Page 7 of The Lucky One

Her phone pings with an incoming text and she sighs. Her eyes drop to the screen and she tenses at whatever she sees there.

Well, that can’t be good. Right?

Her fingers curl around the phone before she presses the button on the side to dim the screen.

“Bridget?” It’s taking enormous amounts of self control to not reach out and touch her, pull her close. She looks like she needs a hug. “You okay?”

“Right as rain,” she says, pressing her shoulders back. “Just a wedding hiccup. Like you said.”

I know Bridget’s type. She keeps a facade of control and order, but inside she’s anything but. She’s like Monica Gellar with the tidy, perfect apartment, but a locked up closet of messy shame. Yeah, that’s right. I watched all ten seasons in the first weeks after my surgery. And it was funny.

We stop in front of The Grotto, one of my favorite restaurants in this town. It’s delicious food and a great view of Mirror Lake, probably better when it’s warmer. But as we stand here, the scents of their menu are making my stomach growl, I have athought. I dig my phone out of my pocket with my free hand and pull up the place I’m currently staying.

I don’t know her story, but everyone needs a break. An escape. A place to temporarily forget their problems.

Wanderlust Refuge was a place I found on one of the short-term rental websites. The charm of the restored Victorian home grabbed me as soon I scrolled to it. Kind of like a gingerbread house waiting in the woods. But inside it’s updated and comfortable.

There’s a big screen television and a huge comfortable couch. My dog Bailey especially likes laying on it. It’s got a great kitchen for me to cook in when I want to, and it’s off the beaten path.

It’s perfect.

“It’s a nice place,” I tell her. “I’m only staying for another week, but maybe you should look into it. For later. De-stress and enjoy a little escape.”

She swipes through the listing, her face only showing the slightest flicker of interest every once in a while. Finally, she lifts her eyes back to mine.

“I guess if you want to fall off the map this seems like the place to do it,” she chuckles.

“That’s the idea,” I reply. She can’t know how true that statement is. I love my teammates and I’m so hyped for their success—but it breaks my heart that I can’t be on that field with them.

Maybe it sounds dramatic, maybe not. But I know how hard we worked to get there and life is still moving full speed ahead without me.

I hate it.

“I don’t need to fall off the map, Weston. Not really my cup of tea.” She hands me my phone back.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” I tuck it into my pocket, and sigh. I’ve gone about as long as I can today, which means I’mnot cooking. Takeout it is. “Well, I’m going to grab food and head back.”

She steps back and nods, clearly distancing herself from me.

“I’ve got an appointment at Moonlight and Lace for dresses.”

“Sounds like a rousing good time.” I chuckle, taking another sip of coffee.

She glances off to the side and tugs her coat a little closer as a biting wind blows down the street.

“It’ll be great,” she insists, even though she doesn’t sound very convincing.

My parents have Irish lineage. We sort of keep one foot in and one foot out—but there’s one tradition we always do today. I’d almost forgotten, and need to set a reminder. She might think I’m a little weird for mentioning it, but I want to extend an olive branch in her direction.

Let her know that I understand life is getting weird.

“Try a little something for me, Spitfire. Leave a cloth out tonight.”

“Andwhywould I do that?” She wrinkles her nose.

I take a few slow, deliberate steps backward because she’swaytoo cute when she looks like that. “It’s St. Brigid’s Eve. If you leave a cloth out, she’ll bless it and ward off illness and pain.”

I’ll take whatever I can get as far as blessings these days, so you’d think this would’ve been at the top of my to-do list today.

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