I should have been asking more questions about New Zealand, but I couldn’t think of any. Can I see your arm hair? didn’t count. That was off topic. And weird.
“All right, Lyssa.” Mike planted his empty glass firmly on the counter. “Time to quit eye fucking me and go to bed.”
I did not.
Okay, yes, this was Caroline’s brother, but she wasn’t here now. And I knew from her stories that Mike slept with any woman with a pulse. He definitely gave off the vibe that he knew how to show a girl a good time, and I wanted that. I wanted to learn from his experience. When he’d lifted me up on the counter at Levitate, I’d felt flutters I’d never had before, and he’d done that without expending any effort at all.
Plus, it was late, he was hot, and we were all alone in his psychedelic house … no one would ever know …
I wanted him. And I wanted to be a woman who got what she wanted.
After a deep breath, I said, “Or ...” and trailed off meaningfully.
His expression darkened. “Good night, Lyssa.”
He edged past me and disappeared down his hallway.
Humiliation felt like putting on a poorly-fitted dress from off the rack.
I was still awake and reliving this horror when I heard Mike’s alarm go off at four thirty a.m.. He didn’t turn on the overhead light in the hallway. If this was an effort not to wake me, it was wasted. Firstly, I was still on New York time, and secondly, when he tripped over something, he cursed loudly before he could stop himself.
There was no more attempting to sleep after that. I put my phone on airplane mode to resist the urge to doomscroll; and lay still in the early morning light, listening to the sounds of birds waking.
When it was light enough, I got up and started filming.
Woodville was a small country town and only had the bare essential businesses—however who had determined what constituted an essential needed to be studied. There was a grocer’s, a few cafés, a bakery, a library, a school, and a church. But also a tiny art gallery, a tapered candle shop (they only sold tapers), four antique shops, a bridal boutique, a bookstore, and two places dedicated to selling cheesecake. For anything else, you had to drive twenty minutes to the slightly bigger town or an hour to the closest city.
Mike had left my keys on his dining table, on top of a copy of the New Zealand road code. I threw the book in my tote and walked ten minutes to Levitate.
Caroline and Mike’s dad, Kevin, lived in a house behind the café. Kev had a knee operation a few months ago, so I wasn’t sure if he would be at work, but when I arrived, his familiar face was the first thing I saw.
“Hello, Kev.”
His jaw fell open. “Lyssa? Caroline’s Lyssa?”
We’d been on enough Zoom calls that he knew me, but it was always weird when you saw someone out of context.
For example, in a country they didn’t live in.
Mike hadn’t gotten around to telling his dad I was here. He must have told Caroline, though, as when I took my phone off airplane mode, I had missed calls. I hadn’t listened to her voicemails yet.
Kevin Holliday always wore a plaid cotton shirt, like his son, but his was buttoned and tucked into a linen café apron that he wore wrapped around his waist. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short, but it was pin straight and in need of a cut, so it spiked over his temples. He looked how a hug felt.
“That’s me,” I said, a bit sheepishly.
“What are you doing here?”
I answered honestly, “Hiding from the consequences of my actions.”
“Ah. That’s often why Caroline visits too.” Kevin surprised me by extending his hand over the counter.
When we shook hands, he clasped his other hand over the back of my palm and held it. This confused me until I realized it was a gesture of extreme affection. Maybe it was for all New Zealanders, or maybe this was a Kiwi dad thing. Whatever it was, the sincerity of it surprised me, and my eyes dampened.
“Welcome to Woodville, Lyssa Luxe. Where are you staying?”
“Um.” I picked at my nails. The tartan press-ons complimented my sleeveless pumpkin turtleneck, distressed denim pencil skirt, trainers, and the bag I’d tied around my waist like a belt. I’d also put half my hair up with a red bandanna that flopped down onto my cheek if I turned my head too fast.
“My hotel fell through,” I answered. “So Mike’s letting me stay with him. In his spare room. Not his room. Obviously.”
