Etched

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 by Amity Malcom All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. To anyone who has loved, lost, and learned to love again. Etched is centered around love and loss and includes frank discussion about the death of a parent, the death of a spouse, murder, and conversation surrounding terminal cancer. Please exercise care if any of the above may be potentially triggering for you. CONTENTS 1. Daphne2. Colin3. Daphne4. Colin5. Daphne6. Colin7. Daphne8. Colin9. Daphne10. Colin11. Daphne12. Colin13. Daphne14. Colin15. Daphne16. Colin17. Daphne18. Colin19. Daphne20. Colin21. Daphne22. Colin23. Daphne24. ColinEpilogueAuthor’s NoteAcknowledgmentsOther Works by Amity MalcomAbout the Author There are a few things a person should know about having a relationship with their best friend like I have with mine. One, we’re not afraid to call each other out. If one of us looks like Shrek trekking through a swamp in the middle of summer, the other will certainly point it out. Two, while we haven’t had to, we would absolutely help one another hide a body. I’m not saying we have had detailed conversations about where we would hide said body, but I’m also not saying that we haven’t had detailed conversations about where we would hide said body. And three, when one of us is in need, the other will come running. We’ve been there through everything—from breakups and opening a business together, to new lovers and cross-country moves. In fact, that’s how I find myself in my current situation. My old SUV is packed solid. Seriously, if you opened the trunk right now, I’m fairly certain you’d be assaulted by an avalanche of boxes, clothes, and old stuffed animals that most women in their mid-thirties would have thrown out years ago. There is barely enough room in the front of the vehicle for myself in the driver’s seat and my best friend, Mina, in the passenger seat. Her long legs are twisted around a small cooler stuffed full of snacks, and the floorboard around her is littered with empty soda bottles, chip bags, and chocolate wrappers that only solidify the fact that we’ve been in the car for entirely way too long. “Daph,” my bestie says through clenched teeth, “I really have to pee.” I flip my sunglasses up on top of my head, peering over at Mina. “Give me a number.” “It’s bad.” “Number, Mina.” She lets out a sigh, but I know she loves me. “On a scale of one to ten, I’m at a solid eight and a half.” We’ve been on many road trips together over the years, but nothing as massive as driving from Portland all the way across the country to Johnson Creek, a super tiny town in North Carolina. But like I said, Mina and I, we’d truly do anything for one another. So, when she took over an amazing little tattoo shop in her hometown and asked me to move to the middle of nowhere to help her run it, I of course, said yes. Back in Portland, we ran a successful all-female owner shop together, working alongside each other every day to hone our craft and build our brand. Daunting cross-country move aside, I was looking forward to working together daily again. Mina had moved back to her hometown, Johnson Creek, almost two and a half years ago to help her brother with his teenage daughters after his wife passed away. While she was there, not only did she start working at the amazing shop she now runs, but she fell in love, too—and with her brother’s best friend, nonetheless. Seriously, it’s like she was plucked from her normal life and placed right into the middle of a romance novel. The lucky bitch. Eyes on the road, I pass a sign for an upcoming rest stop. Mina sees it too and quickly points it out. “Swear to God and all things holy, if you do not pull over up ahead, I will pee in your seat.” “One, that’s fucking disgusting. Two, you’re the one who would have to sit in it.” She rolls her eyes at me so dramatically that I’m pretty sure she sees her brain. “I’ll stop,” I tell her. “But only because I really want a soft pretzel and the rest stop food courts always have the best.” Laughing, she turns to me the best she can in the seat. “You’d really let me pee in your car seat?” “Listen, I just want to get there. I feel like we’ve been in this car for fucking days, and every time we stop, it sets us back even further.” Mina offers to swap driving duties with me after the rest stop, and I consider for all of point three seconds before turning her down. At a solid five foot nothing, I can’t stand letting other people drive my SUV. It takes days for me to get the seat back exactly the way I like it, and don’t even get me started on the fucking mirrors. Let me tell you, it’s a nightmare. If I’m lucky—which I’m usually not-–this will be our last stop before we cruise into the cute-ass, little town I’m about to call home. My best friend’s phone cuts into our nineties music playlist, and she reaches over to turn the volume down before pressing the phone to her ear. As soon as she hears the voice on the other end, a huge smile engulfs her face, and I know it’s her now husband-–her brother’s best friend—Nico. All too quickly, her smile fades as she makes a few noncommittal groans, grunts, and sighs. Honestly, when the two of them are