Must Be Fate: (Cody and Clover) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 3) (2 page)

The walk home makes me feel considerably better. Yeah, I was fired, but I didn’t like that job anyway. I’ll just have to find another one. It’s not the first time I’ve found myself in transition. Not by a long shot.

I ignore the stares of the people passing by. My bra is showing through my damp white t-shirt, the smear of pale green running down to the hem. There isn’t anything I can do about it—the weather is warm, so I didn’t wear a coat, and I had to leave my apron at the café. I just need to get to my apartment, shower, and figure out what to do next.

The sun shines, and a little trickle of sweat runs down my back. It’s a hot one. When I crossed the border into Washington state last year, I expected to drive into a rainy, green forest. It turns out the eastern side of the state is dry, not terribly green, and hot as hell in the summer. I picked the town of Walla Walla because the Internet said it was in Washington’s wine country—and come on, who could resist that name?

Wine country turned out to be less romantic than it sounded when I was five hundred miles away, but there are good things about this town. The shops are cute, and I didn’t have trouble finding a job. Keeping one is another story, but that isn’t my fault—although I can’t help but wonder if maybe I should try a new line of work. Or go to school.

After high school, college seemed pointless. My parents didn’t go to college, and did fine for themselves. Granted, we moved around a lot, and neither of them had what you’d call a career. And then they went and moved to Thailand the day after I turned eighteen. But they’re free spirits. We spent most of my childhood living in an RV, not owning much of anything, moving from place to place. It wasn’t a typical way to grow up, but there’s nothing typical about my family.

I miss them sometimes. I haven’t seen my parents in years.

I turn into the parking lot of my apartment building. Flower pots spill fragrant blooms, and there’s a little playground in the center. It isn’t a bad place to live. My upstairs neighbors are night owls, which is a bummer, but I absolutely adore Mrs. Berryshire, the little old lady who lives in the unit next door. As usual, she’s sitting in an old rocking chair right outside her door, dressed in a pale pink bathrobe, with curlers in her white hair.

“Hi, Mrs. Berryshire,” I say.

“How’s my sweet Clover doing today?” she asks.

“You know what,” I say, “I wasn’t having such a good day, but everything will be fine.”

“You bet it will, sweetie,” she says. “You want a cookie? I made cookies.”

“Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Berryshire,” I say. I learned within the first few hours of living here that you never eat Mrs. Berryshire’s cookies. Her vision isn’t the best, and she tends to mix up ingredients—like salt and sugar.

“All right then,” she says. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I sure will.”

I smile as I unlock my door. My day is already looking up. I can take a nice hot shower, put my aching feet up, and see if I can find any job postings online. I figure I’ll find something by next week. Maybe I’ll try for something different this time—like a job that doesn’t involve so many breakables and liquids.

I set my bag on the floor and flip the light switch. Nothing happens. That’s weird. I try to turn the light on and off a few times, but it doesn’t work. The light bulb must be burnt out.

The light in the kitchen also doesn’t turn on. I look at the clock on the microwave. It’s dark. A feeling of dread creeps through me. The fridge is still cold, but the light there doesn’t work either. I walk through my apartment, trying to turn things on, but nothing responds.

Oh no.

I poke my head out the front door. “Hey, Mrs. Berryshire, do you have power in your apartment?”

“I think so,” she says.

“Do you mind if I check?”

“Sure thing, sweetie,” she says.

I step into her apartment, and all the lights are on. She definitely has power. I do a quick run-through of her place, turning off most of her lights. She tends to forget things like that.

“Yours work,” I say when I came out. “I wonder what’s wrong with mine?”

“Call maintenance,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her another smile. “Maybe the breaker is out or whatever.”

I go back inside and grab my phone to call the manager. My basket of unopened mail catches my eye. That’s a pretty big stack. I paid my electric bill, didn’t I? I’m sure I did.

