Page 15 of Meeting Up with the Mason

I hadn’t, then, and she’d gotten attached to the idea of me. She’d been about to pitch a long-distance relationship, but how could I uphold my part?

I’d gotten attached to her, yes, but she didn’t deserve having me break her heart.

Her shoulders dropped. “It’s a shame.”

At least I didn’t say, “I’d still like to talk to you.” Talking would just keep our feelings engaged, and we’d yank one another along into a cycle of misery: time with her would be time not working on my thesis, and time working on my thesis would be time ignoring her.

What I did say was, “We have the rest of today. I’ll show you why everyone loves the Cape.”

We stayed on the lake another half hour, the sky growing progressively heavier. After we brought home the kayak, I pulled out the stops: a lobster dinner; a drive to the ocean; ice cream in the car while a drizzle spattered the windshield. We talked the whole time. She told me about art events she’d hosted during college as well as the one car wreck of a studio class she’d dared to take. “I did learn one thing,” she said. “I learned I’m a better art critic than I am an artist!”

She had an early flight, so I dropped her off at nine.

On her porch, she held my hands between hers. “What will you be doing tomorrow?”

I looked into her eyes.I’m going to be missing you. I’m going to be hating myself for doing the responsible thing. I’m going to want to see you off at the airport even though I can’t get anywhere near the gate. I’m going to be miserable.

I tried to sound casual. “I’m driving back to school and riding out the storm there.”

Her smile trembled. “Lightweight. It’s not even a category two anymore.”

I lowered my voice. “That’s me. Can barely assemble a bunch of bricks, and can’t deal with rain and a breeze.”

In the light of the porch, she pulled me closer. I bent to give her a final kiss.

“That’s for luck so you’ll catch your flight.” Except I knew with dread that for me, it was the worst luck of all.

Chapter 8

Alyssa

Iawoke to the digital clock blinking. The power must have gone out but then come back. The house was darker than any other morning, a steady rain sealing out the sunrise.

Six-fifteen. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I woke my phone to check my flight status and instead found a text from Chip. “Traffic off the Cape is a mess. People evacuating. Leave lots of extra time.”

Were people evacuating? Or were they just, you know, leaving?

Also, a text alert said my flight was delayed two hours. If things were that lousy on the road, though, I should still leave when I’d planned.

Not like there was anything left here for me.

Loathing every bit of this, I loaded my stuff into the rental. Chip was so matter-of-fact about no hope for the long haul. To him, I’d been fun…for a few days. He was smart and funny and hard-working and perceptive, and I was entertaining. He’d go back to being bedazzled by ancient empires, and I’d be confirming RSVPs.

I merged onto a packed Route 28, wipers full blast. Rain sheeted from the pea-green sky while trees swayed in the gusts.I’ve lived through worse.Chip must have already left. Why else would he have known the traffic conditions?

Half an hour later, I hadn’t even reached Bourne. I’d passed two downed trees, and Falmouth had no electricity. Power crews were out in force, as were the police and fire department. Three times already I’d had to edge into the shoulder for an emergency vehicle with lights and a siren.

An alert flashed on my phone: flight canceled.

Blast, blast, blast. Darcy wasn’t even a hurricane any longer! Heart heavy, I found a place to turn back. I just wanted to go home.

If I had to be on the Cape without Chip, it might as well be under a homicidal sky with winds bending the trees sideways. It would have been a slap in the face to gaze at the peaceful tide while tourists gushed, “What a lovely day!”

Eventually, a sign said, “Welcome to Mashpee!” (Welcome back, Loser) and I located my turnoff. The tires slushed through an inch of water, and heaven only knew how well the brakes would work. The wind slammed the car as I crawled the last few blocks. Lights were on, so at least I wouldn’t be sitting heartbroken in the dark.

The crown of a pine tree blocked three-quarters of the road. I edged around it, needles scraping the quarter panels.I feel you, buddy.

Rain momentarily overpowered the wipers while the wind wailed. Aunt Sophie’s house appeared in the headlights, runoff rushing over the repaired steps like a miniature waterfall. Chip had secured them well—just the way he’d secured my heart.

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