A muted thud shattered the serenity of the moment. I turned my head and saw the back of a man who could have been the spitting image of Stephen. Down to the purple Baltimore Ravens jersey with his favorite player’s name and number—Suggs, 55—emblazoned in huge letters on the back.

  I shook my head in consternation. How long would it be before I rid myself of those memories? To be fair, the more time I spent away from Stephen, the more it felt like a spell being lifted. Like a dense fog dissolving under the light of the morning sun. Translucent white tendrils pulled back to reveal the true me who had lain hidden under the cover of mist for much, much too long.

  Was that what being in a relationship was supposed to be like? Losing small fragments of yourself to compromise for another’s comfort? I didn’t recall ever feeling like this with any prior partners. Speaking of remembering, when was the last time I picked up a paintbrush, or walked around barefoot, feeling the grass between my toes?

  The threads connecting me to who I once had been were gradually being left on the side of the road along the journey of my time with Stephen. Now, traveling back down that same road, retracing those steps, I realized it was time to pick up those castoff pieces and place them back into the little nooks and crannies where they belonged.

  When was the last time I gazed at the stars?

  Four years ago.

  I was with Amira and Star on one glorious night at Alki Beach. Amira’s divorce was finalized that afternoon, so she called us up and said she wanted to celebrate with her besties.We’d headed to West Seattle after a bit too much champagne.

  We snuck out to the beach in the middle of the night, smoked some weed, toasted each other, and talked smack about her now-official ex-hubby, Reginald, until the bottle ran dry. Then we lay together with our heads touching, feet splayed out in the cool, damp sand, and surveyed the stars.

  The case of the warm fuzzies inspired by my bittersweet memories transformed to melancholy. I desperately wanted my girls on the train with me right now. We were family, and this was my first birthday in decades without them by my side. The all too familiar sting of tears hit me, but I held them at bay through sheer willpower. As a distraction, I focused on remembering the constellations Amira had taught us that night.

  “Capricorn,” I whispered into the quietude, tracing the trail of stars with my finger.

  “Virgo.” This one always made me chuckle because it reminded me of a child’s drawing of a dancing man with no head.

  “What’s your sign?” An unexpected voice came out of nowhere and startled me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” Despite my thumping heart, it was a pleasant surprise to run into the guy with the pretty eyes and strong arms again.

  “No need to apologize. Actually, I should apologize for scaring you.” His eyebrows knit together. “Do you want some time alone? I can always come back later.” He took a step back, moving toward the door.

  “No, you’re fine.” My face flushed when I realized my slip of tongue. Thank goodness it was dark. “Ummm.” I frantically tried to remember his name.

  “Jareth.” He seemed disappointed I didn’t remember.

  “Sorry, I’m bad with names. And when I say bad, I mean terrible. Took me three months to remember my boss’s name. Fortunately, he had a placard on his desk so I could cover as long as we weren’t in the break room or something.”

  Jareth didn’t laugh or respond to my halfhearted attempt at making him feel better. Instead, he repeated his earlier question. “What’s your sign?”

  “Libra.”

  He sat beside me, turning his face up to peer through the clear ceiling. A wide smile graced his deliciously full lips. “There you are.”

  He took my hand and traced the constellation. When we connected, I felt a spark like static electricity, but deeper, more internal. Our eyes locked, and I had trouble catching my breath.

  Jareth’s eyes narrowed in surprise and confusion. Our hands lowered, still joined together. Once they fell to the faux leather of the armrest, we pulled them back to our respective laps.

  “That was weird,” we said simultaneously.

  He cleared his throat, but I broke the awkward silence first. “So, where are you headed?”

  “I’m going to my hometown to visit family. You’ve probably never heard of it. Some podunk place that doesn’t get a lot of visitors. You?”

  “I’m celebrating my birthday in Orphic Cove.”

