“We need to work on yourno,” he says. “But you’ve got nothin’ to thank me for. For you, Elsie Hoskins…it’s the least I could do.”
3
A deluge on the road to town
I should’ve let Sawyerwalk me home.
A kick of my shoe sends pebbles skittering across the road. Headlights drift past every now and then, but otherwise, it’s quiet. Nothing but me and my thoughts. The tree shadows falling over empty storefronts remind me of walking home from the library before I met Ethan. I had as many friends back then as I do now. None.
Being an adult is so unbearably lonely sometimes.
I have freedom and money, and random thoughts about pyrography and owls pop into my head, but I have no one to share them with. A dining table takes up a corner in my apartment. No one sits there. I eat my dinner watching TV on the sofa so I can pretend I have company.
Sighing, I shift my satchel on my shoulder. It’s almost flat, basically empty. A lunchbox, a coin purse, a key—just in case the door decides to open—my toothbrush, and a clean pair of entirely impractical lacy knickers. So little shouldn’t feel like arock over my arm. They do. But then,everythingfeels heavy…even the air. This place I’ve found myself in is missing some of the older-world charm of other towns scattered along the Tasmanian coast, but somehow the uneasy mix of old and new has started to feel like home.
Why does Luke have to ruin everything by living here, too?
He suits the city. Maybe his agent can negotiate a better deal for him. No more guest appearances on TV. His first cookbook will be released soon. Isn’t this the perfect opportunity for him to secure a starring role on his own show? He’ll need to move to Melbourne if that happens. Fabulous.Bon voyage!All my past disappointments will be safely contained in a city on the other side of an ocean.
Headlights spill across the asphalt, and my shadow stretches long and thin. A sleek silver sedan glides past.
“That’s right.” I grit my teeth. “Keep driving.”
Few people around St Helens can afford such a luxurious car. I certainly can’t. Not that I’d choose one that temperamental to drive—even before my divorce. My Toyota suited me just fine. But I’ve ridden in the passenger seat ofthiscar before…and more than once.
The car slows.
“Who up there has it in for me?” I groan, throwing my head back to glare at the stars hanging above me. “Is it you, Grandpa? I thought you forgave me for the time I broke your stupid cuckoo clock!”
There has to be a way to dodge Luke without confronting him head-on.
I can…
Run?
I haven’t done that willingly since high school. Athletics isnotmy thing. History is. I love the excitement that tingles all the wayto my toes when I dive into the details of other people’s lives. Drama is perfectly acceptable if it’s not happening to me.
The car rolls to a stop beside the curb up ahead, and the red brake lights blink off. I search frantically for an escape, but the road yawns into nothing but black. If I run, if I even can, where do I go?
The door snaps shut.
This… I gulp.I can’t face this.
I hitch my satchel higher on my shoulder, fix my gaze on the sidewalk, and walk as fast as I can.
“Hello.”
Luke’s silky accent threatens to slow me down, but my footsteps only falter for one strangled breath.
Pretend you don’t see him.
“Elsie.”
Or hear him.
But it’s impossible to pretend Luke isn’t there when I bump into a wall of white linen and expensive denim. The familiar scent of his cologne lingers, soft citrus and memories of an almost-forgotten summer in the Cinque Terre. But tonight isn’t one of those evenings. It’s a thunderstorm. Bleak.
“Hello there,” he says.
