Page 2 of Text Appeal

Unknown: Christmas.

Me: Yikes. That’s months. The relationship sounds broken. Have you thought about putting it in a bag of rice?

Unknown: Very funny. Time for another drink. Hotel mini bars are the best. I don’t usually get to meet his female friends. Guess I should introduce myself.

Unknown: Hi. I’m Ava. What’s your name?

Hmm. Logic would suggest I block her and move on with my life. As sad, pathetic, and sleepless as it might currently be. However, writers are notoriously nosy creatures. Especially when it comes to relationship drama, and I write romance.

Me: Riley.

Ava: Nice to meet you. Sort of.

Me: I don’t know your story, but is he worth all the angst?

Ava: You haven’t heard about me? Are you new to Port Stewart?

Me: You’re from Port Stewart?

Ava: Yeah. Born and bred. Connor and I were high school sweethearts and we’ve been on and off ever since.

Me: How long is that now?

Ava: Fifteen years. Are you planning on staying in town?

I hesitate again. It’s one thing to exchange nonsense texts with a random stranger. However, giving details about my life and location doesn’t feel safe. Not that she has asked me anything which might identify my new address. The conversation just seems weird suddenly. Weirder. You would think area codes cover a decent distance. What are the odds these people would be local?

Me: As my mother says, drink a glass of water before you go to bed.

Ava: You seem nice. But he will come back to me. He always does.

Me: Okay. Good night, Ava.

Ava: See you soon, Riley.

And that doesn’t sound ominous at all.

My previous phone number was spammed out of existence. Just endless nuisance calls and texts trying to scam me. It had to go. I wonder why Connor changed his—if it had anything to do with his ex. Or maybe he decided to throw his cell into the sea. To shun the modern world and do away with technology. It’s not a bad idea. Though the Ava situation seems more likely. The timing is certainly curious, what with her coming back to town. Imagine having over a decade’s worth of romantic conflict with someone. It really takes it beyond second-chance romance and into the realm of complicated as fuck. But why wouldn’t he just block her?

I’ve dated a variety of people over the years. None of themlasted long. And the only on-again, off-again relationship I have is with tequila—we’re toxic together.

Thanks to the texting, I am now more awake than ever. Time to take another stroll through my new place. The apartment came furnished. There’s a solid-wood dining set, a chunky gray sofa, and an old-style black metal bed frame. As for the rest, it’s basically a blank canvas. The walls are white, the floors are polished wood, and the kitchen counters are dark stone. Mom would immediately cover the place with bright throws and pillows. But I am going to sit with the space for a few days and see how it feels.

There’s not much of a view from the bedroom, but the large windows in the living/dining/kitchen space more than make up for it. A full moon is shining down on the bay. There’s something mystical about the way the water moves in the moonlight. How dark shadows show the ebb and flow. I still can’t believe I am here. Going from a city in the desert to a small coastal town is going to be an experience. Having whole-ass states between me and the place I used to call home. But I wanted to challenge myself. To be somewhere totally new.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection in the window. “It is going to be great.”

It rained all day Sunday, making it perfect weather for settling in and unpacking. My first official outing takes place on Monday morning. I’ve tied back my shoulder-length light blue hair (necessitated by precipitation making it bouffant and fluffy as fuck), and am wearing jeans and a white tee. The goal is to look like a local—to blend and belong. Though while people-watchingthrough my window I observed an array of styles. From hiking gear to ren faire to quiet luxury and back again. The population might only be five thousand, but they clearly come from all walks of life.

Out on the street, the sky is clear, and a cool breeze blows off the water. The scent of salt and sea fills the air, and I hear gulls crying. My heart feels two sizes too big, straining at the bars of my rib cage, and my smile can barely fit on my face. Being here, making my dream come true, is amazing.

My new apartment is in an old, ornate building with stores on the ground floor. A secondhand bookseller and an ice cream parlor. It’s how I knew this was the place. Books and sugar—an unbeatable combination.

There hasn’t been a single communication for Connor this morning. No texts or calls or nothing. Guess he’s sent out a new number, since I doubt everyone suddenly stopped talking to the man. His plethora of messages from yesterday include:

Any news on the mustang?

Grab some beer if you’re coming over to watch the game.

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