  “Orphic Cove, huh? You’re going to love it. Small-town vibe with lots of beautiful scenery. Perfect place to relax. Though, that might be because there’s nothing to actually do there.”

  We laughed, tension broken. We sat back in our seats, placing our hands on the armrests, pinkies touching, gazing up at the stars in comfortable silence.

  Jareth

  It was a complete and utter surprise when the voice on the loudspeaker announced we were minutes away from Essex Junction, Vermont.

  This dazzling, effervescent woman had kept me in her thrall until well after sunrise. We talked about everything. Everything I could, at any rate. There were several times I had to distract her from asking personal questions I couldn’t answer by redirecting to questions about her. When those deflections occurred, I was genuinely excited to hear more because I wanted to learn everything I could.

  The feeling of disappointment when we were about to part ways was something I wasn’t quite prepared for.

  “Looks like it’s time to head back and get my stuff. Thanks for a wonderful night, Jareth.”

  Once I got home, I’d never see her face ever again. Life often wasn’t fair. Sometimes, it could be downright cruel.

  “The pleasure was mine, Florebelle. May your remaining days be full of milk and honey.” When her brow furrowed, I realized my mistake. That wasn’t a commonplace thing humans said. “Well, that came out weird. Probably should have stopped talking after I said the pleasure was mine.”

  When she walked away, I felt her fingertips graze mine. Once we separated, my dejection deepened. Even without the highlight of meeting Flora, I wouldn’t have looked forward to the six-hour drive back home. I’d been ordered not to take the train to Portland, Maine. I swear they made last-minute changes like this to punish me.

  All I could do was chalk this up to a job well done. Except it didn’t sit right with me. Never in my life had I been so regretful I wouldn’t get to spend several more hours with a woman I’d sat up with all night and never so much as kissed.

  I couldn’t tell the guys about this. Job or no job, they’d never let me hear the end of it. I made a hasty retreat to grab my bag in hopes I might meet Flora on the platform for one last goodbye.

  What was I, a teenager?

  “Moron.” I forgot to ask for her phone number!

  I never saw Flora at the train station. No hint of an orange sweater, no cascade of ringlet curls, no mahogany skin, lips, or chocolate-brown eyes that made me feel like I was being well and truly seen.

  The train deboarding took longer than expected, so I went to the dining car hoping to score breakfast. It was closed by the time I arrived. Knowing I’d likely punch a wall if I had to eat another meal from a vending machine, I opted to stop at a restaurant and have a nice leisurely meal. There was still plenty of time to pick up my rental car and fuel myself up before a six-hour drive.

  The food was expensive and not very good. I left unsatisfied, and the dissatisfaction made me grumpy. Especially since I’d wasted an additional thirty minutes. Even with traffic being ideal and getting great mileage, I wouldn’t make it to Clancy’s in time to score tonight’s special. Dessert on Fridays was often honey cakes with saffron. I’d just traded a delicious little slice of heaven in for lukewarm coffee and a heating-lamp-warmed breakfast sandwich composed of dried-out bread, plastic cheese, and an egg that was laid no less than six months ago.

  As soon as I reached the highway, my phone buzzed with a new text from Max: Stay in Portland. More directions to follow.

  Looked like I wouldn’t be sleeping in my own bed tonight; and I wouldn’t get anything for dinner at Clancy’s for at least another day or two. Drats!

  Florebelle

  Jareth and I stayed up all night chatting under the glittering stars, oblivious to the passage of time until the sun peeked over the horizon. It felt like I was hanging out with a best friend.

  Relaxing. Carefree and fun.

  The normal dance of single male/female interaction didn’t apply since there were no stakes. It was refreshing not having to force anything or perform like a trained monkey. Jareth being into me or not was a moot point. We were engrossed with the present without the anchors of past or future expectations weighing us down.

  One wonderful night was a blessing after my recent streak of bad luck, but I would have been naïve to think things were looking up again. Once I got to the train station in Essex Junction, it became clear Stephen hadn’t completed the plans for our trip.

