Page 26 of The Serendipity

I look up, the pillowy softness melting on my tongue, and both Mom and Dad have pinched expressions.

“What?” When neither one answers and, instead, they exchange a heavy glance, the last bite of dumpling suddenly feels stuck in my mouth. I swallow and take a sip of water. “Whatever it is, just tell me. Are you retiring and moving to Miami? Did youget scammed by a telemarketer again? Did they discontinue your favorite kind of train track?”

“Trey is moving back,” Mom blurts.

I am immensely glad I already swallowed my bite of dumpling because I think I would have choked.

Though we both grew up in Serendipity Springs, Trey and I didn’t meet until freshman year of college. We both went to Boston and met when a friend of a friend mentioned they had another friend driving back to Serendipity Springs for fall break. Mom and Dad didn’t let me take a car my freshman year because parking was such a nightmare, but they hated coming to get me because driving in Boston is also a nightmare. Mom and Dad suggested I take the train to Worcester, but I’m a little bit of a baby and don’t love doing public transportation alone.

I jumped on the chance to ride back home with Trey, sight unseen. If I had seen him ahead of time, I would have jumped even faster.

The instant I saw him, I got that fluttery crush feeling. It wasn’t just his perfectly tousled dirty blond hair and deep brown eyes but the warmth in his smile and the way he immediately took my bags and loaded them in the back before opening my car door. When he told me I got to choose the music, I was already half-smitten.

After an hour and a half that felt like ten minutes, he was pulling up in front of my house, and I was fighting off disappointment. I didn’t want to get out of the car. Or say goodbye. But Trey felt the same way and asked if he could take me to dinner rather than dropping me off.

I ended up getting home—finally—after midnight and after we’d made plans to hang out the next day.

Both of my parents waited up. Not because they were worried, but because my dad said once they got my texts that Iwas going to hang out with the boy who drove me home, they just knew.

Like magic, Dad said.

So, yeah. I’ve got some real-world reasons not to like the idea of magic. Because our ending was not so magical.

“He’s moving back from Paris? To Serendipity Springs?”

“Yes,” Dad says, looking warily at me, as though he expects me to spring out of my seat and run away. Or perhaps he’s thinking I might spontaneously combust.

I willnotburst into flames. Or bolt from the table.

Mostly because I hate few things more than I hate running.

Which brings unwelcome thoughts of shirtless, sweaty Archer to mind.

Ugh—not now!I can’t manage thoughts about Trey and Archer at the same time.

“Trey, as in,theTrey?”

What I mean, of course, ismyTrey.

Only, he isn’t that now. Hasn’t been for close to five years. Not since he got a job offer right out of college and moved to France without me.

Let me rephrase that: Not since he accepted a job offer overseas without telling me, proposed, and made my acceptance contingent on moving to Paris with him.Thenhe moved to France without me.

I said no. For … reasons. Multiple.

The main reason, though, at least in the moment, was that Icouldn’tgo to France. Trey knew it. And he knew why. But he took the job and asked me to come anyway, like my reasons would just disappear.

Or like they weren’t valid in the first place. It’s a really sad feeling when you realize a person you love doesn’t believe things you tell them.

“Actually, he’s already here,” Mom says, and I swallow down the urge to vomit.

“So, Trey is back in Serendipity Springs,” I say, testing out the idea and nodding like it’s the kind of thing I can handle. Like I’m talking about a new tire shop opening around the corner.

Like my favorite meal wasn’t just ruined—possibly forever—by the thought of Trey somewhere nearby, like a ticking timebomb I could run into at any given time.

Serendipity Springs isn’t a tiny town. It’s a small city. Even so, it’s inevitable that you see people you know almost everywhere. Especially when you don’t want to.

And because I’d rather not have to face Trey again, like,ever, it probably means he’ll start working in an office building on the street where I live.

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