Page 2 of Finding Home

He knew how important her surrogate family of Uncle Pete, his wife Janet, and their son Tobey were to Elle. A simple silver framed photo of Elle in a cap and gown beside a grinning Pete and Janet, while a smirking Tobey gave her bunny ears, was the lone family picture displayed in her condo.

Pete, Janet, and Tobey were far too important to Elle to be dealt the last fourteen years of bad excuses that she used to not visit. They deserved better.

“Ok,” she whispered her defeat.

“Hand me your phone.” Viet held his hand out, palm up.

“Why?”

Viet’s forehead puckered. “Eleanor Marie Davidson.”

“Oh, you got full-named.” Willa laughed, sipping the fresh cocktail that had poofed into existence without Elle noticing.

Perhaps, the wine fairy would bring Elle a fresh glass to numb the dread of being forty minutes from the nearest cocktail bar for a month. More importantly, to dull the anxiety aboutbeing in a town where painful phantoms haunted each corner. How much rosé could she pack in her luggage?

“Fine,” she muttered and dropped her phone into Viet’s hand.

“I’m texting Uncle Pete to tell him the news.”

“Wait, I need to get my boss to sign off.” Elle reached for the phone.

But Viet was faster. “You’re a boss bitch. You’ll make it happen.”

“Fine.” She puffed out a breath. “Willa, let Ned know he can stay at my place.”

“Oh, I texted him five minutes ago. He’s pumped.”

“What if Viet’s emotional terrorism hadn’t worked?”

“Plan B was for you to fall in love with Ned via close proximity.”

“You read too many romance novels.” Elle took Willa’s drink from her and sipped.

Stupid alcohol. She narrowed her eyes at the cocktail, scrunched her nose, and handed it back. It was the three glasses of rosé’s fault that she was doing this. At least, that’s what she’d tell herself.

“No such thing! I’ve had some of my best orgasms thanks to Denise Williams.” She fanned herself with the card-stock menu. “Anyways, I’ll find you adreamAirbnb to live in while you’re in Perry-dise. I wonder if I can find one with a hot farmer waiting for a city girl to melt his pants off with her steamy sass!”

“Check the filter options,” Viet deadpanned.

“This will be more like a Stephen King novel, only Carrie returns to get doused with even more buckets of blood.” Elle rested her head on the table, its cool smooth surface sobered her to what a terrible idea this was.

“Except in this version Carrie returns as a badass healthcare executive with killer fashion sense and a hot bod.” Viet placed Elle’s phone beside her head.

“Totes! Also, you style your hairwaybetter than in high school.”

Face pinched, Elle raised her head. “Why did I show you my senior yearbook?”

“It will be fine.” Viet covered Elle’s hand with his, warmth seeping through her. “You’re going home.”

Only she wasn’t going home. She was going back to where she’d grown up.

TWO

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

“My idea of good company…is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company.”

~Jane Austen, Persuasion

---