  I didn’t have any transportation reserved to get to Portland.

  This left me two options: rent a car—something I could ill afford in my current state of joblessness—or take a bus. Didn’t take a member of MENSA to figure out I only had one actual option, and the round-trip ticket was going to cost me at least one very nice meal. My budget being tight as it was, spending an unexpected $70 on bus fare was, without a doubt, going to mean I had to cut back on something later.

  But such is life.

  The bad juju didn’t stop there. Oh no. With all the desperate scrambling to figure out how to get from Point A to Point B, I missed the bus and would now have to wait at the station an additional two hours for the next one. At this rate, I’d be in Orphic Cove around midnight three years from now.

  My stomach growled, and I decided to grab a bite to eat. I found a cheap place and thanked my lucky stars and God himself for Yelp and cell phones, because the French toast I scored at a little Mexican restaurant really hit the spot. We have to take comfort in the small things while we can.

  A rather pleasant side effect of eating one’s body weight in French toast? Falling into a narcoleptic coma and snoozing for over half your bus ride. Hallelujah, you glorious carbs! This was the one time a case of the itis came in handy. It made this leg of the day’s adventure fly by. The only drawback was that my near forty-year-old body was hurting after sleeping in a weird position for three and a half hours.

  By the time we pulled into Portland, I was sore, grumpy, and over this trip. When I arrived at the car rental place and found they didn’t have a reservation under my name, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  How could such a magical night be followed by a day rife with problems? In my naivete, I assumed my streak of bad luck was over. After having such a great connection chatting with a veritable stranger who felt as comfortable to me as my cushy terry-cloth robe and well-worn slippers—after gazing at the stars and feeling electric sparks like a teenager—I was reduced to being trapped in a town hundreds of miles from home, with no idea how to get to my actual destination.

  “I give up.” I collapsed in a forlorn heap onto my suitcase just outside the car rental office. “Lord, just take me now.”

  All I could do was put my head in my hands and hope when I looked up, I’d realize it was all just a bad dream.

  This wasn’t a bad dream. It was my reality, and I was done. Time to admit defeat and go home. If they didn’t let me transfer the train ticket, I’d gladly pay the penalty. No harm, no foul. Maybe I could at least get some of the money for the hotel back. Not sure what the cancellation policy was, but anything I recouped could be applied to next month’s rent.

  I pulled myself together, stood up, and began the long walk back to the train station.

  “Hey, stranger.” It didn’t register the voice was talking to me, but I realized it fast when the car to my right slowed down to match my pace. I felt a sudden surge of adrenaline as my fight-or-flight response kicked in.

  Avoid eye contact. Pretend you don’t speak English.

  The way my luck was going, I was about to get kidnapped and end up in a missing person report on the local six o’clock news.

  Maybe I should fish my keys out of my pocket and put them between my fingers in case I had to defend myself. Always aim for the soft parts. My mother Marsha’s voice rang in my head.

  My pace quickened as I speed-walked away from the weirdo trying to talk to me. I heard the whoosh of tires on crappy asphalt as he continued to follow. I scanned the area for a place to hide.

  Would I have to call for help?

  “Flora! Hey, Flora!”

  What the hell? That voice was familiar. Relief flowed through my entire body when I glanced at the vehicle and saw none other than good old Jareth. My face broke out into a grin as the tension released.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Jareth! What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I was heading home after a bit of a side trip. Imagine my surprise when I saw you wandering the streets of Portland. Weren’t you going to Orphic Cove?”

  “Yeah, the gods of travel are not smiling down upon me today. The rental car place lost my reservation. Looks like I’ll be heading back to Vermont by bus and catching the train home.”

  “What? No way are you missing out on your birthday trip. Hop in. I’m heading that way myself.” He popped the trunk and opened the car door. Before I could say anything, he tossed my bag into the back seat and ushered me to the passenger side.

