Page 98 of The Right Wrong Promise

“I was dreadfully sad to hear the news about your granddad,” she says, frowning. “Such a great man. It was always so nice when he came around with you and your brother.”

“Ethan,” Margot supplies.

“That’s right. Ethan. How’s he doing now? I heard he got engaged.”

“He did. They’re married, actually. You remember my friend who used to come here sometimes? Hattie?”

“The one with the glasses? Always had her nose stuck in a book, yes.” Mrs. Solomon’s grin widens. “She used to come into my shop looking for paperbacks and she’d need your help to carry her haul.”

“Until we came back the next week, yeah!”

“She’s the one he married?”

“That’s right,” Margot says and laughs again. “None of us saw that one coming.”

“Oh my, how lovely. Opposites do attract. It’s not just a saying.”

My dick throbs in agreement.

“No argument there,” Margot says.

They talk a bit more, reminiscing about the past and coming into her old bookstore to pick through stories and relax.

That’s the whole atmosphere here.

Must be the reason why I feel like I’m finally relaxing for the first time since we arrived.

“We do like the quiet life here,” Mrs. Solomon says. “Sometimes the tourists bring a bit of trouble, but you won’t see folks locking their doors or fussing with those fancy doorbell cameras.”

Maybe they should start,I think darkly.

“We’re lucky this town’s more Mayberry than Redhaven. Seriously, I’ve heard that place has more murders than people,” Margot says lightly.

Mrs. Solomon laughs in agreement.

They gab on about some little town in North Carolina I’ve never heard of, ruled by a creepy family with an iron fist, and a few gory cases that made national news.

Soon, Mrs. Solomon continues on her way, and I start moving us along the path again.

“Was that intentional? Trying to flush out some weirdness by mentioning that Redhaven place?”

“Yep. Sounds like nothing too weird’s been going on lately,” Margot murmurs with relief.

“Not by the sound of it, no. Worth it to follow up with a few more people.”

“For sure.” She settles a little more firmly against me, relaxing a little.

Half an hour ago, she panicked at being on a horse, but now she’s perched in front of me like a pro.

I try not to feel too smug, or shamelessly horny.

She keeps up the relentless chatter as we pass through the streets, stopping every few blocks to greet someone else.

Somehow, she always knows the locals from the tourists—and their faces must be branded into her brain. She greets the townspeople by memory.

It usually takes them a second to recognize her.

Odd how much she must’ve changed since she was a little girl, while this town stayed frozen in time.