Page 173 of Where Roads Lead

Iwasn’t much of an internet stalker, but I could safely admit that I’d Googled Elsie Cameron a few times since she got to town, to no avail.

Apparently, I’d been chasing a dead end, because after realizing I had the wrong name all along, plugging Elspeth Cameron into Google sent me down a rabbit hole of a world I never dreamed my Elsie could be part of.

There she stood, in picture after picture, same red hair, same green eyes—not really the same smile—but it was definitely her.

In gowns. In pearls. At charity events. With politicians. With celebrities. In cities far more glamorous than little old Colbridge could ever offer her.

Apparently her father was from some big name, old money family in Boston and was some higher-up in an investment firm.

I didn’t really understand the logistics, but even without the job, the guy clearly came from money. The type you’re born into, and somehow never really seem to lose.

I couldn’t quite equate the image I had of a coffee-stained, cheeky-grinned, overall-wearing Elsie with the Elspeth Cameron I saw in the photos, but it was her just the same.

At first, I panicked because how could Colbridge—how could I—ever compete with this world she had come from?

But after taking a breath, I realized Elsie sure as hell wasn’t even a fraction as happy in any of those pictures as I saw her every day.

I might not have known her for long, but it didn’t mean I didn’t know her.

This place, this town was meant for her, in a way that superficial social scenes with guys like the one back at her house with the permanently knitted brows never was.

When she came here, I would tell her that. Would spend the rest of my life showing her that this was where she was meant to be.

I was confident. More than confident. Because I was sure there was no other option that could possibly occur to her. Not after everything.

But then she knocked, and the sight of her on my doorstep put the fear of God in me, because what would I do if she wanted to leave?

“Elsie,” I breathed out shakily. “I’m so glad you’re here, because I gotta tell you I was sort of going out of my mind a little.”

She swept into the house, shrugging off her jacket—a good sign?—and pulling something from her satchel.

“Did you send that guy home?” I asked, desperate to know.

“Andrew? Yeah.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I told her quickly. “All that matters is right now.”

“Right now, yeah.” She nodded. “But also the future. And I think it’s time I finally force myself to face it.”

“Hey,” I said, tilting my head down to get closer to her eye-level. “Everything’s okay. We’ll figure it out, right?”

Right? Please say yes.

“Well, that’s the thing, Will. I’m here because I think I finally did figure it out. What I have to do.”

I fought the urge to suck in a breath, because not knowing what she meant by that was scarier than anything I remembered facing in recent years.

“I started the night with a big problem.” She exhaled, hugging something to her chest, and finally I noticed it was a thick stack of papers cradled in her arms. “And I think I figured out the only option I have.”

“What do you mean? What’s the problem, Els? Everything is going good here, isn’t it?”

I thought it was.

“It is.” She nodded. “But here’s the thing. I’m skimming the bottom of my savings account. I can’t afford another month’s rent at Mr. Briggs’s place. These are real-life issues I needed to figure out a solution to—”

“That doesn’t matter.” I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Obviously, you’ll stay here with me.”

“So, I was sitting at home thinking,” she ignored me completely, “and I realized one of two things. I could either run home to my parents, apologize for ruining their master plan for my life and go back to the life I was living before.”