Page 97

Koko reaches for her bag. “Do you need a sign?”

I laugh and shake my head. “Nope. I think I just need to pack.”

Koko squeals as I grab the suitcase from my closet and begin to fill it with anything that makes sense.

I pack my toiletries and passport while she hops onto my laptop.

“Where is your credit card?” she calls as I pull out a bathing suit and every pair of clean underwear I own.

I toss her my wallet.

“Window or aisle?”

“Honestly, I’ll take anything. Just get me there as quickly as possible.”

She clicks and types and, a few moments later, shuts my laptop just as my phone pings.

“Direct flight to Castellón! Apparently, Pensacola doesn’t have an airport, but Google says it’s super close, and I got you a great last-minute deal,” she says, slinging her bags over her shoulder. “But we have to move. Your flight leaves thirty minutes before mine. We’re cutting it close.”

We pile our bags into the back of a Ford Fiesta, telling the Uber driver to step on it because I need to make it to Florida to get my man back.

Our driver, Thomas, drives a very reasonable 112 kilometers an hour, gaining us zero extra commuting minutes but not losing any either.

When we’re almost at the airport, Koko reaches into her purse and pulls out a yellow piece of paper. “This was going to be my backup plan if you didn’t come to your senses.”

I take it from her and unfold it. The paper is thin and aged with visible creases, and my heart stops at the words written in blue ink in very familiar handwriting.

This is your sign.

I can barely breathe. “Where did you get this?”

Koko takes it from my hands, folds it back up, and returns it to her bag. “I found it in the pocket of this leather jacket I scored from the Salvation Army. It was kind of a major moment for me—one that I was going to dramatically recount for you had you not come to your senses and packed a bag.”

My throat is so dry I can barely speak. “I want to hear it.”

Koko checks the map on her phone and shrugs. “Well, the short story is that I was working there last year, and someone brought a bunch of stuff in to donate. There was this incredible vintage leather jacket in the box. The kind people pay good money for, and I thought, I could totally find lots of pieces just like this. Curate a collection and start my own store. It had always been an idea in my head, but I never really thought about it seriously, then when I got home I put the jacket on and found this wallet. It only had a license and twenty dollars and this slip of paper that said this is your sign. I went to return it to the guy, who, believe it or not, lived in your building, but the guy who runs the dry cleaner told me he passed away, so I just kept it. Anyway, as I was leaving he also told me they were moving locations and the space would be up for lease, and I knew Thrift Me Baby was supposed to be there. I was being sent literal signs from the universe.” She holds up her hands and smiles. “Wild, right?”

My head begins to spin, and I can barely get my words out. “But you never worked at the Salvation Army.”

Koko’s eyebrows scrunch. “What are you talking about? I worked there for almost six years. Right up until I opened my store.”

I shake my head. “You said you worked at some boutique. Sammie’s or Mandy’s or something?”

Koko thinks for a moment, then laughs. “Sally’s Boutique? Sally’s. As in the Salvation Army. It’s a nickname. Like how people call Target Targé. Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t know that.”

Koko throws her arms around me. “You precious unbaked cinnamon roll. I love how uncorrupted you are. Yes, I worked at the Salvation Army. Why?”

I just wanted validation that my leather jacket was trying to tell me something.

And now I know it was.

Our arrival at the airport is chaotic.

Thomas drops us at the wrong end of the airport. The security line is too long, and by the time we get through, I have only minutes until my gate closes.

“Thank you.” I pause long enough to throw my arms around Koko’s neck. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”