Present day
Most days, I tolerated my job as a college recruiter even though I spent my life in schools—the place where I had been bullied my entire youth. I mainly had moved on from the trauma of my past. My biggest issue was the starting salary, which averaged out to a measly fifteen seventy-five per hour. I was embarrassed to admit it, but I’d make more money working as a waitress without a college degree. My dad had said, “That’s what you get for majoring in English without a teaching component.”
How was I supposed to know that some degrees were worthless?
I picked something I loved.
I love to talk, and English is what I speak.
Therefore, it made sense.
Now, I spent my days dressed in a Gator onesie, traveling to every corner of the United States, convincing high school seniors to spend tens of thousands of dollars on a liberal arts degree. Itwas a clumsy dance with destiny, making me relive my regrets, only this time I got to experience it dressed as a reptilian.
I waved my giant fleece gator hand at the students who avoided my gaze so hard it reminded me of the time my dad had shown up to my homecoming dance as a surprise chaperone. His polyester, palm-tree-printed shirt had been mortifying.
Only another moment later and all the students had cleared out, leaving me in echoing silence. Staring down the empty hall lined with orange lockers and floors littered with forgotten trash, I instantly swapped my cheerleader face for one that was more stoic and let out a sigh of exhaustion. The last bell rang. Cue my lunch break. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed caffeine, and I searched my phone for the nearest coffee shop. Bingo. Found one within walking distance, and it was inside a bookstore. Double bingo.
With my life in a different city every week, I was used to spending my lunch hours alone. Travel used to bother me, but it got easier, especially since Bre and I had become roommates. We had gone to the same college, and soon after graduating we’d both found ourselves drowning in the current economy as new grads. We’d done what we always did and pooled our resources together. We’d moved into an old house where I took the master suite upstairs, and she stayed downstairs because she worked as front house manager at an upscale restaurant with crazy hours. Half the time, she never made it past the couch when she got home hours past midnight. I thought about texting to check in but didn’t when I remembered she was working the lunch shift. Instead, I headed off on my walk.
Alone.
Mapleton, Vermont had one of those perfectly quaint downtowns. The brick streets made me feel like I had been thrown into a made-for-TV movie. The vast storefront display of books in the window made spotting my destination easy.I yanked hard on the metal handle, and the door wailed in protest. The smell of paper and fresh glue wafted under my nose, slowing my steps as I absorbed the store’s ambiance. A huge dark wooden staircase wrapped around the outside wall, leading to the most perfect cozy loft I’d ever seen in a bookstore. It instantly made me want to get lost up there for hours.
If only I didn’t have to go back to work.
Taking my time perusing the shelves, I soaked up the spines of the newest releases as I made my way toward the coffee bar on the back wall. The man working at the counter had his back to me, making a drink. I helped myself to a seat on a wobbly bar stool and casually glanced over at the person sitting next to me. A child with dark wavy hair that hung to her shoulders—if I had to guess, I’d say she was maybe four—caught me looking and gave me a little princess smile. I was immobilized. Wild blue eyes set deep behind thick dark lashes—exactly like ones I had seen before.
To avoid being rude, I turned away, but quickly snuck another look as the man turned with the drink in hand, placing it in front of the girl. “Be careful, Hadley. It’s steaming hot.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Her little voice was so soft and sweet. If I wasn’t already dying inside, I would have melted from her cuteness.
Hadley.A cold wave of recognition tsunamied over me and without thinking, I whispered, “Hemingway.”
I didn’t have to look at him.
My heart already knew.
My brain rapidly inventoried the facts.
Hadley was the middle name of Hemingway’s wife in real life, and he wrote about her in his memoir—A Moveable Feast.
I hadonceknown someone who loved Hemingway, particularlythat book.
He had perfect sapphire eyes and dreams of moving to Vermont.
I was sitting in a random small town in Vermont.
Next to a little girl with perfect sapphire eyes.
A little girl who called that man her dad.
“Chatterbox.” His voice floated from the side, sending a ping right to my heart. Mustering up all my bravery, I allowed myself to look at him through narrowed eyes.
Terrified because I wasn’t ready to seehim.
I was sucked into a time warp. Suddenly, I was sixteen again, seeing those eyes for the very first time.
I don’t think I teleported.