  My seat belt clicked, sealing my fate. He caught me up in those exquisite green eyes. “My hero!”

  Chapter Five

  Jareth

  The ride to Orphic Cove proved even more pleasurable than our time together on the train. The conversation flowed. Flora was energetic, bouncy, charismatic, and so full of life. I’d never been fortunate enough to meet anyone as open and authentic before, either. She was a wide-open book and made me feel safe enough to reciprocate. It was refreshing.

  Our two-hour drive flew by in the blink of an eye. My stomach grumbled when we passed the “Welcome to Orphic Cove” sign. It made me realize I’d been a self-centered jerk.

  “Are you hungry? Clancy’s is open for another hour. They actually have the best food in town.”

  “I’d love to, but I really think I should check into my B and B. Don’t want to tempt the fates, find out they have a curfew, and end up sleeping on the lawn or something.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Of course.” My shoulders slumped, and I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, at a loss for words. I didn’t want the night to end and had a niggling suspicion I should stick around for a bit. But I couldn’t think of any rational reasons to keep by her side. “I’ll drive you over now.”

  We turned onto the long driveway to the Fairy Hill Bed and Breakfast less than five minutes later. I did my darnedest to carry her bag inside. Maybe I could find out what room she was staying in at least.

  She thwarted me once we got to the steps leading up the huge, freshly painted white porch, stopping so fast, I almost ran into her. Flora extended her hand toward me. “Thanks! I really appreciate everything you did for me today.”

  I took her raised hand. “Maybe we can see each other again before you leave town?” I brought her hand up to my lips and kissed the back of it. She smelled like honeysuckle and lavender.

  Intoxicating.

  She hesitated, peering into the darkness behind me. Her hand fell limp to her side. She crossed her arms over her chest and continued staring off into the distance. “Maybe.”

  Message received. She was just not that into me.

  My arm swung forward so she could take her suitcase. She broke her protective stance and grasped the handle. Our fingers touched for a moment, and that telltale tingle of hyperactive nerve endings returned.

  Before my actions registered, my hand reached out toward her face, and I felt her soft curls on my fingertips.

  Florebelle

  I was going crazy.

  I saw him over Jareth’s shoulder. Stephen.

  He was right there, clear as day, spotlighted by moonbeams at the edge of the forest across the street. Stephen looked directly at me right before he dashed into the woods.

  Goose bumps covered every square inch of my skin. The rush of blood in my ears was all I could hear as my heart raced. I mumbled something to Jareth, distracted. I reached out to grab the handle of the suitcase he was holding out for me. My mind was going a mile a minute, full of chaotic thoughts that all stopped when I felt Jareth’s hand in my hair. In shock, I jerked away.

  “Bit of fluff.” He looked at me sheepishly as he showed me absolutely nothing pinched between two fingers.

  “Thanks again for the ride.”

  Hiss.

  A black cat stood, poised to jump, on the railing of the large white porch, with its back arched and mouth open wide, greenish-yellow eyes glinting in the moonlight. The door scraped and creaked, a warm gust of wind followed, blowing past me with the pleasant aroma of warm fall spices.

  “Florebelle Fairfield, I presume? Welcome. We’re so happy you made it.”

  A short, plump woman with an infectious smile stood before me. She took a few steps forward and wrapped my waist up in a great big bear hug. “I’m Mrs. Spigot. Come in. Come in!” She pulled me through the door.

  As soon as I stepped past the threshold, it felt like a comfy warm blanket enveloped me on a cold winter’s night, a comforting salve to my wounded soul. It was the funniest thing, but I felt like I had finally come home.

  After the world’s quickest check-in, Mrs. Spigot ushered me to my room. Eight-year-old me would have been in seventh heaven. The room was so chock-full of miscellaneous flora, it was like standing in a garden. Flowers dotted even the wallpaper in countless pale pink roses.

 

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