My suitcase landed on the bed with a dull thud.
And that’s when I saw him.
Or rather, me—my reflection, staring back from the mirror above the headboard.
I jumped, just a little.Surprised.
Jesus.
Who was that?
The guy in the mirror didn’t look like Julian Reed, world-weary podcast host, born skeptic, leather-jacket-wearing city boy who ordered his coffee black and his feelings repressed.
This guy looked like he might say “namaste” unironically.
I stepped closer, peering at the gauzy shirt clinging to my chest, the swirled pattern like a galaxy of poor choices.The corduroy pants sat lower on my hips than I remembered, and the thin leather sandals looked like they’d walked me straight into a drum circle.My hair was messy from the drive, my eyes a little glassy from lack of sleep, and the whole emotional collapse into my own bullshit thing I’d been nursing since Jude rejected me.
I looked like a fraud.And the worst part?That had been the plan.
I sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out my phone, and typed a message to Claudia.
Arrived in Riverbend.Will begin “research” shortly.
Vibe is… aggressively whimsical.Will keep you posted.
I stared at it for a moment, then added:
Jude looks better in my head than I’d like.Send vodka.
I hit send.
It was only 3:07 p.m.
I needed a drink.
A real one.Something with booze and bite.Something that would settle the nerves currently staging a one-man protest in my chest.
Which meant one place.
The Chalice & Cherry.
I stood, swiped my wallet and keys off the dresser, and glanced one last time at the mirror.
“Blend in,” I told my reflection.
The man in the mirror didn’t respond.
He just looked nervous.
And maybe—just maybe—a little excited.
* * *
Riverbend in the late afternoon felt like walking through a Pinterest board titled Whimsical Pagan Small Town Fantasycore.
Every storefront was hand-painted, every sidewalk crack stuffed with wildflowers, and every person I passed looked like they had at least one Etsy store and a firm opinion about moon phases.
A woman wearing what I could only describe as a bridal gown made entirely out of recycled curtains stepped out of a shop calledCrystals & Croissantsand offered me a tiny cup of “chakra-aligning herbal elixir.”I politely declined and kept moving, dodging a guy on a unicycle playing a flute and a toddler with glitter all over his face holding a sign that said, “Mercury is always in retrograde if you’re a coward.”
