Page 14 of Upshot

“I don’t guess you know Brontë Caraway?” I say. Thankfully, the address Geneva got included her last name.

“Oh yeah. Everyone knows Brontë. She should be at work if you need to find her. It’s just on the other side of the square.” She gives me the name of the shop and directions to get to it. Pretty sure I could have managed to find the other side of the square. Anyway, I thank her and walk outside.

The woman and children have left. Instead of walking around, I decide to cut through the park in the middle. It is nice. I can see sitting out here on a Saturday night, listening to a local band. There’s probably not a single person here who everyone doesn’t know. It’s a very far cry from San Francisco.

I reach the other side and stop near the large window of a local shop. It displays a variety of summer home decorating items. There are pots with plants, sun hats, grilling tongs, yard art, and everything else a small-town dweller could possibly want.

But I’m not interested in any of it. There’s only one thing I can see, and she’s standing behind the counter in the middle of the store.

I can’t seem to make my feet work. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. Her long, silky hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. Her face is almost devoid of makeup from what I can tell through the glass. A smile plays on her lips as she works on counting a box of decorative garden tiles.

My heart is pounding a mile a minute. Is it possible to know you simply belong with someone from the second you see them? This time there’s no alcohol to blur her image in my mind.

Her gaze lifts to meet mine. She freezes, and her eyebrows crinkle in the middle. Shit, will she even remember me? Our eyes lock. My hand wraps around the door handle, and I pull open the door. She leaves my sight for just a second, but it’s a second too long.

“Rand?” she says when I step inside.

“Hey.” A great wordsmith I am not.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t been able to forget you.”

She smiles. Then her face drops. What does that mean?

“You’ve probably wasted a trip,” she says.

“Why?” I ask, and she steps out from behind the counter.

six

RAND

“Oh,” is all I can seem to get out. She’s obviously pregnant, though it’s just a small baby bump so far. On a model’s body, it may as well be a beach ball shoved under her shirt. Jesus. Was she already married when we were together? Or it could just be a boyfriend’s baby she met after, I guess.

“Listen, Rand—” she begins. I don’t want to hear that I was her one mistake.

“Congratulations,” I say, backing toward the door. My fight or flight reflex must have clicked in because all I can think about is getting out of here. “I hope… yeah.”

“Rand, wait,” she calls. I don’t wait. Of all the ways I thought meeting Brontë would go, this wasn’t it. She has a life I failed to take into account.

She’s having a baby with someone. Weirdly, that hurts. Not that I’m looking for an instant family. Still, she could have mentioned that she was seeing someone. Hell, maybe she did, and I was too drunk to listen or care.

I’m in my rental and putting miles between me and the town of Dansboro Crossing before I realize it. What was I thinking? Did I think I’d just waltz into town and sweep her off her feet? I’m even more delusional than I thought.

Somewhere between Dansboro Crossing and Dallas, I find a local microbrewery. Pulling over, I find a seat near the back. I order whatever their local is on tap.

I need to call Peter, but he already thought I was insane for finding her. I’m not sure I can handle the “I told you so, you nutbag” speech. That’s why I don’t want to talk to my sister either. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I check the caller ID. Crap, I Beetlejuiced her.

“Hey,” I say.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” I'm going to play stupid as long as I can.

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