Page 32 of A Novel Love Story

I knew I never wanted to feel so foolish, so—soembarrassed—ever again.

So I was out of my neighborhood before those angry tears could crawl out of my eyes and stream down my face, and I only stopped crying as I got out of Atlanta traffic, on my way up north, determined to spend a week in a world where there were only ever happy endings.

Where no one was ever alone.

So who could blame me for wanting to stay in Eloraton a little longer? I wanted to soak in the afternoon sun, and I wanted to fill my lungs with summer breeze.

I wanted to get lost—and stay there.

10

Plot Twist

SO THERE I WAS,back at my car that wouldn’t start, wondering what to do. I drummed my fingers on the hood. It was propped open, and I was trying to see if I could guess which big metal bit was theengine. I wiggled one of the hoses, kicked the fender, and returned to the driver’s seat to try the engine again.

Sweetpea sputtered.

I rested my forehead against the steering wheel.

So what if Ididwant to go up to the waterfall and kiss some stranger underneath it?

You don’t realize how much of life is built for relationships until, newly single, you find yourself with a broken ankle, cooped up on the couch in your one-bedroom apartment, and you need to go to the restroom. The problem is, you’ve knocked your crutches over and the pain prevents you from moving too much at all. You go through the Rolodex in your head of whom you can call, and every one of them has someone more important than you in their lives to take care of. You have to weigh how much of a bother you’re going to be,and how much you can rely on them. (Obviously you can rely on your friends. Obviously I’m not saying you can’t, but there is always a limit ofhow muchbefore you’re a burden.)

And in the end you just … sit on the couch, and cry.

At least, alone, no one is there to watch.

So what if a secret, soft part of me hoped that a magical waterfall could cure me of that sort of loneliness?

I got out of the car again and dropped the hood closed. Pretending I knew how to fix my car clearly wasn’t working, and I wasn’t sure what else to do. Anders had disappeared after I’d slapped him, probably returning to his bookstore across the street. I felt mortified remembering the slap—I didn’t know what came over me—and I doubted going over and apologizing would win me any favors.

Think, Elsy.I put my hands on my hips, looking up at the blue sky speckled with clouds. There had to be someone in one of the books that—

I stood up straight. The idea hit me like lightning.

Frank.

I checked my watch. In the books, he closed up his auto shop around four on Saturdays. It was ten till, so maybe I could still catch him. Grabbing my cross-body purse, I slung it over my head as I took off at a very speedy walk toward the center of town, and then at Mulberry I took a left, and there it was. Just like I had imagined.

Frank’s Auto Shop was housed in a large brick building that, at one point, probably had been some sort of factory. Painted murals of the waterfall and the surrounding woods decorated the brick walls, interspersed with glowing fireflies and buzzing June bugs, which bled right into a large ad that readFRANK’S HOTTIES SOLD HERE!And, underneath it, the flame-throwing raccoon that served as its logo said in a speech bubble,THE BETTER CONDIMENT IN ELORATON!

Which was shade thrown at Honey-Honey.

The mural was Junie’s work. The dig definitely Frank’s.

The lights in the auto shop were off, and there was a sign on the window that readGONE FISHIN’. Shit.

“No no no no,please,” I muttered, hurrying up to the rusted blue door. I knocked and waited. When no one answered. I knocked again. “Hello? Mr. Frank?”

If he was gone already, he wouldn’t be back until Monday. I didn’t care if I was breaking every rule Anders had laid out for me. I couldn’t bestuckhere all weekend.

But why not?a small voice asked, toying with the idea like a cat with a ball of yarn.

Because.

Because …

I pounded on the door harder. “Mr. Frank? Hello?”

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