by Lyla Payne
“So, what’s this favor?” I ask Daria, shaking my head a little to dispel the nonsense from Westies.
“I’ve got a bad one. I’ve been once already and I can’t see much. They keep changing on me.” She casts a dubious glance my direction. “They’re poltergeists, I think. Tricky little buggers to get rid of, if so, but I could use some backup to be sure.”
“Poltergeists? Those are real?”
“Sure. I mean, I won’t go so far as to say fairies and elves and unicorns and shit like that exists, but pretty much every version of a ghost story you’ve heard, I’ve seen. Or heard. Encountered.”
I hold up a hand, wrapped around Amelia’s hot tea. “I get it.”
“Anyway, I figured no time like the present to call in my favor. In case you get any wild ideas about leaving town now that all the dust has settled.”
“I’m not leaving,” I inform her. I’m a little surprised to realize it never crossed my mind, but where would I go? Everyone I love is right here, so nowhere else could be home. “You know, I have a phone. You could have called.”
“You never call me. You just show up at ungodly hours, probably to get a peek at me in my nightclothes.”
A laugh bursts from my chest. “Yes, you’ve got me. That’s exactly it. It couldn’t be the fact that you rarely answer my phone calls in a timely manner.”
“I say timely is a subjective term.”
She’s got me on that one, but part of her statement strikes me as interesting. “What are you doing up this early? It’s not quite nine.”
“Haven’t been to bed yet, and I have to say, I’m not sure the coffee is worth dealing with those ladies.”
“They’re not so bad.” I pause, deciding whether I want to know the answer, then figure screw it. “Did her dead dog really bite you?”
“Yes. Animals who don’t cross right away turn evil as shit. That’s free advice.”
“Thanks.” We reach the steps that lead up to the front door of the library. Amelia’s car is in the lot and I’m now five minutes late. At least she unlocked the place for the zero patrons we’ll have at this hour. “Do you want to come check out a book? Cards are supposed to be for Heron Creek residents only, but I could probably hook you up.”
Daria gives me a look that says she’s less than amused. “I do read, you know.”
“Let me guess, Stephen King?”
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I’ve heard. When do you want to do this whole poltergeist exorcist thing?”
“You’re mashing up movies. Tomorrow night work for you?”
“I guess.” It would suck being out half the night dealing with ghosties and have to work the next day.
Oh my laundry, how old and I getting? It’s like Heron Creek puts something in the water.
“Okay, good. Meet at my place by nine.” She grins. “I’ll bring the booze.”
Daria left, chuckling to herself over the non-joke. She drinks too much, a problem that’s become more and more easy to spot with not only my own hovering issues, but with Brick’s fixed status in our lives. Amelia told me he’s going to rehab, which is awesome. I can’t say that my feelings toward the guy are at all easy to define, but ever since the case with Nan, it’s been impossible to hate him.
And that was before he started doing things like making my cousin smile, and engage with the world, and start to morph back into the confident girl I’d grown up with, which tip the scales majorly in his favor.
I hustle up the steps and into the library, where I find Amelia organizing the books on the re-shelving cart into order by genre.
“You’re almost on time. I don’t know how to react.”
“Very funny.” I set her tea down next to her and log on to the computer behind my desk, just a few feet away, to check my work email. “I had to go see Travis, and then I ran into Daria at Westies.”
My cousin shoots a look my direction, one that conveys curiosity but not concern. Her shoulders are relaxed, her eyes happy, and the entire picture of her feels peaceful for the first time in months. “I’m not sure which of those things to ask about first.”
“Daria wants me to go help her with some poltergeists she’s having trouble with—yes, really.” I frown at my second cup of coffee, unsure how to feel about it, myself. “As far as Travis, I felt so bad after I saw his unshaven hangdog face that I offered to do a DNA test to see if we’re related.”
Amelia finishes and spins around, picking up her tea with a grin. “You’re such a softie, Grace.”
“Yeah, well, don’t let it get around.”
“Any other gossip I should know about?”
“Mrs. Walters’s grandson is supposed to be showing up to take care of her house and estate and everything.” I waggle my eyebrows. “And apparently he writes dirty novels.”
She snorts. “I bet the ladies love that.”
“You know, I think they do.”
We go to work, her shelving books and grabbing a duster to run over the shelves while I answer emails, then get up to help her clean. Tomorrow is story time, so at least we’ll have something to look forward to.
“How are things with Beau? Good?”
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, good. It’s almost weird not having all of these axes hanging over our heads.”
“Enjoy it, Grace. I’m sure with your life it won’t be boring forever.”
“You know, I think he likes that about me.”
“I thought it was because you’re easy.”
We laugh, and I work on letting it feel good without any other emotion attached to our banter.
“What about Brick? Is he into fat girls or something?”
“Grace, I swear if you call me fat one more time I’m going to start slipping whole milk into your cereal.”
“Fine, you’re not fat.” I pause. “Technically. Stop avoiding my question.”
“Brick is…” She sighs. “I mean, he’s sort of amazing, but I know he only feels sorry for me.”
“What?” Surprise does a number on my ability to articulate more.
“You know, he’s got like a hero complex or something and he sees me as this tragic abused woman who’s depressed besides and he wants to, you know. Save me.”
