Page 8 of The Lucky One

“What kind of cloth would I leave out?” she asks.

It’s a miracle already—she’s not insulting me. There’s no stopping the smile that spreads across my face. I motion at the dark green scarf around her neck. “That scarf you’re wearing would do just fine.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to do it!” She yells as the distance between us grows.

“What do you have to lose, Bridie?”

I can’t help it. Calling her by her Irish name is only going to rile her up and I love to see her irritated.

Right on cue, she yells: “It’s Bridget!”

“I know,” I say with a laugh as I turn into the entrance of the restaurant.

Maybe I should look into a longer stay.

three

BRIDGET

MARCH9

I don’t believe in luck.

I believe in hard-earned rewards.

So coming to Enchanted Hollow to figuratively lick my wounds is probably an odd choice. I’ve seen enough in the last few months to know this place is full of silly superstitions and whimsical happenings.

But I needed to escape Colorado and this was the first place I thought to come.

Before our mother moved us all away in high school, I suppose Enchanted Hollow felt like home. I had friends here—a whole life. Even if I squint just rightlookingfor bad memories, the only one that crosses my mind is when we left.

Ella’s heart never left here. And I suppose Laila’s didn’t really either. She surprised both of us when she came clean about seeing Holden for years in secret.

I kept my mouth closed, but it was the first time I realized how far out of the loop I’d become. Where was I a few monthsago when Ella was confiding in Laila about her feelings about her secret pen pal and about her cute neighbor, Luke?

How did I miss Laila spending whole weekends here with the love of her life? And why didn’t she feel like she could tell me about him? Ever? It took one snowed-in experience in an enchanted rental—affectionately named Wanderlust Refuge—for her to realize what she was missing.

I’m not looking for a magical glimpse into my future à la Ebeneezer Scrooge. Or any magical glimpse.

I just want a place to collect my thoughts and figure out who I am post-Andrew. With no marriage left to plan or a relationship to speak of, I’m really not sure who I am anymore. Toss in the fact that my career—the one thing I was exceptionally good at—burst into flames, and I just need some direction.

Some peace.

So I’m following Weston’s random advice and my sister’s suggestion to just… get away.

I pull into the driveway of the Victorian house and take a moment to just sit. It’s off the beaten path, nestled in tall trees, hidden away from the world. Technically, it’s a little creepy to be so far away from everything, but I’ll try to ignore all the horror stories I’ve accumulated over the years from true crime podcasts.

Both Laila and Ella told me it would just make me paranoid.

But, I’m perfectly fine.

Checking everything out is the first priority on my list, so I open my door, wholly unprepared for the blast of wind from the North when I step out.

“Holy moly,” I mutter to myself.

A cute short-sleeved top isnotappropriate clothing for this weather. I rush to the front door, eagerly punching in the code as the sun gets even closer to the horizon. Of course, as deep as I am in the woods, there’s even less light.

I’m grateful for the light-up keys to make the process quicker.

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