Page 89 of Plotting Summer

But I can’t put off the inevitable forever, so I grab my phone and turn off airplane mode.

My phone dings with an incoming text. I’m expecting it to be from Tristan or Jane, but it’s a text from Lacy, my neighbor in Naples.

LACY

Hey. I know you’re in Sunset Harbor, but I wanted to give you a head’s up that there are a few people outside your house here. With cameras. I’m guessing they’re reporters of some kind. Is everything okay?

Before I even finish reading the first message, another text comes in from her.

LACY

Keith is outside asking.

Yep. They’re reporters.

Oh my gosh! Are you Sunny Palmer? Because that’s what Keith said they’re claiming.

I throw the sheet off and hurry from the room, texting a quick response back to Lacy that I’m okay and I’ll explain everything soon.

“Morning.” Tala’s in her bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and a piece of toast while Serenity and Jack watch cartoons in the family room. “Can I get you something to eat?”

“Look at this,” I say, handing my phone to Tala so she can read the text exchange. “There are reporters at my house already.”

Her gaze skims over the messages, her eyes widening. “But the announcement hasn’t gone out yet, has it?”

“It has to be someone from book club.” Or, more particularly, Bridget, because who else would it be? She probably wants to preempt the announcement to get her sob story out first. And the truth is, I don’t even blame her. “How else would it spread so quickly?”

The back door opens, and Heath and Tristan step in. They’re both wearing running clothes, sweat is glistening on their skin, and their breathing is labored.

“How was the run?” Tala asks, tightening her robe.

Heath holds up a finger, leaning over to catch his breath.

Tristan’s gaze falls on me, his chest raising and falling in rapid succession. “There are people outside.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reporters,” Heath gets out. “Several of them. That’s why we came in through the back.”

I hurry to the front window, the others following me, and sure enough, over half a dozen people with cameras hanging around their necks and a man setting up a large video camera onto a tripod are lining the sidewalk. I close the blinds all the way. “Are they allowed to be here?”

“I’m not sure.” Tala says.

“Beau will know.” Tristan pulls out his phone. “He’s in Miami for a few days, but I’ll call and ask. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the kitchen, the soft hum of his words barely distinguishable over my rushing thoughts.

Heath’s chest is still heaving up and down when he steps next to me. “Pretty cool, huh? You’re going to be famous.”

I lift my palms to the ceiling in a you-have-to-be-kidding-me motion. “Yeah, famous for being the woman that wrote a fictional relationship involving real-life people. One in particular whose name I was dumb enough not to change.” And who most likely already went to the media with her side of the story.

“Stop,” Tala says, pinning me with a look. “For the most part, people are going to find the whole thing endearing.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “Especially because you and Tristan ended up together.”

I gesture to the reporters outside, matching her hushed tone. “Unless this is the reality check that forces him to realize he wants nothing to do with any of this.”

“Yeah right,” Heath laughs, but thankfully he also lowers his voice. “That guy’s so head over heels for you it even makes me uncomfortable.”

Despite that my life seems to be unraveling at the edges in this exact moment, I can’t stop my smile. “I’m not sure you’re a reputable source.”

“No, I’m serious, Capri. It’s disgusting how in love he is. He’s like a love-struck little puppy.”