I peer at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the way she refuses to meet my eyes. “Amelia. You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”
“Sure. Why else would he be hanging around?”
“Um, because even seven months pregnant you are gorgeous. Besides that, he doesn’t see you as a battered, depressed woman. He sees you as a woman who survived those things, or is surviving those things, and he wants to be close to you.” I nudge her shoulder. “Like everyone else.”
“Please,” she protests, but it’s with even redder cheeks and a shy smile.
I don’t push any further, because I can tell she’s not ready to say any more about Brick. They’re in that delicious sweet spot where they’re both enamored but neither of them have the guts to say anything, and it’s so damn sweet it’s giving me a toothache.
It’s also the slightest bit awkward, given that she’s about to have another man’s baby and until a couple of weeks ago, he was representing that man’s parents as they tried to steal her child. But we are Harpers. Weird, awkward, strange…those are our vibe, and apparently, the Drayton boys like it.
Preorder Not Quite Mine
Also by LYLA PAYNE
WHITMAN UNIVERSITY
Broken at Love
By Referral Only
Be My Downfall
Staying On Top
Living the Dream
Going for Broke (published in Fifty First Times: A New Adult Anthology)
LOWCOUNTRY MYSTERIES
Not Quite Dead
Not Quite Cold
Not Quite True
Quite Curious
Not Quite Gone
Quite Precarious
Not Quite Right
Not Quite Mine (May 31, 2016)
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Mistletoe & Mr. Right
Sleigh Bells & Second Chances
SECRETS DON’T MAKE FRIENDS
Secrets Don’t Make Friends
Secrets Don’t Make Survivors
Secrets Don’t Make Lovers (September, 2016)
Young Adult Novels Written as TRISHA LEIGH
THE LAST YEAR
Whispers in Autumn
Winter Omens
Betrayals in Spring
Summer Ruins
THE CAVY FILES
Gypsy
Alliance
Buried
THE HISTORIANS
Return Once More
Exist Once More (November, 2016)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
You might think that by a fifteenth or sixteenth (omg I’ve lost count and am too lazy to look it up!) I would have thanked everyone there is to thank or just cut and paste these things, but you would be wrong! I never ceases to amaze me how different the process is for each book, front to back, and even when I’m thanking some of the same people they have each grown with me and my projects to the point where I’m no longer sure any of this would be possible if I lost a single one of them.
Eisley Jacobs and Iona Nicole, you continue to not only give me beautiful covers but support in a hundred different ways by delivering graphic or website genius at a moment’s notice.
Danielle Poiesz - if I’ve lost count of how many books I’ve published, that means I’ve lost count of how many books we’ve worked on together because it’s been nearly all of them. There’s nearly no one I would trust so implicitly with my characters, ideas, stories, and occasionally, my sanity. I am so thankful not only for your sound professional advice, but that we’ve become friends within this crazy process.
Shannon Page, thank you for stepping in and copyediting these crazy books. You know how to roll with the punches, and that’s all a writer can ask for these days.
I’ve come to realize that proofreading is one of the hardest things to get right, and that no matter how many eyeballs go on a manuscript, there are things that slip through the cracks. The team I’ve pulled together have the best eyeballs in the business, which means less distractions for the reader, and for that, I’m grateful. Thanks to Mary Ziegenhorn, Cheryl Heinrich, Diane Thede, and Diane Cleary for cleaning these up for me.
There are certain people who might not think they have much to do with this specific book, but without whom my life would be such an unholy mess that creating anything except rocking motions in the corner wouldn’t be possible. In no particular order—Denise Grover Swank, LeighAnn Kopans, Amalia Dillon, on the writing side, along with my wonderfully patient and supportive agent, Kathleen Rushall—you save me. Then there’s my family, blood and not (that includes you, Julia, Jenna, Ryan, and Emma), who put up with my nonsense and make me feel like there’s no one they would rather me be than just me. Andrea Sola, who has likely secured sainthood after nearly thirty years of friendship with me and Paul, a more patient and loving and steady love than I could have ever hoped to find—I love you both.
I love you all.
And I love you, dear readers, whose reviews and tweets and mentions and emails do more than brighten my day. They make it easy to sit down in front of the keyboard and do what I love to do—write stories—with the confidence that there are people out there who are dying to read them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lyla Payne has been publishing New Adult romance novels for a little over a year, starting with Broken at Love and continuing with the rest of the Whitman University series. She loves telling stories, discovering the little reasons people fall in love, and uncovering hidden truths in the world around us – past and present. In her spare time she cuddles her two dogs, pretends to enjoy exercising so that she can eat as much Chipotle as she wants, and harbors a deep and abiding hope that Zac Efron likes older women. She loves reading, of course, along with movies, traveling, and Irish whiskey. Lyla’s hard at work, ALWAYS, and hopes to bring you more Whitman University antics and at least one more Lowcountry ghost tale before the end of the year.
If you want to know more, please visit her at http://lylapayne.com
If you’re a fan of Young Adult fiction—science fiction or otherwise—please check out her work that’s published under the name Trisha Leigh. http://trishaleigh.com
Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Information
Also By Lyla Payne
Title Page
Dediction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Thank You!
Not Quite Mine
Also By Lyla Payne
Acknowledgments
About the Author
