Page 144 of Where Roads Lead

I hadn’t thought I was imaginative enough, but I saw it play out like a horror movie in my mind.

I pictured her walking home, packing up all her stuff, throwing it in the car and driving back to Boston, with only a sticky note left behind saying, “Thanks for a good time!”

It wasn’t until I overflowed a cup of coffee I’d been pouring that I realized I needed to get my head out of my ass and just call her.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and on the fourth ring, when I’d thought for sure that everything playing out in my mind wasn’t just a ‘what-if’ scenario but some psychic vision that was actually playing out in real time, she answered.

“Hey.” Her voice was like cold water, bringing me back to myself. “What’s up?”

I blew out a silent breath, leaning against the counter.

“Hi,” I said, searching for an excuse of why I was calling her only three hours after I left. “I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Oh, good thing you called, because I started two fires, flooded your shower and just finished going through all your personal belongings.”

“Don’t joke about fires,” I said with a smile. “Considering it’s not out of the realm of possibilities for you.”

“Geez, I was at the scene of one cookie malfunction and now I have a reputation for life.”

“Yeah, well, Colbridge has a long memory, so don’t expect to be living that one down anytime soon.”

“No, but actually, I haven’t moved from the spot you left me this morning.”

“No?” I asked, pleased that if I couldn’t see her at the table in the corner of the café in front of me, at least she was still at my house.

“Well, that’s a lie. I had to pee, so I got up to do that—”

“Very relieved you made that call.”

“Shut up,” she teased. “But, yeah, besides that, I’ve been here cranking out words. The silence here is very conducive to writing.”

“Oh yeah? Glad to hear it.”

I felt like an idiot smiling into my phone.

“But, if you want me to get out of your space, I can totally pack up and go home—”

“No,” I said, and then coughed to cover up how hurriedly I’d responded. “I mean no. You don’t have to do that. I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to come by the café, I can always come pick you up when it gets slow and bring you here.”

God, I sounded like an idiot. I ran a hand over my face, hoping it wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to me.

“Well, if you’re not kicking me out,” she said, unfazed, “then I actually think I’d like to stay here longer and keep writing while I’m on a roll.”

“Stay as long as you want,” I urged.

And then, unable to help myself, because apparently I’d somehow degenerated into some lovesick fool, I asked, “If you stay, I’ll bring dinner back on my way home.”

“Not sick of me yet, huh?” I heard her grin through the phone.

“Guess not.” I huffed a laugh. “So, will you stay?”

“How can I say no to dinner?” she said. “Considering the only things in my cupboards were stale oyster crackers and tomato soup left over from Mr. Briggs’s stash.”

“Great, it’s a plan,” I said, my eyes landing on the empty table where she usually sat. “And uh, I—”

“Yes?”

“I, uh—hope you have a good day…” I trailed off, and then wanted to punch myself in the face.