Page 1 of (Un)Expected

PROLOGUE

The darkened highway was the only thing visible through my windshield, a vastly different view from how I started my morning. I was barely five hours out of Manhattan and already, the rush and pulse of the city had disappeared. The towering skyscrapers had faded into lines of tall, lush trees. Gone were the dim glow of traffic lights and the symphony of car horns. Now, all I could hear were my tires on the asphalt as my antique Jeep led me down an otherwise-empty road.

If you’d told me a week ago that I’d be here, I would have laughed.

Then again, a week ago, I had a job I loved, a boyfriend I thought I adored, and the next ten years of my life carefully planned out.

Funny how a couple of hours could change your entire future.

The unsettling feeling of the unknown made my skin crawl. I wasn’t used to having spare time to think. My life had been a constant blur of busy for as long as I could remember. First, it was high school, fighting toothand nail to get a scholarship so I could escape my hometown. Then, it was four years of college, pulling all-nighters to stay at the top of my class, determined to land the best job possible after graduation.

All that work had destroyed my ability to be aimless.

Looking over at the passenger seat, I spotted my worn, brown leather purse, the contents spilling out into the open. I needed something,anything, to get out of my head. Too traumatized by my father’s dying days to ever really try smoking, I’d settled for a horrible chewing gum addiction.

Reaching across the console, I dug for my ever-present pack of Wrigley’s, but instead, my fingers hit my buzzing phone. I’d meant to turn it off before I left, but I had forgotten in my haste to get out of the city.Ignore it, my inner voice screamed, but it was too late for that. I hit the turn signal, pulling off the highway at the next exit.

Saint Stephen’s Lake.

Dumb name.

I tried to find a place to stop, but there was only a narrow, two-lane highway and a couple of buildings that looked ripped straight from a horror movie. Instead of testing my luck, I continued down the road, sure I’d find someplace to safely stop.

Hopefully.

After a couple of minutes, I passed a welcome sign for the town of Saint Stephen’s Lake, and I was relieved when it turned out to be a small, picturesque village, even at this late hour. The main road, aptly named Main Street, was illuminated by tall, antique street lamps, highlighting billowing window boxes stuffed with pink and yellow blooms. The smell of the bouquets wafted through the cracked window of my Jeep, bringing a small smile to my face.

Continuing down the road, I took stock of the different shops. The street was lined with aged brick façades, the stores lined up in a neat little row. Family names adorned their matching awnings, along with the year they were established. There wasn’t a singleone less than fifty years old. Although the storefronts were closed, there was still a quaintness to them, the kind you appreciate more after living in the city for a while.

There was comfort in this little town.

Typically, the quiet freaked me out and made my thoughts too loud to drown out. Tonight, however, the lull was what I’d been craving. My mind could finally catch up after running all day.

Finding a parking lot next to a strip of beach, I pulled my Jeep into one of the empty spaces, shut off the engine, and climbed out of the driver’s seat, immediately heading down to the shore. There was no one else around—the only other living things were a couple of gulls in the air. As I settled down onto the rocky sand, I stared out at the lake in front of me. The waters were deep and peaceful, almost as sleepy as the world around us. On the other side of the lake stood the dark outlines of mountains, but I could barely make them out. After a moment, I finally found the strength to pull out my phone, staring at the picture on the screen.

A couple so happy in love.

What a fucking joke.

My pulse started to hasten as I stared at the image, bringing me back to that dark place, when my phone buzzed again. I glanced down and read the notification before letting it join the dozens of other unanswered messages and calls.

You know I love you, Princess. Come home.

My eyes slammed shut, trying to keep the nightmares at bay. As the words played back in my head, my heart hammered an increasing beat, and my vision began to blur. I was tugged back and forth between this moment and the past, clinging to the present like a lifeline. Fingers that didn’t feel like mine curled around the phone, willing it to snap into a million little pieces, to watch as each one faded into the sand, never to be seen again. The stupid plastic was an anchor, tethering me to the world I was desperately trying to escape.

All day, I’d kept myself together, not even really feeling as I packed my two suitcases into the back of my Jeep. Only able to take what I could carry, I had to leave behind so much, so many tokens of the past that were probably lying in a garbage can by now. Still, I didn’t break. I didn’t cry as I left the apartment and didn’t shed a tear as I crossed the GW bridge out of Manhattan.

But now, sitting here on some strange beach in a strange town hours away from home, this was the moment when the tears started running. They were like a riptide, and I was helpless to resist their pull. At last, I let myself mourn—for all that I lost, all that I would never gain, and all that was left behind. On this beach, I said goodbye to the person I was without a single clue of who I was meant to become.

As I repeated to myself that I was safe and that it’d all be worth it, the world stopped spinning, and I started to feel my senses return to normal. It took a while, but my eyes eventually opened again.

Peaceful waves were the only things in front of me, slow, cascading white caps dancing along the shoreline. Tiny stones tumbled in the water, spinning a couple of times before settling on a new piece of land. I timed my breaths with the quiet crash of the tide, letting it wash an extra layer of comfort over me.

Better.

Not great, not even close to okay, but…better. Wherever I was heading had to be better than what I was leaving behind. The cynic in my head judged me, hating turning to overused cliches for advice, but whatever would keep me standing, kept me moving forward, I’d hold onto.

After a long time sitting alone on the beach, my tears finally dried, and I forced myself to get up. I brushed the dirt off my leggings and trekked back to my car. My entire body ached with exhaustion, and I would have given anything for a warm meal and a comfortable bed. Luckily, when I glanced down the street, I spotted a sign for a diner—theLost Tavern.The lights were still on, which I took as a good omen, considering how loudly my stomach was growling.

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