Page 75 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

I slink to the far corner of the room and open the window. Warmth flows in, as well as the sounds of the festival across the street. An amplified voice cuts through the noise: “And for our last song of the evening to close out this year’s Dillfest, we have ‘Goodnight, Sweetheart, Goodnight.’”

The quartet is back. The song is melancholy, and I sit on the sill, not caring that I’m wrecking Livia’s air-conditioning bill.

If Zachery leaves his room, I don’t know it. I’m not going to listen, not going to try to figure it out.

I hum along to the song, trying to channel my inner peace. What happened with Zachery has to be exactly what I asked for. A test. An act. A one-off.

I think of a scene in the fifth comedy he did, after the hit one. Zach plays the best man to his friend, who is getting married. In aridiculous scene, they’re out for the bachelor party and Zach is about to have sex with his second woman of the night, a dark-haired beauty in a red-sequin dress who keeps having nip slips, which makes the groom bite his hand.

The friend asks Zach if he’s going to dip into this one right after the other, and Zach holds up a condom packet. “It’s like changing the sheets!”

And so, life will imitate art, perhaps.

I shudder.

The song comes to an end. The remaining crowd drifts toward the parking lot. The booths shut down, and carts appear in front of them, tired vendors loading up their wares.

I sit up when I spot the pale head of Simon with the young girl I saw him with initially, as well as an older couple. He looks so normal, walking with the same lanky stride he had with me.

Like nothing ever happened.

I withdraw to the side of the window, afraid he might notice me somehow.

The family gets to the street and wanders along the line of cars parked in every direction. He never glances this way. He doesn’t know where I am, or even who I am, really. By now, I’m already a girl he shouldn’t have messed with, one who got his face punched.

How can I judge Zach for going to Livia when I was with Simon under the bleachers just hours ago?

This night has been too much. I close the window and lie across the bed.

Tomorrow will be the next part of the journey. I’m not deterred. I’m relearning how to fit in and look less Hollywood. Simon didn’t make any connection, taking me at my word about Alabama.

I’ve confirmed that meet-cutes can and do work.

And Zach showed me that I’m fine. With the right person and circumstances, everything works as it should.

I pull out my phone to decide what’s next. I can stay in Colorado, or I can move on to the next state.

If I continue my northern trajectory, it will take me straight to Wyoming.

I’ve read a lot of romances set in Wyoming. There are sweeping vistas and plenty of cowboys. I zoom to the bottom corner of the state, near Cheyenne.

Then, like a sign straight from the meet-cute playbook, a marker pops up for a local business, almost in the middle of nowhere.

Hanover’s Christmas Tree Farm in Glass, Wyoming.

A Christmas tree farm!

A 4.8-star rating. Known for its beautiful trees, which you can chop down yourself or get full service, even delivery.

An alert says, “Half Christmas at the Tree Farm! Don’t miss our summer events!”

I quickly click on it. The main events are next weekend, which is early since it’s still May, but who cares! It’s like they’re doing it now just for me. There’s a square dance, hayrides, and a pie-eating contest.

That sounds perfect. I couldn’t have picked anything more on-theme.

I hunt around for a place to stay. There’s not a lot. The motel nearby looks like the one out ofPsycho. It’s cheap, though.

I should consult with Zachery about it.

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