Page 3 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

Music breaks through my daze, and I realize, a couple more cars have pulled into the gas station, full of college-age kids fresh from the beach. They head for the entrance, jostling and joking around, and something inside me snaps.

I abandon my basket and duck past them, bolting across the parking lot and hurling myself back into the safety of my car. I throw it into drive and take off so fast, my tires screech on the cracked asphalt.

Pull it together, Avery.

I hit the highway again, rolling down all the windows to take big gulps of the salty sea air. There’s only one main highway running up Cape Cod, a sandy two-lane road fringed with pine trees in places, and glimpses of the ocean glinting through the trees. I’m sure it’s all quaint and picturesque on a sunny day, but right now, it’s sticky and overcast, and looks like rain. I take in the scenery as the miles slip by, and feel my trepidation grow.

Empty beaches… windswept dunes… a lone crab shack by the side of the road offering 2-for-1 on chowder… this place is a million miles away from Hollywood.

Which is exactly what you need right now.

I try to be brave. After all, I’ve been wracking my brains for the perfect place to disappear. Somewhere quiet, and unassuming, to wait out this tabloid storm. Then I remembered:

Blackberry Cove.

It’s a small, beachy town nestled in the curl of the Cape. I shot a movie there last year, and “boring” doesn’t even begin to cover it. There’s no nightlife, no designer shopping, and definitely nobody who cares about the Hollywood Reporter "Most Bankable Stars" rankings. In other words, the perfect place to hide until some other scandal replaces me in the headlines, and I can get back to the red carpet again.

If I don’t go crazy from Starbucks withdrawal first, that is.

“Call Max.” I announce my agent in LA’s details to the fancy car audio system. The music pauses, and a moment later, his perky assistant answers.

“Max McConnor’s office.”

“Hi, Tish, it’s Avery,” I announce cheerfully. “Is Max around?”

“Sorry, he’s in a meeting right now,” Tish chirps. “But I’ll have him call you right back.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Yes, but you said that last time,” I point out. “I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”

“I’m sooo sorry Avery,” she coos. “It’s just been crazy! But you’re number one on his call-sheet, I promise. I’ll grab him as soon as he’s out.”

I exhale. “Great. Just… tell him we need to talk.”

“Will do!”

I ring off, and try to ignore the shiver of insecurity in my chest. Maybe he really is in an important meeting.

Or maybe he’s decided to cut his losses and move on to the next dewy-eyed starlet?—

My pity spiral is interrupted by a massive jolt, as I hit a huge pothole in the road. I let out a yelp, yanking the steering wheel to stay in control.

That was close.

I exhale, relieved. Then the tire pressure light flashes on.

Damn.

I watch the little light of doom glow steadily on the dashboard. Maybe it’s just a slow puncture, I tell myself hopefully, and I can make it into town before–

THUMP. THUMP.

I can feel the tire deflate fast, until I have no choice but to pull over on the sandy shoulder and come to a stop.

“Seriously?” I groan. If I believed in signs and premonitions, I’d say this whole Blackberry Cove plan is clearly cursed.

But you don’t, I remind myself, getting out of the car and popping the truck. You are an independent, grown woman, who’s more than capable of changing a flat tire.

Except, I’ve never actually done it before. And definitely not with a fresh manicure and white jeans.

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