Page 30 of Where Roads Lead

“Why what?”

“Why are you staying here?”

“Max,” the nanny grabbed his hand, “stop bothering the poor woman.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” I assured her. “In fact, you’ve given me a great idea, Max!”

“I have?” He grinned.

“You have.” I nodded. “So, thank you. But in the future, maybe stay away from people talking to themselves, okay?”

“‘Kay,” he agreed. “I’ll see you later.”

I nodded, not doubting that possibility.

The nanny grabbed his hand, and he waved, looking over his shoulder all the while as she lead him away.

I smiled back, grateful for the chance encounter, because he had helped me. He reminded me of another skill I’d completely disregarded when thinking of positions I was qualified for.

I loved kids.

I also loved travel.

And most of all, I loved high-tailing it as far as I could get from Boston with the excuse of a new career opportunity.

No one back home had to know that being an au pair would be only a temporary solution until I became a successful writer.

Satisfied with the plan formulating in my head, I slung my satchel over my shoulder and hurried across the square to check off the next most important part of the day.

Coffee.

Some people (my ex included) used to claim I should stay as far from caffeine as possible, considering the wheels in my mind whirred about one hundred miles per hour without it.

Sometimes, it was a benefit. I could write a lot faster than the average person. I could come up with three new ideas before you had time to question the first one I’d already put into action. And I had already formulated precise responses to any number of possible questions I might ever be asked.

I was reminded of the downside, however, when I collided with a body. Because sometimes, I existed so entirely in my head, I wasn’t even aware of the world around me.

“Woah,” Will’s voice said. I looked up to see him frowning down. “You okay?”

I blinked around, realizing I was standing right outside the doorway of Will’s café, where HUGHES was written in bold lettering.

And I’d just run directly into his chest.

From an outsider’s perspective, I really tried my best to reach the top of his shit list.

“Are you okay?” I asked, grateful that at least it had been someone solid enough to handle my clumsiness. “I did run into you after all. Sorry, by the way.”

“Shockingly,” he said dryly, “you didn’t leave any damage.”

“Right.” I nodded. “Good.”

He stared at me for a minute, seemingly as dumbfounded as I was about what to say next. He settled on scratching his head and gesturing toward the door.

“Are you going in?”

“That was the plan,” I said, wondering if I should bother stepping around him when he clearly took up most of the doorway. “Were you leaving?”

“Oh, I was—” He turned to look behind him. “No. I’m going back in.”