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“Goodnight,” I call out to them.
“Hope you both sleep well.” My mother smiles at us. My father’s face looks more suspicious. As promised, the door to the master suite doesn’t close behind them.
Ryan grins and smoothly moves back to discussing our best course of action when we meet Alice Witmore tomorrow.
“I like your parents,” Ryan says when the soft sound of snoring makes its way down the hall.
“I’m glad. Sorry about my dad.” I scoot up on the bed and curl up in Ryan’s open arms.
“He’s protective of you. That’s a good thing.”
He holds me as the storm rages on.
“Did I ever tell you that my mom wants me to move back here? My uncle is the principal of the middle school. I’d have a job teaching English tomorrow if I wanted it.”
“But you don’t?” Ryan asks.
“I don’t. I worked hard to get out of this town. I want to act. Maybe even produce. There’s no way I’m trading that for a white picket fence in Hayden Falls.”
Ryan is quiet through the next set of thunder and lightning.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I turn and look up to make sure he’s still awake.
“I was picturing it. You, living here. Teaching school.”
“The stuff of nightmares,” I say.
“I don’t know. It’s not the worst place to raise a family.”
The next loud crash of thunder cuts the lights.
“Power outage,” I say, as if it needs an explanation.
Ryan looks at his watch. “It’s getting late. We should probably get some sleep.”
I head to my room and dream of a yard surrounded by a white picket fence and a little boy who has Ryan’s eyes running around in it.
Chapter Six
Ryan
“Shoot!” I know I’m in trouble the moment I open my eyes and see daylight streaming in around the curtains. I know I set an alarm. Two, actually, to make sure we’d get on the road as early as possible. Our window of catching up with Alice Witmore before the wedding was small. She’d be out of the hotel by ten this morning, according to Elana’s research.
I fumble for my phone, knocking it off the nightstand. I catch the thing dangling by its charging cord. It’s completely dead. The power must still be out.
I walk to the window, opening the curtains to get a good look at my watch. It’s past eight. There’s a slim chance we’ll make it if there’s no traffic. The chances of that happening in Atlanta are next to nothing, but I’m not ready to give up yet.
I throw on some clothes, splash cold water on my face, and go out the door, my bag, phone and charger in hand. I wonder if Elana’s has enough juice left for a quick traffic report. If we can get the internet to work.
The door to her room is closed. I knock on it and softly call her name. No answer. I turn the handle. It doesn’t move. The door is locked. I contemplate knocking harder, but don’t want to wake up the entire house.
The scent of fresh coffee making its way up the stairs makes my decision easy. I head down, following the sound of someone puttering around the kitchen.
Mr. Pierce is standing at the table, slowly pouring water into a French press. “Coffee?”
“I’d love some before I head out.” I put my dead phone on the counter and take a seat at the table.
“That was some storm. Kept me up half the night.” Mr. Pierce puts the kettle on a hot pad.
