Page 22 of Stuck With the Best Man

While Gram serves me a plate of toast with a side of calming amethyst and lapis lazuli, I’m glued to my phone. I type away furiously in the bridesmaid group chat, trying to figure out if anyone from the wedding party is also stranded in Mermaid Shores and needs to get out ASAP. So many of Eva’s guests were rich and famous that I wouldn’t be surprised if I could hop onto someone’s private jet and practically airlift myself out of here.

It’s no use, though. Once Eva and Sebastien headed for Santorini, everyone else disappeared too. So much for thinking that this town is oh-so charming and idyllic. As the group chat starts flooding with sympathetic responses, I learn that most people headed to Boston, then grabbed flights to their next glamorous summer destination the morning after the wedding. A few others headed further up the Cape and have no plans on returning to the city anytime soon.

I’ll ask around for you, Olenka texts.I’m sure there’s something we can do.

Same,Lola promises.Don’t worry! We’ll rescue you!

Never mind that Olenka is already in Paris for a modeling contract and Lola jetted down to the Hamptons thanks to her friendship with an international pop star. It makes sense that they’re optimistic. They haven’t had many roadblocks in life.

But me? I’m just ordinary. I only have ordinary solutions. Ordinary options.

I drop my head into my hands. Gram offers me a mug of chamomile tea. I ask for coffee instead. She tuts her tongue but sets about fiddling with the Keurig my mom got her for Christmas last year.

Meanwhile, I descend into misery. This is so unfair. I should’ve left yesterday morning. I got all caught up in the comfortable familiarity of my hometown. I let it drag my attention away from my goals. It’s the magic of this place. It forces you to relax, even to your own detriment.

Mermaid Shores, I hate you,I think to myself. Then, a few seconds later,I don’t really mean that. I love you. It’s just that you’re kind of bringing me down at the moment.

Then I realize that I’m basically talking to myselfandthe non-sentient spirit of a small town.

“Maybe I could hijack one of the rich tourists’ yachts and drive it down to Manhattan,” I mutter.

“Eat your toast,” Gram says softly, setting a mug of coffee in front of me. “Everything will be okay, Ruby.”

I’m about to resign myself to complete and total failure. My thumb is hovering over the screen of my phone as I consider how to phrase my message to Aline, the artistic director, informing her I’ll be missing rehearsal on Wednesday. Aline is cold and cutthroat. She wouldn’t fire me on the spot, thanks to modern labor laws, but she’ll be disappointed.

Disappointment from superiors in a ballet company is pretty much a death sentence.

Then, a text from an unknown number comes in.

Hey… I heard you need a ride down to the city today?

I furrow my brow. The area code is one of many that I recognize from the New York City area, but nobody in the bridesmaid group chat has told me to expect a text from anyone yet.

Still, I’m desperate.

Who is this?I type back.

Those three little dots indicating the stranger is in typing hover for longer than I expect.

Then, at last, they answer.

It’s Ben Hawthorne :)

I groan out loud. Gram chuckles quietly as if she already knows exactly what’s going on.

I’m doomed. Truly, totally doomed.

Chapter Eight: Ben

AtnoontheMondayafter the wedding, I pull up in front of one of the strangest properties I’ve ever seen. The white house with yellow shutters is normal enough, I suppose, if you ignore the fact that this particular shade of yellow looks like it came directly from a children’s box of crayons.

It’s the neon purple fence covered in hundreds of unidentifiable objects that really draws my attention.

I get out of the car and lean against the driver’s side door while I wait, trying to figure out what’s going on with this fence. There are beads made of both plastic and wood in every color of the rainbow. Random twigs and bunches of dried plants are tied up with twine and strips of leather. Rocks of all shapes, sizes, and colors rest in between the pickets or dangle from little silver wires.

My brow furrows as something clicks. I remember what Olenka said to me at the beach when I found those stones in my pocket.

I heard there’s a village witch…

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