I put down my phone and go through the mail. My heart falls down to my toes. I find an envelope with a red PAST DUE stamp on the front. How did I miss that? I open it to find a very overdue electric bill with a disconnect date. Yep, that’s today. I guess they really meant it.

I sigh, and set the bill down. I know I have to deal with it, but first things first—I’m still sticky from green tea latte. Hoping I still have a little hot water, I go into the bathroom and turn the shower on. It gets warm, so I risk it. The water never gets very hot, but at least it isn’t freezing. I clean up, get out, and put on some fresh clothes.

I check my bank balance to make sure I have enough to cover the electric bill and call the utility to make the payment. They tell me my power should be back on in a few hours. I groan. Hours? I guess it’s my fault for getting behind in the first place.

Sitting around with no power is depressing, so I grab my laptop and head to a little Greek restaurant down the road. It’s such a great place, and I’m pretty sure they have Wi-Fi. The host shows me to a table by the front window and I order an appetizer. I’ll have to make do with pita bread and hummus for dinner; it’s one of the cheaper things on the menu. Until I get a new job, I need to be careful with my money. I fire up my laptop, intending to look for a job.

I check social media first, because why not? I’ve had a long day and deserve a little time to unwind. Then I check my horoscope.

Today, change is in the air. You will be faced with important decisions that will have long lasting consequences for your life—especially your love life. Now is the time to ride the wave of change, let the breeze carry you somewhere new. Don’t be surprised if this leads you to an unexpected place, either physically or emotionally. Your optimistic nature will serve you well today.

I stare at the screen. A sign. I always know them when they appear. Sometimes they’re in my horoscope. Other times I’ve seen signs in the clouds, in the stars, in the headlines of magazines. A deep feeling of purpose will steal over me, and I’ll
know
. This one means something. I’ve been following my signs for years—to what end, I’m not sure. But I’m positive they’re leading me somewhere great.

Okay, they’ve mostly led me in circles as I’ve zig-zagged across the country over the better part of the last ten years, moving from town to town. But I’ve met the most amazing people, so I can’t regret it.

People like Mrs. Berryshire, for example. I wouldn’t have met her if I hadn’t come to Washington. And there have been plenty of others. I’ve left behind a string of interesting people, all with great stories.

But as nice as this town is, fate is positively screaming at me right now. Losing my job, my lights being turned off, this horoscope.
Change is in the air. Long lasting consequences. Unexpected place. Ride the wave of change.

Ride the wave. Waves. That means something, I just know it. I say those words again in my mind and I feel the tingle. It means I’m close to having a breakthrough, that fate is speaking to me. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. What does it mean? What is the universe trying to tell me?

I open my eyes and the first thing I see is a painting of water, sparkling blue in the sun. Waves. It’s probably the Mediterranean, and I’m not about to pack up and move to Greece—regardless of how good the food is. But water. The ocean.

I’ve traveled most of the way across the country, but I’ve never seen the Pacific. I bring up a map on my laptop and run my finger down the coast. It’s probably only six or seven hours away, and I’ve been meaning to go there.

Is it time?

I do a search for towns on the Washington coast and click on the second result. I never click on the first. One isn’t one of my lucky numbers. But two—two means a couple, and a couple means a future, and a future is what I’m looking for.

Jetty Beach. It looks like a quaint little tourist town. There are cafés, and shops, and long sandy beaches. They won’t be warm beaches, but still, it sounds cozy. Quirky. I like quirky—that fits me well.

My worries about my job, my apartment—all of it—fall away in an instant, and a big smile crosses my face. I know. This is where I’m supposed to go. Maybe fate has been leading me to the edge of the country all these years, and I just haven’t quite made it yet. After all, where else can I go once I reach the coast? That must be where I’m destined to be.

I close my laptop, finish up my meal, and head to my apartment to pack. I’ll leave the furniture. Most of it was here when I moved in anyway. I’ll stow the rest of my stuff in my car, and leave first thing in the morning. A heady sense of excitement runs through me. A fresh start. New possibilities. New people. I’ll miss my friends here, but it’s time, and I have a feeling my horoscope is going to be spot-on.

