Chapter 3
“W
hat do you mean, you have no reservation?” Sidney asked, her hand stopping halfway into her bag. “You just mean it's early, right? I know it's way early for check-in, I was just hoping maybe you might
by chance
have the room ready so I could freshen up beforeâ”
“Miss Jensen,” the clerk interrupted, pasting on a polite if not slightly nervous smile. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there's actually no record of a reservation in your name.”
Sidney blinked. “What?”
“I looked twice,” the clerk said, pointing at her monitor as if that would prove it.
“That's impossible,” Sidney said. “Monica madeâwait, maybe it's still in my boss's name. Orchid Blossom?”
The clerk's eyes darted to meet hers, and Sidney nodded at the question in them.
“I know. Yes, that's a real name.”
Fingers paused a second on the keyboard, second-guessing, and probably third-guessing because of Sidney's accent. Somehow, in the North, a Southern drawl sometimes equaled a lower IQ. Finally, she typed in the name. “Sorry,” the clerk said. “Not in here, either.”
Sidney huffed out a breath as she set her bag on the counter. “Hang on, let me callâor can you just book me into one now?”
“We are
completely
full,” the clerk said.
“Full?” Sidney said, blinking fast. “What about after checkout?” She glanced at the sign. “At noon?”
“We are totally booked for the next three days,” she said. “A convention in town.”
“Jesus,” Sidney breathed. “One second.” She pulled her bag off the counter and walked over to an overstuffed chair in the lobby, digging for her phone as she went.
She didn't have to get a hotel, theoretically. It was an hour and a half's drive, meaning she could technically drive home and back again in the morning. Assuming she'd need to. Assuming she didn't knock the deal out of the park today. But she couldn't plan on that, and her car was essentially held together with string and duct tape and the gallon of water she kept in the backseat in case the radiator overheated again. She'd exhausted all of her prayers on the drive there.
“Monica!” she whispered urgently when the voice answered after four rings.
“Sidney?” she said. “It's Saturday.”
Really?
“I'm aware of that,” Sidney said. “I'm standing in the lobby of the Crescent Hotel, wondering why they don'tâ”
“Oh shit,” Monica said.
Sidney's shoulders slumped. She rubbed her forehead. “Well, I guess that answers that.”
“I'm so sorry, Sidney,” Monica said. “I got so busy with Orchid yesterday and forgot.”
“Well, it probably wouldn't have mattered,” Sidney said. “They're booked solid. Where was Orchid staying?”
“She wasn't,” Monica said. “She was hitting up her uncle's issue in Moonbright on her way upstate. She wasn't staying there.”
Of course she wasn't. Because she was friggin' Superwoman.
“Hold on,” Monica said, the sound of shuffling reaching Sidney's ear. “Let me look up what else is around there. Maybe there's something in Moonbright proper.”
“It's supposed to be tiny,” Sidney said, already shaking her head. “Outside of town would be bettâ”
“They have a B&B!” Monica exclaimed.
Sidney closed her eyes. “Great.”
“Well, I mean, I can look in Portland, but that's farther north,” Monica said. “Do you want me to call this place? It's called the Rose Cottage.”
Just shoot me.
“Then, if it takes you some time, you're right there,” she said.
Because I'm not Orchid.
“Fine,” Sidney said wearily, watching a couple get room keys and pull their happy little luggage to the elevators. “Give it a shot. I'll sit here till I hear back.”
“I'll call you right back,” Monica said, clicking off.
“Okay then,” Sidney said to no one.
She leaned over, elbows on her knees. It could be worse. She could be fired. She could be spending the weekend poring the Internet looking for openings for law associates. Or Walmart greeters. So spending it in Podunk Hell was candy in comparison. And it probably wasn't that bad, anyway. Not like Derby, South Carolina, the hick town she'd left behind after high school. After her nana died and the bake shop closed. After everything that made that place bearable was gone.
Including him.
Her phone ringing startled her so badly, she nearly dropped it. Lord, where had
that
come from?
“Hello?”
“They have an opening,” Monica gushed. “They had a big Halloween party last night, but everyone is leaving today,” she said.
“Oh God, it really is Podunk,” Sidney moaned.
“It'll be fine,” Monica said. “Okay, so the Rose Cottage. Put it in your GPS. I'll text you the address, too, but it's on the corner of Pumpkin and Vine.”
Sidney's eyebrows shot up. She felt them. “I'm sorry, what?”
“I know,” Monica said. “I did the same thing. But I double-checked and Googled it twice. It's at 816 Vine, Moonbright, Maine.”
Walmart wasn't sounding half-bad.
“IâIâ”
“Owner's name to ask for is Amelia Rose. And get thisâshe's a fortune-teller.” The sound of a baby's cry echoed in the background. “Crap, my son's up. I gotta go, Sidney. Good luck!”
“Uh-huh,” Sidney managed, but the line was already dead.
* * *
Turning off I-95 toward the coast was an adventure in itself. Lots of winding, lots of nothing but trees, and more than one prominent billboard advertising the world's largest pumpkin patch. In Moonbright. Because the rest of it wasn't unbelievable enough.
It was like going home to Derby. On holiday steroids. Except that she'd never done that. Gone home. There was nothing for her there. No friends, no familyâher nana long gone and her parents gone even longer before that, taken in a car crash when she was eight. And the only person she could ever somewhat call a friendâeven as weird as it wasâhad disappeared.
