“We had to delay it a bit because of work. We’re leaving on Monday.”
I pulled at the collar of my shirt. “Where to?”
“California’s wine country,” Chelsea said. “I’ve always wanted to tour a vineyard. Italy was too far for a week, so we decided this would be the next best thing. Have you ever been?”
Matt laughed, a jovial glint in his eye. “When we dated, Amelia hadn’t even been on a plane.”
“Well, that was six years ago, Matty. I’m sure she’s been on a plane by now.”
My ears caught fire. Because, no, I hadn’t. Thankfully, I was saved from responding by my stepmother, who raised her voice to gather everyone’s attention. Apparently the birthday girls had pulled into the parking lot. This many people couldn’t exactly hide, so we all became very still and silent. Then Candace and Crystal appeared—identical twin Barbies alongside their handsome Ken husbands—and everyone let out a resounding, “Surprise!”
I had to give Jeanine credit. Her daughters looked truly taken aback.
Candace set her hand against her chest. Crystal’s mouth fell wide open. And then they both started laughing and playfully reprimanding their spouses for keeping such a secret. Jeanine got to them first, enfolding them both in a great big hug, dabbing tears from her eyes when she let go. “My babies are thirty. I can’t believe my babies are thirty.”
I searched for a way to get to them. The sooner I could extend my birthday wishes, the quicker I could get home to my cat.
I stepped inside my quiet, two-bedroom cottage, leaned against the door, and let out a long stream of breath. Exhaustion had etched itself into the base of my neck in the form of a throbbing headache. I’d gotten roped into staying longer than planned. Two hours of small talk with people I barely knew had taken a toll. As had the stilted conversation I’d had with William and Bridget. Judging by the odd looks my brother kept giving me, he suspected something was off.
Baxter jumped down from his favorite spot in the bay window and rubbed up against my leg. I gave him a pet. “Did you miss me, Bax?”
He weaved figure eights around my ankles, arching his back and curling his tail.
“I missed you too.” I set my purse on the small table in the entryway and slipped out of the ballet flats I’d changed into after work.
Baxter followed me into the kitchen, where I popped a couple of extra-strength Tylenol and turned on the burner beneath the teakettle. I scooped up Baxter and brought him with me to the kitchen nook, where I often left my laptop. I petted a purring Baxter in my lap and waited for the computer to boot up and the teakettle to whistle.
The kettle whistled first. I poured myself some chamomile tea, then opened up my inbox, hoping to find an email from Rachel.
Unfortunately, I didn’t. But there was something from Nate Gallagher.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 15, 2015 5:42 p.m.
Subject: Re: so very sorry for the mix-up
Dear Amelia,
Your mea culpa is not necessary. You’re not bothering me at all. Which I wouldn’t say if it weren’t true. You don’t know me, but if you did, you’d know I don’t say false things to make people feel better.
You’re actually doing me a service. I’ve been searching for ways to procrastinate, and this is the perfect excuse. People say I’m good with advice. So maybe it’s not an accident at all that the e-mail meant for your Fiji-traveling friend, Rachel, ended up in my inbox instead.
Can I help?
Best,
Nate
PS: I actually own a flip phone. My friends all like to poke their fun, but I think they’re just jealous that I haven’t succumbed to technology’s allure.
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis
I sat back from the computer while my tea breathed ribbons of steam into the air.
“Can I help?”
First I dented his bumper and he refused to let me pay for it, then he had the courtesy to call me at my flower shop after my embarrassing mess-up, and now he asked if he could help? I rewound my memory to Saturday, trying to recall as much about this Nate Gallagher as possible.
A nice head of thick, dark hair. The kind that men with receding hairlines most likely envied. An athletic build. Not football athletic, but something like tennis or track. Above average height. He’d worn his wedding attire well. My age, perhaps, and good-looking, only I couldn’t remember to what degree. I’d been so consumed with getting away quickly before Candace or Crystal could see me that I hadn’t paid much attention to the man I hit.