A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “But?”
“But I guess now’s as good a time as any.”
She leans forward. “Start from the beginning.”
So I do.
I tell her everything. About the flood. About Sam pulling me from the water. About the cabin, the snowstorm, the quiet moments and the fiery ones. About how easy itwas to fall for him. About how it didn’t feel like falling at all. How it felt like belonging.
I tell her about Stonewater Ranch, about the horses and the mountains and the fireplace. About the music in Sam’s blood and the way he kissed me like he already knew all my secrets.
Then I tell her about Phern. About Kurt. About how it all came crashing down.
“That bastard,” she hisses. “How the hell did he even know where you were?”
“I don’t know. The only thing I can think of is that Frederick told him I was in Wyoming, and he somehow put it together.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “He had the nerve to show up after I’d been fired.”
Tish’s eyes go wide. “Wait. What? They fired you?”
“Via email.” I stare at the ceiling like it might give me strength. “While I was stranded in a snowstorm.”
“That’s cold.”
“I know.”
I fall quiet, gnawing the inside of my cheek. “The worst part? I have no way to contact Sam. No number. No email. Nothing.”
Tish frowns, thoughtful. “What about his website? Maybe there’s a fan contact or a booking form.”
“I doubt he checks it himself.”
“Still. It’s a start.” She reaches for the new phone. “Let me charge this for you. You’re not disappearing on me again.”
A flicker of something ignites in my chest. Not hope. Not yet. But maybe a spark of a plan.
The next morning, Tish and I head back downtown so I can start rebuilding the pieces of my life, one tedious task at a time.
First stop is the DMV. It’s a headache with a line long enough to test my resolve, but after paperwork, an unflattering photo, and one overly chatty clerk, I walk out with a temporary ID in hand.
Next, we head back to my apartment. I sit cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on my thighs as I call each of my credit card companies, one by one, explaining the situation for what feels like the hundredth time. Flood. Lost everything. No, I wasn’t trying to commit fraud. I was just trying to survive. Eventually, accounts are secured. Replacements are in the mail. Everything is finally back on track.
But the victory feels hollow.
Because the one person I want to share it with isn’t here.
Tish hands me a mug of coffee and plops onto the couch beside me.
“Okay,” she says, ticking off her fingers. “Phone, ID, credit cards. What’s next on Operation Unfuck Charlotte’s Life?”
I groan, letting my head fall back against the cushion. “Rental car. I still need to let them know what happened.”
“That sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
I wince. “They’re going to think I faked my own death to skip out on a Prius.”
But I make the call. And to my shock, it goes better than expected.
The woman on the line audibly gasps when I explain I was caught in a flood. “Oh my God, we thought you might’ve died. You’re okay?”
