Stevie’s brow wrinkles. “That’s not much time. The airport is almost an hour away.”
“Shit, we’ve got to hurry.”
The four of them are pushing their feet into shoes, but I don’t move from my spot on the couch. When they’re ready to go, they finally look at me, eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” Wren asks. “We’ve got to go.”
She goes so far as to pick up the sandals I slipped off by the door, walking them to me and dropping them at my feet.
“I didn’t say I was going to Maine.” I clarify, “I’mnotgoing to Maine.”
She blinks at me. “Why not?”
I flail my arms helplessly, trying to figure out what answer to land on. I end up saying all of them. “I have the shop. I don’t have money to drop on a plane ticket right now. I can’t just show up on someone’s doorstep.” And the most important. “He might not want to see me.”
Alicia looks me square in the eye. “Bullshit.”
I sputter, staring at her, unsure of how to respond to the casual way she shut down all my best excuses.
The real reason is that I’m still scared. Grey may belong here, but I might have pushed him away by telling him to go. He told me heloves me, and I told him to leave. Knowing him, I know how vulnerable that had to make him, and it makes my heart feel like it’s splitting in two.
“We can cover the shop,” Wren says, not moving from her position by the front door, her hand resting on the handle.
Alicia interjects. “And the plane ticket. At least, I can help.”
The other women chorus their agreement, and emotion clogs my throat, tears fighting to break free.
Nora pierces me with a look. “And youwereinvited. We can look for a bed-and-breakfast or something as a backup plan.”
I’m out of excuses.
“The real question,” Stevie says, watching me with that signature intensity of hers, “is whether you want to go.”
I drank too muchchardonnay on the plane in an attempt to calm my nerves. It didn’t work. Now I’m just anxious and tipsy.
It’s a bad combination.
We fly over the ocean for a moment before landing, and I catch a glimpse of deep blue. It’s stunning, watching the waves crash and foam against the rocks. The only beaches I’ve been to have been on the coast of the Carolinas or in Florida, and none of them looked as wild or rugged as this. Looking at this stretch of ocean evokes the feelings I get when I’m looking out at the mountains in Fontana Ridge, feeling small and insignificant but somehow incredibly lucky to exist in a place like this.
I want to bottle up this feeling and hold on to it as I disembark and find my way to Grey.
My phone vibrates with dozens of messages when I turn it off airplane mode, almost all of them from the book club girls. They’ve apparently been watching my flight on the radar, tracking it up the coast.
And there are several messages from Grey.
Grey:I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. Just wanted to hear your voice.
Grey:Man that was sappy.
Grey:I’m sorry.
Grey:Still mean it though.
A smile tugs at my lips and some of the nerves buzzing in my stomach start to settle. For the first time in the last five hours, I think coming here might be a good idea.
My hands are shaking in the cab heading toward Cape Landing when I finally call him. I have no idea where I’m headed or if I’m going to need to use the bed-and-breakfast reservation we made on the way to the airport.
“Hey, Fin,” he says, answering on the second ring like he was holding his phone in his hand, waiting for me to call. “I love you.”
