I run to my bag, yank out my journal, and flip through it as fast as my shaking fingers can comb through the pages. There. Around the middle of the book, that page,thispoem has been ripped out.
It can’t be real.
I look at those two words, Miss me?,and shiver.
What the hell is this? And better yet, what do I do about it?
Grabbing my jacket, I ball it up under my arm, sling my bag over my shoulder, and dart toward the back exit of the diner. I shove open the heavy metal door, and it slams against the brick wall with a clang.
The day is gorgeous, perfect for a hike, and the sudden burst of sunlight blinds me coming from the dim greasy glow of the diner. In a clumsy stumble forward, my shoes scuff the pavement, and I open up into a quick jog to my car.
The hint of spilled grease and stomach-churning tang of garbage from the overflowing dumpster nearby is thick, and mixed with the lump in my throat, I almost buckle to the ground with nausea.
Stop, I chide.Get it together. Don’t let this ruin you.
My fast breaths drown out the distant hum of traffic on Main Street, tourists in full swing this afternoon. I fumble with the car door, grateful that Noah and I decided to meet there insteadof him picking me up like he originally wanted. It didn’t make sense. He was already working out there, and I now have a functioning car.
Thank God. I need the drive to calm down, to put this rattling note behind me.
Sliding the paper into my diner uniform pocket, I start my car and make the drive toward Yosemite, all the while making excuses in my head as to why I have this chilling note.
Best case? Some of the line cooks were snooping through my bag and came across my journal then took the joke too far.
Worst case?Hewrote it.
It’s during the next thirty minutes on the road I decide to show Noah the note. He’s friends with the Pinebrook sheriff, and though I don’t trust him, Noah might be able to get some information from him. Maybe they’ve seen someone matching Bran’s description.
I doubt I’d recognize him. I’m sure he’s grown, changed—I don’t have connections to Ruin, and I don’t do social media, so hell if I know what he’s up to. Frankly, I don’t care to know.
But if he’s found me …
I shake my head and pull out the directions Noah scribbled down for me. I won’t let this take away from my time with Noah today. Mentally, I can’t.
Following his chicken scratch, I make my way to a dusty pull-off, half hidden by towering pines and boulders pushing through. No sign, no maps, only a narrow break in the tree line where the underbrush is worn down to hint at a path. Surprisingly, there are a handful of other cars pulled off as well, and I spot Noah leaning on the end of his tailgate, Max heeled at his side, alert.
Noah glowers, scanning the vehicles and passing traffic, but when he sees my car, a smile breaks out over his mouth, wide and unguarded.
My insides melt.
As I pull in beside his truck, the air feels lighter, the moment between us setting eyes on each other and actually speaking suspended like sweet honey dripping from a spoon. The worry from earlier, the fear—it’s all stripped away. I’m safe with Noah and Max.
Max whines at my driver’s side door, and Noah’s muffled laugh seeps through the car as I watch him round the back through the rearview mirror.
I roll down my window. “I have to change,” I tell Max, but Noah nods snapping his fingers and commanding Max leave me alone.
Over the years, I’ve become a professional at changing in my car. Caught in a rainstorm on a hike? No problem. I’d change into dry clothes in my car. Late for a shift at the diner? No issue. I’d finagle my uniform up and over my body sprawled out in the back seat.
But as I pull out my hiking pants and long-sleeve quick dry shirt, I’m suddenly nervous. The mere thought of Noah being on the other side of my car as I peel off my clothes …
Why do I wish he was the one doing it?
Quickly, I change and shove the poem in my pants, anxious to spend time with Noah and curious about this unmarked trail. When I finally step out of the car, Max runs over to sniff my hiking boots, and when I look up my stomach dips.
Noah is full-on smiling at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re beautiful, Lil.”
