Page 112 of The Breakup Artists

“Pleased to meet you both,” Ella replies politely.

Judging by Ella’s parents’ tight expressions, we’re all experiencing the same lack of air.

“We were just about to show Ella around,” I chime in, attempting to control the uncontrollable.

Tiny takes a step toward the dock to show her eagerness, hoping that Ella follows. But no such luck.

Tiny’s dad continues. “I see you’ve already met—”

“Totally met me. We’re all good here,” Tiny says, cutting them off before they can say her name or specify that she’s their daughter.

Tiny’s mom frowns, like she knows something’s up but isn’t sure what.

I shoot Ella’s parents a “help” look.

And thankfully, Ella’s dad starts speaking. “Prem, I was hoping you could make a few introductions for me while I’m here.” He turns his back toward us like we’ve all agreed the conversation is over.

“Come on,” Tiny says, and when Ella decides to follow her, I audibly exhale.

I don’t walk with them toward the dock, though. I grab my phone off the table and follow Ella’s and Tiny’s parents at a safe distance.

I’ll explain and they’ll get her out of here, I tell myself. It’ll be okay. It has to be.

53

valentine

My blood is pumping through my veins at record speed, and the complication of August actually liking this girl makes me feel like there’s an anvil on my shoulders.

“This is the dock where Holden and I swam every summer growing up,” I tell Ella, trying to keep her distracted. “We always liked it better than the ocean for some reason. Felt like our own private swimming hole.”

“I can totally see that,” Ella says as we walk along the wooden planks decorated with white twinkle lights. The party has expanded closer to the water, and we have to step around people. “It’s charming here. Quaint. Did you guys spend a lot of time here as kids?” There’s something in her voice that I can’t place, something unsure.

I nod, hoping my enthusiasm will dispel her doubts. “Kinda, yeah. Holden’s mom was always on some excursion or other, and my parents basically work nonstop.”

“But now you live near me,” Ella continues, like she’s trying to understand. “What street was it again?”

“Uh, Spring Street,” I say, feeling distinctly uneasy about this line of questioning.

“Funny,” she says. “I have a friend who lives on that street. Which house is it?”

While I always prepare for questions like this before every case, her timing is making me feel sick. “Blue one with the white trim. You’re welcome anytime,” I say, replying with confidence I don’t feel.

But she doesn’t respond. She just chews her cheek and stares at the water.

“So, who should I introduce you to first?” I say.

She looks at me and her forehead scrunches. “Valentine,” she says, and all the blood drains from my face. “I’d love to meet Valentine.”

“Valentine?” I repeat, my real name sticking in my throat.

“Prem and Piper. They have a daughter named Valentine,” she says, and my stomach seizes. “I remember reading it in a gossip blog.”

I swallow. There wasonearticle last year that mentioned me, and while I was delighted, my parents weren’t. They had my name retracted. It was up for less than forty-eight hours. “How do you remember that?” I ask, shocked.

“I told you; my friends and I were obsessed with coming to this party,” she says, and everything in me sinks. They probably saw me as their in—if they could find me and befriend me, that is.

“Ella—” I start, but she cuts me off.