Chapter One
Phoebe
My phone pings with an incoming message, my parent’s phones follow immediately after, and we all break into broad smiles when we see the photo that came through on our extended family chat group: The words THANK YOU in all caps, and a selfie of Brian and Trista kissing with the Beijing Capital International Airport sign in the background, their smiles evident even though their lips are pressed together.
“You did good, baby.” My mom kisses my crown, and I squeeze her hand.
“We all did this together,” I correct her, and my dad shakes his head.
“We were just minions in your devious grand-plan,” Dad says with a wink, and I snort. “Seriously, though, did it occur to you Brian came to you because he knew you’d figure out how to fix it?”
As if to verify what my parents are saying, I receive a private message from Brian.
Brian:
This has one of your crazy ideas written all over it.
Phoebe:
You mean strokes of genius.
Brian:
I mean, I love you and your insane plans. And thank you.
Phoebe:
Love you too, send lots of pictures.
I set my phone back down, and my smile falters. My mind wanders to the conversation I had with Brian when he came to visit me in New York, the one that set the plan to get him and Trista together in motion. I keep fixing everybody else’s love life while I leave mine frozen in limbo, reluctant to move on from a past that has moved on from me.
This has to change; it’s been over five years since the man I once thought was “The One” closed the door on any possible future we could have had together. And here I am, still thinking about him when I should be out living my life to the fullest, loving, and being loved back.
I decide at that moment that once I’m back in the city, I’ll start opening myself up to new people.
No more letting memories of Andy Atkins haunt me.
Andy
“Claire was a good woman; she made each and every person in The Grove her family, whether they lived here their entire life or were just passing through.” I take a deep breath and look at the deceivingly frail old lady lying in a coffin next to me on the church's podium, part of me still sure she’s about to jump out and yell, “Punked!” any minute. At the age of eighty-four, Claire was a spitfire of a woman with more life in her pinky finger than most people have in their entire body, right up to the moment she went to sleep a few nights ago and never woke up. “You’ll be missed, Aunt Claire. We promise to keep your legacy alive and welcome anyone who finds themselves in Glassmont Grove with a smile and a cobbler.”
The large crowd murmurs in agreement. Most of the town-folk have graced the funeral with their presence, seeing Claire had no immediate family, she considered every soul of the 2,921… 2,920 residents in The Grove her kin, and they all returned her sentiment.
I manage to make it through the rest of the funeral without slipping into a deep state of melancholy. It’s been a tough few months, and I’m starting to feel it all weigh heavy on me. The tension in my shoulders is almost a constant now, too often climbing up my neck and giving me a blinding migraine.
“Atkins,” a familiar voice calls, and I shake the hand of the pastor before turning to see Gabriel Walsh stride in my direction.
Gabe has been my only real friend in Glassmont Grove since I was discharged. He’s a few years older than me, but he’s the only one in town remotely close to my age who doesn’t treat me like some broken war hero. People my own age seem to make me uncomfortable since I got back, especially the small-town ones.
“What’s going, Gabe?” One look at his face and my shoulder blades become tense. I feel the rigidness spread through my spine, and up to the base of my skull. Something’s off. Gabe has his hands shoved in his pockets and won’t meet my gaze.
“We should probably head to my office,” he offers, clearing his throat and finally lifting his eyes to mine, seeming to be almost begging for my forgiveness. I was always good at reading people, but I honed the skill to perfection during my time in Afghanistan. Someone’s discomfort or determination, their fear, the ability to read intentions saved me more times than I’d like to recall, and all my systems are on DEFCON 1 right now.
“Okay,” I reply slowly, willing my body to uncoil from its battle stance. It’s not as if I’ve never been wrong before, and even if my hunch is spot on, whatever’s got Gabe on edge probably won’t require my SEAL training. I hope.
“Okay.” Gabe seems relieved. “Need a ride?”
“Sure.” I inspect him closely, trying to gauge his response to my less than overt suspicion at his behavior. “I’ll just go check on my mom first.”
“Right.” Gabe seems to have snapped out of his unusual daze. “I’ll be waiting in the car, then.”
The entire drive is made in extremely awkward silence, Gabe sneaking glances at me and me staring him down with growing annoyance until finally I’m fed up.
“If you’re going to confess your undying love or something, I’ll warn you in advance that I’m more into blondes.” Gabe seems to appreciate my breaking the silence as he bursts out into relieved laughter.
“Damn! I was so hoping!” He shakes his head, full of dark, dense hair with gray sprinkled through it, cut only a little longer than my buzz. “Though we both know that’s a lie. The only reason blonde is your current flavor is because that’s as far away from Phoebe Jenkins as you could come by without becoming a hermit.”
“My current flavor is shut-the-hell-up-before-I-make-you,” I grumble though we both know I don’t mean it. We make the rest of the short drive to Gabe’s office in silence, my head bouncing between Claire and everyone she’s left behind to the girl I left behind.
His door is locked, and the place is dark, probably shut down for the service.
“You gave June the day off?” I ask, recalling his assistant sobbing all during the funeral. Like I said in my eulogy, everyone was close to Claire, but some have more than just her kind graces to thank her for.
“Poor kid is beyond herself with grief.” Gabe sighs as he turns the lights on in his small law practice.
“She’s nineteen, really just a kid. And she owes Claire more than most,” I remind him and go to fix us coffee at the small kitchenette, a run of the mill milk and one sugar for Gabe, and cinnamon hazelnut ground coffee he keeps in the office just for me. It’s the only indulgence I allowed myself to rekindle after coming back. Five years of black brew in the field were enough to last me a lifetime.
“I know. She’s had a tough run, and she’s younger than Nate.” Gabe smiles at the mention of his younger brother. The two are polar opposites, but since their dad died of cancer a few years back, they grew close. “He told me to let you know the invite to go to Chicago and join him at the fire department is an open one, his chief would love to have you on board.”
“I don’t want to wander too far away from my mom,” I justify. “Plus, Jonah will never forgive me if I take a high-risk job with someone else.”