GRAYSON

Belle pulled her older-than-the-dinosaurs phone from her back pocket. It was a flip phone the size of a small brick. It was a reminder of the way she was living when she was in Maine.

It made me unnecessarily angry.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

She clicked through her list of contacts in a hurry. “I’m looking for Queen Evangeline’s phone number,” she explained.

I stared at her, sure I had finally pushed her to the brink of madness. “What?”

“Evangeline gave me her number when she visited me at the diner. She told me I would need to talk to her about something sometime in the...