening.

My brain is still spinning with everything I want to say to Connor. Every way I plan to drag the truth out of him.

I give Gram a quick tutorial and queue up the show.

She sinks into her armchair, already humming the theme song and sipping her drink like life is perfect.

As soon as her eyes are glued to the screen, I slip out and head back to the bungalow I share with Connor.

* * *

He’s pacing the kitchen when I walk in.

He stops when he sees me, tension radiating off him in waves.

I fold my arms. “Talk.”

He frowns. “Talk about what?”

“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been acting weird for days. You’re tense. Paranoid. Barely letting me out of your sight. And today, you sent me off with Gram while you… what? Spy on tourists? Pretend this is still a honeymoon?”

Connor runs a hand through his hair. “Allie, I told you—I was planning a surprise?—”

“Bullshit,” I cut in. “Try again.”

He exhales slowly. “It’s nothing. Just… a bad feeling. I’m probably overthinking it.”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re a lot of things, Connor Byrns, but you’re not paranoid without reason. Something’s going on. And I deserve to know what it is.”

He opens his mouth, probably to lie or deflect again, but I cut him off.

“I saw someone.”

His whole body goes rigid. “What?”

“Today. After Gram and I left the psychic shop. Across the street. Hoodie. Sunglasses. Just… standing there. Watching me.”

His eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I’m telling you now.” I glare. “Unlike you, who still hasn’t told me anything.”

He grabs his phone, muttering under his breath.

“What did he look like? Height? Build? Did he follow you? Did Gram see him?”

I lift a hand. “Nope. You don’t get to fire off questions until you answer mine.”

He stops. Turns to me. His jaw is tight. Hands fisted at his sides.

“Allie…”

“No.” I take a step forward. “I’m not just your wife when it’s convenient. I’m not your responsibility to protect while you play hero. I’m your partner. Start treating me like one. Tell me what’s going on.”

He stares at me, torn between the instinct to protect and the need to be honest. Then, finally, his shoulders drop.

When he speaks, his voice is low. Raw. “I think someone’s watching us. Watching you. And I think it’s tied to Peyton.”

My stomach drops.

I nod, keeping my voice steady. Calm. Showing him I’m not going to fall apart. “Start from the beginning.”