The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine (17 page)

Chapter 3

“W
hat do you mean, you have no reservation?” Sidney asked, her hand stopping halfway into her bag. “You just mean it's early, right? I know it's way early for check-in, I was just hoping maybe you might
by chance
have the room ready so I could freshen up before—”

“Miss Jensen,” the clerk interrupted, pasting on a polite if not slightly nervous smile. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there's actually no record of a reservation in your name.”

Sidney blinked. “What?”

“I looked twice,” the clerk said, pointing at her monitor as if that would prove it.

“That's impossible,” Sidney said. “Monica made—wait, maybe it's still in my boss's name. Orchid Blossom?”

The clerk's eyes darted to meet hers, and Sidney nodded at the question in them.

“I know. Yes, that's a real name.”

Fingers paused a second on the keyboard, second-guessing, and probably third-guessing because of Sidney's accent. Somehow, in the North, a Southern drawl sometimes equaled a lower IQ. Finally, she typed in the name. “Sorry,” the clerk said. “Not in here, either.”

Sidney huffed out a breath as she set her bag on the counter. “Hang on, let me call—or can you just book me into one now?”

“We are
completely
full,” the clerk said.

“Full?” Sidney said, blinking fast. “What about after checkout?” She glanced at the sign. “At noon?”

“We are totally booked for the next three days,” she said. “A convention in town.”

“Jesus,” Sidney breathed. “One second.” She pulled her bag off the counter and walked over to an overstuffed chair in the lobby, digging for her phone as she went.

She didn't have to get a hotel, theoretically. It was an hour and a half's drive, meaning she could technically drive home and back again in the morning. Assuming she'd need to. Assuming she didn't knock the deal out of the park today. But she couldn't plan on that, and her car was essentially held together with string and duct tape and the gallon of water she kept in the backseat in case the radiator overheated again. She'd exhausted all of her prayers on the drive there.

“Monica!” she whispered urgently when the voice answered after four rings.

“Sidney?” she said. “It's Saturday.”

Really?
“I'm aware of that,” Sidney said. “I'm standing in the lobby of the Crescent Hotel, wondering why they don't—”

“Oh shit,” Monica said.

Sidney's shoulders slumped. She rubbed her forehead. “Well, I guess that answers that.”

“I'm so sorry, Sidney,” Monica said. “I got so busy with Orchid yesterday and forgot.”

“Well, it probably wouldn't have mattered,” Sidney said. “They're booked solid. Where was Orchid staying?”

“She wasn't,” Monica said. “She was hitting up her uncle's issue in Moonbright on her way upstate. She wasn't staying there.”

Of course she wasn't. Because she was friggin' Superwoman.

“Hold on,” Monica said, the sound of shuffling reaching Sidney's ear. “Let me look up what else is around there. Maybe there's something in Moonbright proper.”

“It's supposed to be tiny,” Sidney said, already shaking her head. “Outside of town would be bett—”

“They have a B&B!” Monica exclaimed.

Sidney closed her eyes. “Great.”

“Well, I mean, I can look in Portland, but that's farther north,” Monica said. “Do you want me to call this place? It's called the Rose Cottage.”

“Then, if it takes you some time, you're right there,” she said.

“Fine,” Sidney said wearily, watching a couple get room keys and pull their happy little luggage to the elevators. “Give it a shot. I'll sit here till I hear back.”

“I'll call you right back,” Monica said, clicking off.

“Okay then,” Sidney said to no one.

She leaned over, elbows on her knees. It could be worse. She could be fired. She could be spending the weekend poring the Internet looking for openings for law associates. Or Walmart greeters. So spending it in Podunk Hell was candy in comparison. And it probably wasn't that bad, anyway. Not like Derby, South Carolina, the hick town she'd left behind after high school. After her nana died and the bake shop closed. After everything that made that place bearable was gone.

Including him.

Her phone ringing startled her so badly, she nearly dropped it. Lord, where had
that
come from?

“Hello?”

“They have an opening,” Monica gushed. “They had a big Halloween party last night, but everyone is leaving today,” she said.

“Oh God, it really is Podunk,” Sidney moaned.

“It'll be fine,” Monica said. “Okay, so the Rose Cottage. Put it in your GPS. I'll text you the address, too, but it's on the corner of Pumpkin and Vine.”

Sidney's eyebrows shot up. She felt them. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I know,” Monica said. “I did the same thing. But I double-checked and Googled it twice. It's at 816 Vine, Moonbright, Maine.”

Walmart wasn't sounding half-bad.

“I—I—”

“Owner's name to ask for is Amelia Rose. And get this—she's a fortune-teller.” The sound of a baby's cry echoed in the background. “Crap, my son's up. I gotta go, Sidney. Good luck!”

“Uh-huh,” Sidney managed, but the line was already dead.

* * *

Turning off I-95 toward the coast was an adventure in itself. Lots of winding, lots of nothing but trees, and more than one prominent billboard advertising the world's largest pumpkin patch. In Moonbright. Because the rest of it wasn't unbelievable enough.

It was like going home to Derby. On holiday steroids. Except that she'd never done that. Gone home. There was nothing for her there. No friends, no family—her nana long gone and her parents gone even longer before that, taken in a car crash when she was eight. And the only person she could ever somewhat call a friend—even as weird as it was—had disappeared.

Caleb James. God, he'd been so beautiful, so hot, so every girl's secret fantasy. The rebel son of the high school principal who skipped more classes than he attended and wore jeans and a leather jacket better than anyone she'd ever seen. And stole her breath, her words, and her heart every time he was near. Which was a lot.

James
and
Jensen
had put them together since grade school, and lockered her under him all through high school. Her kneeling down, looking up at him every day as he grinned and walked away. Till senior year. When a hand appeared in her face, and she followed the arm all the way up to Caleb James. Holding out a hand to help her up.

* * *

* * *

“Jesus,” Sidney exclaimed, squeezing the steering wheel as she shook her head. “What the hell?”

She hadn't thought about Caleb in years.

He'd used her for her help, but she hadn't cared at the time. It put her in his world. Every other day. Actually talking. Laughing. Learning about the guy no one really knew. Finding out that he wasn't so different from her after all. She'd look into those impossibly dark eyes and get lost. Watch his lips as he talked and dream of kissing them. And every now and then, as she waxed on about government or literature, she'd look up and stop breathing as she caught him watching
her
.

And she hadn't thought about any of it, about her old life, about much of anything outside of memories of her nana, in so long. Now, because she was headed to some small town, she was stumbling down memory lane? No thanks. It wasn't that great the first time around. Except for—well, except for
that
.
That
had been pretty great.
That
had been monumental. Until it wasn't.

She did not need to go there. She didn't need to think about men, period, past, present, or future. Not that there was a present . . . or much potential for the future. But none of that mattered. She needed to think about her case. The lease agreement. Finding Orchid's uncle. Finding the dick who was giving him grief. Focus, focus, focus. Yet, every curve, every turn, brought her memory after memory of that night.

There it was, finally. A giant sign advertising Moonbright, Maine. Proud home of the world's largest pumpkin patch.

And not even that hideous monstrosity could keep her mind from straying. From tumbling backward ridiculously to graduation night. Twelve years ago.

* * *