“What?” I say, not believing her.
“Apparently she came to the island to check up on Noah Belacourt and then happened to run into me.”
“How . . . but . . . what?”
“I know,” she says. “I didn’t believe it either. But I saw her in LA, snapping pictures, and she admitted to it.”
I twist my lips to the side. “But how did she get the pictures of us in my mom’s backyard?”
Presley nods. “I had the same question. She said she’s been doing this awhile and it’s easy to make friends with people, so I’m guessing it was from a neighbor’s yard?”
“But she was never carrying a camera with her.”
“She hides it and uses a remote. It’s a magic trick.”
“Whoa,” I say. “That’s . . . really weird.”
“It is. Anyway, her name is Deborah Voss, and I’ve filed a restraining order against her.”
I tilt my head. “That sounds like a smart plan.”
“So, she was the one who took the pictures, all of them except the ones of us on the beach that morning. She doesn’t know who that was. She made a pretty penny and plans to retire in Boca Raton.”
Presley smiles as she looks down, but then she looks up at me.
I chuckle. “That’s . . . wow.”
“I know.”
There’s silence in the room now, both of us looking anywhere but at each other. Presley hugs herself again, and I fiddle with my glasses.
“So, that’s what you came to tell me?”
She nods.
“You . . . could have just called,” I tell her. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here to tell me.”
“I’m working in Florida right now, actually. On Cosmic Fury.”
“Really? Where?”
“Ocala,” she says. “And we had the day off because of rain, so I thought I’d come tell you in person.”
“Well, I’m glad you did,” I tell her, and I mean it. “It’s good to see you, Presley.”
It’s actually heart-achingly hard to see her, to be honest. I know I missed her, but I don’t think I realized how much until right now. How sort of painful it feels to be in the same room and not be able to touch her or wrap my arms around her. Or kiss her.
“I also was hoping that maybe—” She stops talking, a hand now fiddling with the strap of her purse.
“Yeah?” I ask, wanting her to keep going, dying to know what she has to say.
“I was hoping you’d forgive me?” Her eyes fill with tears.
“Of course,” I say. “Done.”
She laughs then, a sad-sounding one, and a single tear falls down her cheek and onto her chin.
“I appreciate it,” she says. “I also kind of hoped maybe we could see each other again, sometime?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her, honestly. “I’d love that.”
She takes a tentative step toward me. “I’m saying this all wrong. I don’t just want to see you once in a while. I would like to see you on a regular basis.”
“Oh,” I reply, realizing what she said, realizing what she’s really trying to tell me. I run a hand through my hair.
“I’ve missed you a lot,” she says. “More than I’ve ever missed anyone, actually. And had I not messed everything up so badly, my hope was that we would try this out. Try us out. And maybe see where it goes.”
“I saw pictures of you with Declan Stone,” I tell her.
“Yes,” she says.
“I thought you didn’t want to do that kind of stuff anymore.”
“I don’t,” she says. “That was to keep the paparazzi away from you.”
“Because you didn’t want them to see me?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think you’d want it.”
