As I sniff loudly, I shoot Flo a grateful look and brush the errant tears away. “Sorry. I’m not usually like this.”
“That’s okay. We all have our down times. It just so happens yours seems to be on the Internet.”
“Tell me about it,” I choke out.
I can tell you categorically that being dumped by Hollywood’s hottest new TV star is so not good for your sense of self-worth.
Flo pats my arm in a kindly way. “There, there. I’m sure that man deserved to have a soda thrown over his head. In fact, I’d say most men deserve sodas thrown over their heads at some point in their lives. I’ve known a few dirtbags in my time and yours might have been cute, but believe me when I tell you, I know his type.”
“You’re kind,” I tell her.
“Is he the real reason you’re on this bus?”
I pull my lips into a line and nod.
She has seen right through me.
“You’re running away,” she says, but it’s not a question, more a statement of fact.
“I only moved to LA to be with him, and when he…well, there wasn’t much point in hanging around. I sublet my apartment, quit my job, and here I am, the punchline in a meme.”
“Honey, you’re not the punchline. It was that guy you were with. Who is he, anyway? Other than your ex, that is.”
“He’s an actor. His name is Dex Ryder. Well, that’s his acting name, anyway.”
“Never heard of him,” she dismisses.
It makes me smile.
“He’s on a vampire show.”
“I thought vampire shows were over.”
My smile spreads. “They should be.”
“So, you’re moving back home, huh? I get that. You’re doing an Eat, Pray, Love.” When I look at her blankly, she adds, “Like the movie?”
An image of Julia Roberts springs to mind. “I can get on board with the eating and the praying, but the love?” I shake my head with vehemence. “No way. Not for me.”
I think of the life I left behind in Los Angeles, the students at my school and the friends I’ve made. I’m going to miss them, all of them, but being in the debt I’m in, thanks to Dex’s headshots, acting classes, and the lifestyle he said we should both aspire to costing more than my paycheck, there’s no way I could I stay.
And anyway, I’d always wanted to return to Hunter’s Creek one day, to work at the elementary school, and to be near my family.
“Never say never,” Flo warns.
“Nope. I’m done.”
“If you say so.” She arches her penciled-in eyebrows at me. “Going home is a great idea, though, honey. Back to the people who love you.”
I think of my family, of mom and dad, my little sister, Ryn. My older sister, Marlowe, lives in Seattle, so I won’t see her all that much, but the others are there in Hunter’s Creek, waiting for me to hop off this bus.
Or fall off in a heap of tears. Whichever feels more appropriate at the time.
“Everyone will support you back there in your small town. They will be totally on your side in this whole breakup thing.”
I nibble on my lip.
“You don’t look so sure.”
“Dex is also from Hunter’s Creek. We were high school sweethearts. He’s the biggest thing to come out of that town since Calvin Cantor’s grandfather set up Cantor Mill to send Washington’s lumber out into the world.”
“So, it’s lumber and your ex, huh?”
“Yup.”
“That is nothing a girl like you can’t handle, I’m sure.”
“I appreciate your confidence, Flo.”
I do not share it.
“Honey, you were the girl who poured a soda over a guy who thinks he’s all that. Don’t underestimate yourself. You got this.”
I cringe at the memory. “I don’t know what came over me. The whole pouring the soda thing is so not my style.”
“You got dumped, that’s what.”
I let out a sigh. “Problem is, everyone in my hometown loves the guy I dumped the soda on.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. How old are you, honey?”
“Twenty-five.”
She waves her hand in the air. “You’re young. You have so many more years of men disappointing you in your future.”
Well, that sounds super fun.
“You’ll get over him before you know it. Mark my words.”
Time for a subject change since it’s clear to me Flo is a talker. We chat about a variety of things as the bus plods north along the road. She tells me about the dirtbag men she’s loved and I nod, offering sympathy but never advice.
I’m in no position to do that.
She disembarks in Portland and, thankfully, the seat next to me remains vacant for the rest of the trip. Eventually, the Greyhound bus comes to a lurching stop at the Hunter’s Creek Central Bus Terminal, a fancy name for the two-story wooden building off Main Street.
As I step off the bus, my gaze lands on a solitary figure.
Dad.
With a grin on his face, he opens his arms and pulls me into an embrace. “Hi there, pumpkin.”
Tears prick my eyes at the sight of him. “Hey, Dad.”
“Welcome home. Your mom’s getting dinner ready. I’ll go bring the car around. Got much luggage?”
“Oh, you know, only my life, stuffed into a couple of suitcases.”
“Well, this is your new life now: Hunter’s Creek. You go grab your luggage, pumpkin, and I’ll see you in a sec.”
He turns to leave, and I glance at the gathering clouds, cool wind whipping the hair around my face. I pull my denim jacket on, regretting not having thought to throw a sweater into my purse for easy access. Light rain begins to fall and as I stand alone by the terminal, I look up, attempting to judge the rain content of the clouds, trying to work out if it’s worth me moving to find shelter as I wait for Dad.
And that’s when I notice it. The huge billboard advertising Serious Bite looming large above me. Dex’s handsome face grins down at me, that charming grin I know so well.
Welcome home, Harper Cole.
Chapter 3
Christopher
Main Street, Hunter’s Creek, Washington, the GPS tells me as I pull my rental car into a vacant space. I peer through the rain at the place I’m going to call home for the next couple months. With a mixture of red brick and wooden buildings with historic frontages and hanging baskets filled with flowers, it’s quaint and old fashioned, like the set of one of those sappy Hallmark movies Kelly makes me watch with her.
The sappy movies with the happily ever after a total of no one gets in real life.
A handful of people go about their business, their umbrellas a brush of color on an otherwise dreary day.
I put the car in park and switch off the engine.
New York this is not.
I climb out of the car and lift my lapels against the rain. Locking the rental with a beep, several of the townsfolk turn to look at me, least of all because I don’t have an umbrella and don’t exactly dress like them. They all seem to have gotten the memo telling them to wear the same outfit: a pair of jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt. In my suit and tie and polished lace-up shoes, I couldn’t look less like them if I tried. It’s what I always wear for work, and since that’s what I’m here to do, why would today be any different?