The rest of the day is rather silent between us. I practice guitar on the balcony, and Zach goes out to check on the property he’s looking into buying for his restaurant.
I assume that’s where he goes, at least.
Before he comes back, I wash my clothes and gather up my things so I’m ready to head over to Fiona’s later.
I’m having flashbacks to Roddy.
Everything was peachy, until he started acting shady one day, and then it was all downhill.
But Zach is not Roddy, and maybe Zach and I will be fine.
Maybe we’ll be in love at some point in time. Or at least, maybe my love will be reciprocated.
But that time is not right now.
And right now, clearly, what we both need is a little time away from each other.
Chapter 25
Zach
After parking my bike in the lot at the airport, I take out my phone and pull up the digital ticket I bought this morning.
Lingering in front of the airport, I swallow, thinking about how I didn’t fill Harm in on the whole truth about this trip.
After I was released from prison, I’d made a solemn vow that I’d always be truthful to everyone.
But this was one instance where I felt like the truth needed some slight bending.
Yet there was a palpable tension in the air when I left the apartment.
The feeling—with Harm, at least—was strange, considering how well we’d gotten along for the first month. And then there was last night. I’d never felt closer to her than after—and during—our night together.
Flipping my phone around in my hand, I consider calling her. Or just sending another text to explain the logistics of my trip.
But she told me specifically to drop any discussion about going after Roddy about copyright infringement.
How is she going to feel when she knows I’m deliberately going against her wishes? This feels like an “ask forgiveness, not permission” scenario.
And if I tell her who I’m going to visit, I’ll have a litany of secondary questions that I’m not quite sure I’m ready to handle.
Reluctantly, I put my phone into airplane mode and head inside Nashville International Airport.
When I land in San Francisco, it’s not quite midnight in Nashville. I text Harm to tell her I arrived safely, but there’s no text back.
Maybe she’s sleeping.
But she’s usually a night owl.
No time to overanalyze right now.
Renting a car, I type in the address given to me and manage to make it to Monterey before the night is through.
I collapse in my Airbnb, exhausted.
When I wake up the next morning, I have a smiley face text from Harm. Okay, maybe I’m overthinking things with her.
I grab some breakfast on the docks, stare at my phone, and consider what to message her back. A lump rests in my throat, and I’m not sure if it’s from us being off, or from the person I’m about to drop in on.
My chest aches. I haven’t seen her—seen either of them—in so long.
The fact that she didn’t respond to any of my texts makes me a little wary. But maybe she changed her number or even blocked me from her phone.
No matter, though. I’ve been putting this off for too long.
I’ve always been the type of guy who—once I get an idea in my head—has to do it immediately or it will eat away at me. Some might call it impulsive. I think it’s simple self-awareness.
And after Harm dropped the L-word and I couldn’t say it back to her, all I could think of was her.
The woman in Monterey.
At least I think she’s here.
Getting up from breakfast, I start to walk down the shore in the direction of her house. A salty sea breeze welcomes me, and I take in a deep breath.
Joggers line the trail, and seals claim their spaces on the rocks as the morning sun rises in the sky.
Following my GPS, I turn a corner heading inland. The closer I get to her house, the more my heart starts to burn.
Finding the address, I arrive on foot to the door of a corner house with a waist-high picket fence.
My heart roars like an overheated engine as I knock three times.
The wait seems like an eternity. After no one answers, I knock again.
Finally, a brown-and-silver-haired man with glasses opens the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi,” I say. “I hope so. I’m looking for Francesca Reid. Does she still live here?”
The man squints. I put him in his late forties or early fifties. His build is slight, but his eyes are full of intensity.
“Who’s asking?”
“Zach Reid.” I swallow. “I’m her son.”
He tenses up. “I know her. Yes.”
“Does she live here?”
The man’s eyes look downcast.
“Oh. So, no,” I say.
He nods. “But come on in,” the man says, his ears clearly perking up at the fact that I’m Zach Reid. “You want something? Coffee? Tea? A drink?”
“Little early for a drink, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll take coffee.”
He leads me to his back porch and leaves me there while he makes a pot.
Bringing me a cup, he says, “So you’re Francesca Reid’s son.”
I clear my throat. “She mentioned me?”
He nods. “Indeed, she did. Mentioned you all the time.”
“How did you talk to her? Did you know her? I don’t understand.”
“She used to live here.”
“Do you have any contact info for her?”
“Well,” the man says, looking at his watch. “She’ll probably be home any minute for lunch.”
I swallow, feeling my pulse race. “Excuse me?”
He purses his lips. “I’m her husband. Hal. Nice to meet you.”
I stare at his hand but don’t shake it.
A few moments later, the door swings open.
I set my coffee down, and in a daze I walk toward the front door.
My mom’s eyes widen when she sees me.
“Zach,” she breathes. She’s lost weight since the last time we saw each other, years ago.
My breath hitches in my chest.
“Mom,” I answer.
Chapter 26
Harmony
Fiona drives over to help me load up her car with my things to take to her place.
After Zach left yesterday, I decided to spend the night at the apartment alone, thinking things over.
Maybe I was making too rash of a decision to move out.
I did love Zach in a way that I couldn’t quite define.
But it’s my fault for crossing the line of seriousness a little too soon. So now it’s my responsibility to reset the balance. Zach and I can still grow together, just at the pace of a normal relationship.
To be living together within one week of meeting each other is breakneck speed by anyone’s standards.
It’s time to pump the brakes.
Fiona helps me take a bag down to her car.
“Be right back,” I tell her. “Just have to grab my guitar.”
When I head back upstairs, Andrew stands shirtless in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee.