Page 69 of Winter Glam in Amsterdam

"Well, I can tell you that's not happening," I say with a grin, but I get up to grab my controllers and start the console. "But sure. We can practice. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

"Don't you fucking dare," she says and tears one of the controllers out of my hand.

"Zoey?" I wonder out loud the next morning as I walk through my house, yawning loudly as I trudge through my house with bare feet.

The guest room's door is open, but there’s no trace of her. Well, apart from the opened suitcase and her clothes on the ground.

"Zoey?"

I expect to see her downstairs, but I'm met with silence. Confused, I go to my living room. Maybe she practiced the game some more, but she’s not there, either.

"Dearest sister," I shout again, teasingly, but she's also not in the kitchen. And when I look outside, mine is the only car I see—not that god-awful metallic pink rental she came here with.

"Goddammit, Zoey, what are you doing?" I wonder and sit down, staring at my phone.

I mean, I would totally warn Summer that Zoey's probably got something planned, but she still has me blocked.

Oh well, it's not like I got anything to lose as is.

So, let's see how this whole thing plays out.

Summer

"So this new job would be in California?" Luca asks on the phone, which I've got jammed between my shoulder and cheek as I scurry through the house to pack for my upcoming flight. We’d made up a few days after our fight. And by that, I mean we both acted like it never happened, just the way we always do.

"Yes," I confirm, eyes darting over the mess in the room. "Oh, come on, where is my goddamn phone charger?"

It's not in the living room where I usually leave it plugged in right next to the couch and it's not in the bedroom either.

“That's pretty far away," Luca points out, and I roll my eyes.

"Oh, please. There are flights and all that. If you want to see each other, we can do that in no time. It’s not like I ever gave you shit when you had to shoot a movie in Canada or Europe."

I kneel on the ground and look under the bed for it, but it's not there either. God, I’m going crazy; where the hell could this thing be?

"Also, I've still got time. I'm only flying there to sign the contract, and I'd start in four weeks. By the way, I meant to ask you, do you have any recommendations for short-term rentals there? Just until I find something permanent."

"Let me ask my manager," he says with a sigh.

"Thank you." I get up and pace the bedroom. I am 80% sure it's in this room. But where?

"Anyways, Mom and Dad are taking me along to the airport, so I need to go. I still have to pack."

"Tell them to say hi to Aunt Cecil for me, will you?"

"Will do," I say and hang up the phone, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

Think, Summer. If you were a phone charger, where would you hide?

This morning, I took it downstairs with me, plugged it into a socket in the living room, and then I started packing, and—oh god. It’s official. I'm either dumb or a lot smarter than I give myself credit for.

I press my palm against my forehead, then lean down and rummage through my overnight bag. Yep. There it is.

I'm almost done packing when I hear a knock from downstairs. Panicked, I check my watch, relaxing when I realize I still have another half an hour until my parents want to leave.

The two of them are off to visit my aunt in Canada for a week and since our flights leave from the same airport, we decided to carpool.

"Who is it?" I shout, but there’s no answer. So I hurry down the stairs and tear the door open, coming to a freezing standstill when I come face to face with a stranger.

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