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As we pull onto the street, and the house comes into view, it’s exactly how it looked in the pictures Ethan sent over. Ridiculously big. Presidential, even. The old bed and breakfast is colonial and well-maintained, surrounded by a knee-high, black, wrought iron fence.
“You have family here or something?” my driver asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“No,” I tell him, though he’s already asked me once. It’s as if he doesn’t believe me. “Just a few friends.”
“It’s a small town,” he says with a whistle. “Real small.”
I study the four white pillars on the grand front porch as the car pulls onto the paved driveway to the side of the house. The manicured lawn is full of young saplings and small hedges. From what I remember from the listing, when the owners of the bed and breakfast died, this house fell into disrepair. After the current owners bought it, they had to put a lot of money into fixing it up to be livable again. I suspect the fresh landscaping is another sign of the work and care the owners put into making this the vacation rental it is now—a small attempt at reviving what is clearly a dead town.
After all, this tiny town doesn’t have much more than a grocery store, two gas stations, and a handful of restaurants from what he told me on the ride in and the limited research I did before arriving. I can’t imagine it has much use for vacation rentals—who would be vacationing here?
If it wasn’t for the fact that this was near the midway point for all of us, and Ethan had been able to find a house big enough for each of us to have our own room at an affordable price, I’d never have known it existed.
The driver pulls the car to a stop near the back of the house and turns around to look at me. “This is it.”
“Thanks.” I reach for the door handle and step out of the car, shocked by the temperature difference. Chills line my skin. It’s so much colder here than I’d expected.Isn’t Kentucky supposed to be the South? I thought it didn’t get cold here.
The driver steps from the car and unloads my bags from the trunk, passing them off to me with a wave of his hand. “Have a good one.”
“You, too,” I say, pulling up the handle on my suitcase and rolling it across the lawn. I check the arrival email from the rental company for the door code as I approach the back porch and, with it entered, step into the house.
“Yo, someone’s here!” a voice shouts down the hall before I have a chance to take in the tall ceiling with a linear crack leading to the antique chandelier or the wooden staircase and what appears to be hand-carved banister ahead of me. It’s beautiful and timeless all at once, perfectly antique and yet still modern and kept up.
The sound of footsteps head in my direction, and I await them anxiously—sudden, unexpected nerves filling my stomach. I run a hand through my hair. I didn’t think I’d be nervous meeting these people after spending hours and, ultimately, years calling them friends.
“There she is!” A man who I assume is Austin rounds the corner and holds out his arms for me. He has a mess of wild, curly brown hair and equally dark eyes, a stark contrast to his pale skin. Mostly, he’s exactly what his profile suggests. “Lena?”
A smile spreads to my lips as he moves toward me. “Yes, hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
He wraps me in a hug, and I catch a whiff of the cologne he’s wearing—something peppery and warm.
“I’m Austin,” he says, confirming my suspicion. “PaperBoundAustin.” He rattles off his username, in case I was unsure. “Guys, this is Lena. LitwithLenaO.” He spins around so I get a clear picture of the two men walking up behind him. “Lena, this is Logan—BooksWithLoganC”—he gestures toward the shorter man with buzz-cut blond hair and expressive eyebrows—“and Memphis—BookishReedReads.”
My heart plummets as I lay eyes on the familiar dark hair and olive skin.
No.
No. No. No. No. No.
This has to be a joke.
“You…” The word escapes my throat without conscious thought. It’s impossible.
The man in front of me appears equally shocked and confused to see me. His jaw clenches, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, staring at the man whom I last saw storming away from me in his bookstore…and haven’t heard from since.
“You two know each other?” Austin asks, pointing between us with a brow quirked down. “I mean, besides from online.”
“Sort of,” I say, not quite sure how to explain our non-relationship.
“I don’t know her from online,” Memphis says at the same time.
“Oh, really? You guys’ll have to follow each other,” he says. “Her content is phenomenal. You follow Logan, right?” He points to Logan, who has yet to say a word. Memphis nods. “Do you follow everyone, Lena?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, hardly looking his way. “I think so. But I didn’t know you were BookishReedReads. We’ve never talked.” I look at Austin with a sheepish frown. “I didn’t realize he was part of the group.”How did I not know?I hate to sound like this is a clique, but the six of us have become pretty close over the last few years. The idea of someone new coming in is hard enough, but the fact that it’shimis more than I can bear. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to go home.
“I’m not. I was a last-minute addition,” Memphis says, though he’s looking at Austin. “Actually, I was in the process of being invited when we met, though I’m using the wordinvitedloosely, since it was more likecoerced.”
