Page 62 of Accidentally Yours
Chapter Twenty-Two
PaigeslidintotheUber, the door clicking shut as Ethan closed it for her. She managed a smile—although her heart wasn’t in it and he could probably see that—and gave him a finger wave. He nodded and waved back before turning and escaping into the crowd on the sidewalk. As he disappeared, she noticed him clutching the worn journal in his hand like something sacred. And it was. He was, too. Which was exactly why she’d said“Yeah. Sure. Okay.”Even though her heart was screamingNo.
Each word had been like glass in her throat. Why couldn’t she sum up and spit out what she really felt? Fears, feelings, wants—they were all dammed up inside her. Paige sighed, slumping back against the seat. Why could she gorge her feelings on the page, but choke on every syllable when it mattered most?
She could’ve said so many things.
I want more.
You’re not just a friend.
None of this is fake for me . . . not anymore.
Take me in your arms, RIGHT NOW!
Even a laugh—light and awkward—might’ve broken the moment open enough for her to speak the truth. But she’d stood there, paralyzed.
The Uber merged into traffic, and Paige leaned forward, dropping her face into her hands. She had her father’s birthday dinner this weekend. Ethan was supposed to come as her boyfriend. As part of the act.
She groaned into her palms. She couldn’t do it.
Not now. Not when the pretending felt more painful than the truth. She wasn’t strong enough to fake being the thing she actually wanted to be.His.
She’d rather face the wrath of questions from her family than torture herself like that.
Reluctantly, Paige pulled out her phone, her chest tight as she opened her message thread with Ethan. Her fingers hovered over the screen. She had to let him off the hook. Dinner wasn’t about a clue or the book. It wasn’t part of the deal. And Ethan had made it clear where he stood.
But the ache in her heart whispered something else entirely.
The next day, Paige sat in the Yachty Café. She shifted in her seat for the hundredth time, tapping her fingers on her laptop and glaring at the foam heart on the latte the waitress had just delivered, as if the drink had personally offended her. Yacht Rock blared overhead. Someone was crooning about lost love, which felt aggressively on the nose.
The café buzzed around her with the clatter of mugs, the screech of milk steamers, and half a dozen people talking far too loudly on Bluetooth calls. Usually, the chaos at this café worked for her. The noise short-circuited the overthinking part of her brain and let the creative part run wild.
But today?
Today, every lyric was a taunt. Every sip of chai tasted like cardboard. Every single word she tried to type came out wrong. She’d reworked the same paragraph three different ways and hated them all. With a groan, she slumped against the back of the booth and stared up at the anchor-shaped light that dangled over the table. Suddenly, she wondered what it would be like to sink to the bottom of the ocean, where it was silent and dark.Oh, to be a big hunk of heavy metal that couldn’t feel the disarray of emotions streaking through her chest.
She needed a break from her own brain, because it was a traffic jam of thoughts and emotions. When she wasn’t thinking about Ethan—how she’d pulled away at the rink, how she’d pushed him away after—she was obsessing over the riddle.The last clue.Because if nothing else, she wanted to help Ethan finish what his grandfather had started. She wanted him to find the necklace. She wanted to give him something that mattered.
Sitting up, Paige dragged her notebook closer and jotted down another theory. The riddle referenced time, so she’d made a short list of landmark clocks around Chicago. The Marshall Field’s clock at Macy’s. The Tiffany dome and clock at the Cultural Center. And Union Station’s Great Hall. She circled the last one. That massive, bustling train station. That gorgeous, sentimental clock. She could practically picture Ethan’s grandparents there, sharing a long goodbye, or running into each other’s arms after too much time apart.
That line in the clue: “Where my love still dares to keep.”
Staring at her notes, she had an intense urge to call Ethan, to race to Union Station, to meet him under the clock, where they could find the clue together and then hug and kiss and make everything right again.
I want him there for everything.
The thought slipped in, uninvited but true. She slumped forward, resting her forehead on her notebook, hoping the fresh ink didn’t transfer to her face. But also, not caring if it did.
What was she doing?
Yesterday, in a moment of panic and self-preservation, she’d sent him that stupid text—letting him off the hook for dinner with her parents. She’d told herself it was the right thing to do. That she was protecting her heart and his. But if she was being honest . . .
It just made her feel worse.
With a huff, she straightened and pulled her laptop close.Get it together, Moon. You have a book to write and a contract to fulfill.If nothing else, she could lose herself in edits for a while. Even if her heart and mind were in complete turmoil.
Paige opened the shared Google Doc, determined to accomplish something. She could dive into edits for the scene where Aldean and Mary Anne confront the jewel thieves. There was action. Suspense. A total lack of romantic vulnerability—which was exactly what she needed.
