Page 88 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind

“I don’t think that will happen,” I say, letting my thumb stroke the back of his hand. I think for a second. “But maybe you shouldn’t do that one. Maybe you should go back and read the first draft of your bestseller.”

“Why the bestseller?” he says, glancing at me. A few tendrils of his hair have fallen out of his stupid man bun, blonde whispers over his forehead, his eyelashes, his cheekbones.

I force myself not to stare, answering his question instead.

“Because that’s the one you’re scared of,” I say. When he doesn’t respond, I go on. “That’s the one you’re worried about people comparing you against, right? You’re worried you’ve peaked. So if you read the first draft of that one, you’ll be able to see how…first-draftyit is—”

“Not a word,” he murmurs.

“Shut up, Man Bun,” I say, and he gives a low, husky laugh that does funny things to my insides. “But maybe that will help you feel better. To see that something everyone loved also started out as a simple first draft.” I wrinkle my nose as something occurs to me. “Unless you’re one of those people whose first drafts are super clean.”

He snorts. “I’m definitely not.”

“Do you see what I mean, though?”

“I do,” he says slowly. “Maybe I’ll try that.”

We’re quiet for the rest of the drive, and even though I thoroughly enjoy talking to Soren, I’m glad for the time to think. By the time he drops me off in the parking lot behind Paper Patisserie, I’m ready to collapse into bed and call it an early night. When I round the front of the building, though, someone is waiting for me. I don’t recognize the man; he’s small by all accounts, petite with thinning blond hair and bifocals.

He stands up when he sees me, which is how I know he’s been waiting for me rather than just resting on the bench that faces the town square.

“Hello,” he says with an awkward little wave. “Miss Lucy?”

I nod at him, shifting absently through the keys on my keyring. “Can I help you with something?” I say as I unlock the door to the shop. “Are you waiting to come in?”

“No,” he says quickly. He holds up his briefcase. “I’m here to deliver your security footage, if I could see some ID? I’ve got the disc in here. We’re done with it over at the station.”

“Oh,” I say, blinking with surprise. “I didn’t realize it’s an actualdisc. Isn’t that stuff all completely virtual by now?”

The man shrugs and gives a little laugh.

I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and show him my ID—which is not cute, by the way—and when he’s inspected it closely, he nods. Then he shuffles over to the bench he was sitting on when I arrived, setting the briefcase down and opening it. He pulls out a disc case from among a stack of papers, one of those clear ones I used to put burned CDs in back in the day. He hands it over, wishes me a pleasant day, and then shuffles off again, rounding the building and disappearing out of sight.

I stare down at the disc for a second, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Why didn’t the little man say anything about what was on here?

I debate calling Soren, but something stops me; I’m not sure I want him or anyone else to see what’s on here. Not until I’ve seen it and processed it, at least. Besides, I don’t want to come off as clingy or obnoxious.

I think for now I’ll keep this a viewing party of one.

I hurry inside, not even bothering to check if Gemma and Mel closed properly; I know they did. I rush upstairs to grab my laptop, and five minutes later I’m seated at one of the café tables, my hand shaking slightly as I hunt down the timeframe I need and then pressPlay.

The section of video I watch is short. I’m only in it for a minute or two. I rush in through the front door, and it’s clear even in the grainy shot that I’m panicking; my head whips this way and that, like I’m looking for something. I disappear further into the shop and out of the camera’s view; one moment later, I’m back. I sit up straighter in my seat, my knuckles white as I grip the edge of the table.

This is it. This is where I finally see how I got this gash on my forehead.

Except…the whole incident lasts all of three seconds.

“That’s…what happened?” I say into the silence. My eyes are bulging out of my head, and I’m sure it’s not cute, but I don’t have the presence of mind to stop. My attention is too fixed on the screen.

I quickly rewind, because I can’t quite believe what I’ve just seen. I watch in horror as I see my grainy, pixelated self rush across the screen, phone pressed to my ear—and then I see myself trip headfirst over something small and circular on the floor.

“I tripped?” I say, my jaw hanging, and when I speak again, it comes out as more of a shriek: “Over theRoomba?”

“Roomba!” Jojo squawks from the other side of the shop. “Roomba! Roomba!”

* * *

“You tripped,”my brother says, his voice flat. “Over a Roomba.”

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