Caleb James. God, he'd been so beautiful, so hot, so every girl's secret fantasy. The rebel son of the high school principal who skipped more classes than he attended and wore jeans and a leather jacket better than anyone she'd ever seen. And stole her breath, her words, and her heart every time he was near. Which was a lot.
James
and
Jensen
had put them together since grade school, and lockered her under him all through high school. Her kneeling down, looking up at him every day as he grinned and walked away. Till senior year. When a hand appeared in her face, and she followed the arm all the way up to Caleb James. Holding out a hand to help her up.
* * *
“I have a question for you,” he'd said.
Nothing had come out of her mouth but air, so he continued.
“I need tutoring if I'm gonna graduate,” he said, that honeyed voice drawling the words. “My dad told me to find someone or he will.” His eyes faded a bit. “You're smart. Will you help me?”
“I'mâI'mâI don't thinkâI mean, I'm not that smart,” she stuttered out like a five-year-old.
“Please,” he said, one side of his mouth crooking up in a grin that nearly buckled her back to her knees. “You're smart, Sidney. You're squeaky clean, you should be class president or something.”
“That requires actually talking to people,” Sidney said, amazed that the words found their way out. And that he knew her name.
He laughed. And not at her, but like she'd said something funny. Huh.
“So, will you help me, Squeak?” he said, his eyes sparkling.
* * *
“Jesus,” Sidney exclaimed, squeezing the steering wheel as she shook her head. “What the hell?”
She hadn't thought about Caleb in years.
He'd used her for her help, but she hadn't cared at the time. It put her in his world. Every other day. Actually talking. Laughing. Learning about the guy no one really knew. Finding out that he wasn't so different from her after all. She'd look into those impossibly dark eyes and get lost. Watch his lips as he talked and dream of kissing them. And every now and then, as she waxed on about government or literature, she'd look up and stop breathing as she caught him watching
her
.
And she hadn't thought about any of it, about her old life, about much of anything outside of memories of her nana, in so long. Now, because she was headed to some small town, she was stumbling down memory lane? No thanks. It wasn't that great the first time around. Except forâwell, except for
that
.
That
had been pretty great.
That
had been monumental. Until it wasn't.
She did not need to go there. She didn't need to think about men, period, past, present, or future. Not that there was a present . . . or much potential for the future. But none of that mattered. She needed to think about her case. The lease agreement. Finding Orchid's uncle. Finding the dick who was giving him grief. Focus, focus, focus. Yet, every curve, every turn, brought her memory after memory of that night.
There it was, finally. A giant sign advertising Moonbright, Maine. Proud home of the world's largest pumpkin patch.
And not even that hideous monstrosity could keep her mind from straying. From tumbling backward ridiculously to graduation night. Twelve years ago.
* * *
“. . . these, our last precious moments of our high school careers . . .”
“God, if she says âprecious' or âbehoove' one more time,” Caleb said under his breath. “I swear I'm standing up on my chair and playing air guitar.”
Sidney giggled. “I dare you.”
Caleb turned and gave her one of those piercing looks that always made her breath catch.
“You should know better than to dare me, Squeak,” he said, his voice going low and curling her toes in spite of the nickname she hated.
“. . . if only we could look into a crystal ball and see what extraordinary futures we have yet to behold . . .”
“If only she'd wrap up this shit so we could get out of here,” he groaned, letting his head fall back.
Sidney didn't care that the valedictorian's speech was ludicrous and long and flowery and full of dumb metaphors. Let her ramble on incessantly forever. Stretch out this night. This year. This moment of sitting next to Caleb James, his knee touching hers. His laugh warming her on an already steamy night. Before it was all over and he didn't need her anymore. And before there were no scheduled reasons to see each other every day.
That ended tonight.
She was all too aware of that.
“. . . take the hand of the person next to you . . .”
Say what? Hold his hand? Did she hear that right? Her deodorant was failing by the second.
“. . . in some way, that person has shaped your life. They have been present in your world every day for twelve years . . .”
Thomas King was on Sidney's right, and he'd brought her a candy bar in the sixth grade. So, that was something, right? His hand was sweaty and sticky as he grabbed hers, but Caleb's was warm and dry and impossibly perfect as he took hers. And laced his fingers through her fingers.
Laced. His. Fingers.
Jesus. God.
The world could end right there because it wasn't getting better than that. And then again maybe it was because there was that look again. Draining all the blood from her head.
“Couldn't have done this year without you, Squeak,” he said.
She wanted to say something. Something profound. Something perfect. So she blinked.
“I mean, I literally wouldn't even be on this field if it weren't for you,” he said.
“Your dad would have found someone else to tutor you if it wasn't me,” she said finally, staring at their hands. Trying to memorize it.
“I wouldn't have listened to anyone else,” he said, his voice going distant. “I probably would have skipped town like my mom.”
His thumb started moving along hers, and things shot off to places she didn't dare talk about.
“No, you wouldn't have,” she whispered, watching his thumb move back and forth. She wanted to do what she always did when he got angry talking about his mother leaving him, and tell him he was better than that. That it was her weakness, not his. But Sidney couldn't think in full sentences at the moment.
“Ever wish you could just disappear?” he asked, pulling her out of her stupor. “Just vanish, be invisible, start over somewhere new where no one knows you?”
Sidney turned to look at his profile. He was staring, unseeing, at the back of Kristin Callihan's head.
“I'm always invisible,” she said. “But yeah, starting over would be good.”
“What would your starting-over name be?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Jane Eyre?” Sidney said. Caleb gave her a look. “I don't know,” she said, chuckling. “You asked! Cinderella?”
“Cinderella?”