“I’ve seen the signs on my way to Asheville. At least you won’t be too far.”
I used the back of my jeans to brush the dust off my hands and crossed to my mom. I pulled her into a hug before kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks for keeping all my stuff.”
She nodded. “Of course. You know we’re happy to do it. But Darcy’s going to be furious.”
She wouldn’t be. She’d be proud that I’d been brave enough to tell Isaac how I was feeling. And thrilled that I was chasing after Olivia. The romance of it all would ease the sting of me leaving without seeing her first.
I just had to get out of town before I had time to second guess myself. One more minute in the city, and I might get too scared to go through with it.
I stopped for gas halfway to North Carolina and finally pulled out my phone to text Darcy.
I took a selfie leaning up against the car, the gas pump visible behind me, and added a simple caption.
Tyler: Destination: Stonebrook Farm
Her reply came through almost immediately.
Darcy: SHUT. UP. You didn’t. Did you quit your job?
Tyler: I did.
Darcy: WHAT. I’m so proud of you. Seriously. This is going to be AMAZING.
Tyler: Thanks for your vote of confidence. I need it. And about ten million more.
Darcy: You’re going to do great. Text me when you get there. And keep me posted on ALL the love things. You know that’s always my favorite part.
I couldn’t help but grin. I had a lot of reasons for leavingRandom I.For leaving Charleston. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that Olivia was a big part of my motivation.
A quiver of anticipation shot through me, followed by a sneaking sense of dread. What if she didn’t want to see me? What if, in the weeks since we’d seen each other, she’d started dating someone else? What if she couldn’t actually offer me a job?
I checked the GPS on my phone. I’d arrive at Stonebrook Farm in less than two hours.
I’d know soon enough, either way.
Chapter Eight
Olivia
“Hey, Liv?” Perry called from the hallway outside my office. He appeared in the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you.” He shot me a questioning look. “A guy.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What? Who is it?”
Perry ran a hand across his face. He looked tired. But then, he usually did. “He didn’t say. Just asked if you were here today.”
“What does he look like?”
Perry shrugged. “I don’t know. A guy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Young? Old?”
“Young-ish, probably? Late twenties? And tall. Really tall. Taller than me.”
An image of Tyler Marino immediately popped into my head. But that was dumb. Tyler was not the only tall man in the South. And he had no reason to be in North Carolina, though the thrill that snaked through my gut told me I’d be happy if it was him.
“Wait, it isn’t that guy from the bar, is it? The one with the weird mustache?”
Perry grinned. When we’d gone to Asheville the previous weekend, he’d found far too much enjoyment in watching an older guy—an oldertallguy—with a handlebar mustache wink at me from across the bar multiple times. He’d finally come over and asked for my number, which I had politely declined to provide. It was an irrational fear. The guy hadn’t learned anything but my first name; there was no way he could have tracked me down. Was there?
