Page 118 of Run to Me

“According to Miguel, it’s the site of our future home.”

I glance in the rearview mirror at the rugged dirt road behind me and say, “You’ll definitely have privacy.”

We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know anyone lived this far on the outskirts of Walford. Tire tracks embedded deep in the soil under a tree catch my notice. They aren’t fresh, as if someone passed through. They’re permanent, like a frequently used parking spot.

“Does someone live here?” I ask.

Graham wipes his hands down the front of his floral shirt like he’s drying his sweaty palms. “The real estate agent Jake hooked us up with said the place hasn’t been occupied for years.”

The mobile home with a caved-in roof leans to one side. Its crusty windows are impossible to see through, and the makeshift wooden porch lost most of its railing.

“I can tell,” I say, my skin prickling with unease at the sight. “Where’s Miguel?”

“Inside.”

Since it appears we’ll be here for a while, I shut off the car and join Graham in the first to die in the movie circle, right out in the open. The door to the sad structure nearly flies off the hinges, and Miguel leaps down the steps while holding his nose.

“I love it!” he exclaims, his voice nasally. He’s wearing bright yellow, cropped chinos, flip-flops, and a loose tank top with—wait for it—a floral ascot tied around his neck.

I point to the accessory and say, “Absolutely not.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m dressed for the occasion, angel.”

“What occasion?”

Before he answers, Graham cuts in. “Are there any dead bodies?”

“Something’s definitely dead,” Miguel says, waving a hand in front of his face. Gross.

I carefully climb the janky steps and stick my head inside the door. One sniff, and I gag. The interior reeks of urine, rotten food, and a carcass—not that I’ve ever encountered one. The home should be condemned.

“This is where you want to build?” I ask Graham, who looks even less certain about this spot than when I arrived.

They’ve discussed buying land around Walford and building a home, but I didn’t expect them to be looking so soon. They surprised me with this sudden trip, but I’ll take any chance I can get to spend time with them.

Graham props a hip on the car and slides his sunglasses on top of his head, squinting against the bright sunlight. “It’s secluded, and there’s a lot of acreage. We can fix the road and clean up the overgrowth. It’ll be nice once the eyesore is gone.”

“I want to keep the mobile home,” Miguel announces. “Think of it like the tiny house trend, but we can call it glam mobile.” He accentuates the name with showy hands.

Ignoring him, I tell Graham, “I’d love for y’all to move here so I can see you more.”

He smiles, cheeky with a dash of Hollywood flair, and pulls me into a hug. “Spoken like someone who’s decided to stay.”

I haven’t made an official proclamation that I’m staying in Walford. Over the past few weeks, the decision came gradually, bolstered by the realization that I haven’t given a single thought to leaving since my meltdown at the river. I have no reason to run anymore. On the contrary, I have an extraordinary reason to stay.

“I guess I am,” I admit, hugging Graham in return, my cheek against his chest.

At my back, Miguel wraps his arms around us, squishing me between them, and says, “We should do this more often.”

On the outside, I chuckle and roll my eyes. On the inside, I couldn’t agree more.

The first sign I’ve been tricked by Jensen and my friends today? Multiple cars line Jake’s driveway. The second sign? Tatum’s grinning face peeks through the curtains of a fully illuminated window, then she gestures excitedly for someone to turn off the lights. She must not realize I can see her as clear as day.

Jensen shuts off the engine, and I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to budge. “I’m not going in there.”

“You are. Everyone flew into town for your birthday.”

“Why are you doing this to me? You know I hate being the center of attention.”