Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“She left early. She had some things to do,” Thalia says, and I can’t read a thing into her tone—if that’s good or bad or if she even knows.
I race back outside to the lot, stabbing Josie’s name on my phone. She doesn’t answer. I pace, dragging a hand roughly through my hair. Where the hell did she go? Home is the obvious answer, so I hop back in the car and return to the house. But she’s not there, and she’s still not answering.
“Where are you?”
Then I remember—there’s someone who might know.
I call Asher and ask him for Maeve’s number. Then I ring Josie’s friend immediately.
The first night I met Josie, she’d told me she’d turned on her location tracker for Maeve. Later, she told me that she never turned it off. “It amused us too much,” she’d said.
When Maeve answers, I waste no time. “I need to see Josie now. She’s not answering. Do you know where she is?”
Maeve laughs, clear and bright. “As a matter of fact, I do. She’s at Dolores Park.”
I drive so fast to number eight.
46
LOVELY NIGHT
Josie
This isn’t weird at all.
That’s what I tell myself as I walk into the park solo…to dance on a Monday night. Normally, I wouldn’t go to any park at night, being a single female and not having a death wish and all.
But I picked tonight for a reason. Dolores Park is hosting its tree-lighting ceremony. The iconic palm trees on the edge of the park are proud statues, their trunks decorated with white and red lights blinking in spirals, their fronds decked out in flashing pinks, purples and blues.
Crowds fill the park, a motley crew of couples, friends, and young families heading toward a towering Christmas tree in the center of the space where a band plays on a gazebo stage and vendors peddle hot cocoa and candied pecans. Upbeat Christmas tunes in a rock beat reverberate from the stage. Something by Gwen Stefani, I think. A cover of one of her Christmas songs.
Nerves skitter up my spine, but I look around, getting my bearings. People are swaying by the stage, and kids are running in circles. Yup. This is the right time. I’ll blend in and, besides, so what if I don’t? So what if I stand out? It’s fine if I look silly as I dance alone, rocking out to Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day.” Greta’s non-favorite song.
My hand curls tight around my phone, my fingers circling by the playlist, at the ready. I clicked it open on my way over. Sure, I’m trying to be spontaneous at times, but you can’t take all the prep out of a girl like me.
My phone’s on Do Not Disturb. I didn’t want to be distracted by checking my email for job news. I need to do number eight. I want to do number eight.
I settle into a corner fifty or so feet from the street, moving behind a pack of revelers wearing ugly sweaters and nipping sips from silver flasks. I’m wearing jeans and a sweatshirt since I changed after work. Didn’t want to draw too much attention in full-on work interview garb.
Here goes.
With the park lit up at night, I turn on the song in my AirPods. This isn’t what I planned with Wes. But after I dance alone, I can fight for him.
I can tell him he’s wrong. That life is more than work. That he shouldn’t focus on just hockey. That he should focus on how to be happy.
Ideally, with me.
So I shimmy my hips. I shake my booty. And I mouth the words to the song I’ve known by heart my whole, entire life. As I move to the familiar beat, a memory flashes before me. Days when I’d dance like this with Greta, carefree and joyful. She danced like she had no stress, and I learned to groove like that from her. The scarf she wore would blow in the breeze, the music would drum in our hearts, and the day would be lovely.
Now, as I sway, it doesn’t just feel like I’m dancing in the park. It feels like I’m living with no regrets.
I get into the groove, blending in with the crowds until…
I jump.
My lungs explode with worry since someone has curled a hand around my shoulder.
I spin around, ready to slam a fist into their nose since that’s what you do…when I’m standing in front of Wes.
He holds up his hands. “I come in peace,” he says. At least, those are the words I read on his lips. I hit stop on the song then yank out my AirPods, my pulse rocketing to the stars in the night sky.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say, my heart still sprinting.
“I came here to find you.”
That’s clear, but still, I say, “You did?”
“I went to the library to pick you up. You were gone. I went home. You weren’t there. I called Maeve, and she told me you were here. I can’t let you do this alone.”