Change is in the air, and I’ll ride the wave where it takes me.

“Dr. J, can you see a walk-in patient? We’re slammed and Addy already went home.”

I look up from my desk. Darcy, my front desk manager, stands in my office doorway. Her brow is furrowed. She looks stressed.

It’s almost six, and I should have left the clinic already. “What’s the issue?”

“Five-year-old girl,” Darcy says. “The mom brought her in, says she won’t use her right arm. She’s in a lot of pain. If I send them to the ER, they’ll wind up waiting longer.”

I’m going to be late, but there’s no way I won’t take this patient. “Yeah, of course.”

“Exam room five,” Darcy says.

As soon as I open the door, I can see the mom is anxious. Her daughter is in her lap, arm tucked against her body. The little girl’s eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks splotchy.

“Hi,” I say. I immediately sit down on the rolling stool so I’m closer to the little girl’s level and don’t appear so intimidating. “I’m Dr. J. What’s your name?”

The mom gives me a tense smile, and the girl looks at me from the corner of her eye.

“Her name is Lily,” the mom says. “I’m Christie.”

“What’s going on, Lily?” I ask.

“My arm hurts,” she says.

I tilt my head and look at how she’s holding it. “Your arm hurts? That’s no good. Did you fall down?”

“No,” Lily says.

I meet Christie’s eyes.

“She didn’t fall that I know of,” Christie says. “But I might have missed something. She was playing in the living room with her brother while I was cooking dinner, so I didn’t see what happened.”

“Okay,” I say. “Lily, how old is your brother?”

“Eleven.”

“Eleven? Wow, he must be pretty big. Do you like playing with him?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.

“How old are you?” I ask. “Seventeen?”

She cracks a smile. “No, I’m five.”

“Five? Wow, I was way off,” I say. “Listen, Lily, can you help me out with something?”

She nods.

“I need you to show me your arm. I want to see if I can help it feel better. Can you do that for me?”

She buries her face in her mom’s chest.

“She’s afraid she’s going to get a shot,” Christie says.

I nod. “Lily, how about this. I’ll make you a promise. No shots, okay? I promise, I will not give you a shot today.”

She turns to look at me, still clinging to her mom. “You promise?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice solemn. “In fact, let’s pinky promise.” I hold out my pinky.

She reaches out her other arm and clasps her tiny pinky finger around mine. I make a show of shaking up and down a few times.

“Good,” I say. “Now, I need to touch your arm, okay? I’m going to try really hard not to make it hurt.”

She sits still and I very gently probe her arm, starting at her hand. “So you didn’t fall down. Your mom said you were playing with your brother. Is that when it started to hurt?”

“Yes,” she says.

I touch her elbow and try to move her arm, but she winces, so I stop.

“What were you playing?” I ask.

“We were playing ninjas and I had a sword and he tried to take it away,” she says.

“Yeah, do you like playing ninja?” I ask. I’m pretty sure I know what’s wrong, so I keep her talking and carefully touch her elbow again. Yep, it’s dislocated.

“We always play ninja,” she says. “But he wouldn’t let me keep the sword.”

“Did he pull it out of your hands?” I ask.

“Yeah, and he grabbed my arm and pulled really hard,” she says.

I meet Christie’s eyes. “Lily’s elbow is dislocated. It’s not an emergency, but I’m sure it hurts. I can pop it back in right now.”

Lily’s eyes widen. “No, you can’t touch it. My arm hurts.”

“I know, sweetie,” I say. “But it’s going to stop hurting if you let me fix it for you.”

Her lower lip trembles.

“Tell you what,” I say. I get a basket of lollipops out of the cupboard; I keep them for just this type of situation. “You take one of these and put it in your mouth, then tell me what flavor it is, okay?”