“It’s fine. Go,” I mouth, ushering him away and pulling my phone out.
Jess:I didn’t put both our names on the same room booking just to be safe. Apparently there’s a café nearby so I’ll go there instead.
Spencer:kk bring me back a croque monsieur x
After some extensive googling, I discover the cute instagrammable café is up several hills and across a partially flooded field. I return to the room, throw on my running gear, and head out in the brisk early morning air. The mist winds around bends like a curtain to oncoming traffic, so to be safe, I run down the mud-slicked edges. If I get hit by a car while using a fake identity and no phone signal, a broken leg will be the least of my worries.
Wide medieval stone walls, pointed trees, and lavender fields punctuate the horizon, a world away from the dreary gray London winter. Maybe if this plan doesn’t work, I could move here, become a lavender farmer. But then I remember I have hay fever and love that there’s an amazing Thai food place two minutes away from the office. By the time I’m far enough away to no longer see the hotel, my stomach starts to rumble.
Finally making it back to the road, I notice my phone hascoughed out a single bar of service. I quickly press Cecily’s name in my phone log, but the words “Call Failed” force me farther onto one side of the road.
After walking for a couple of minutes, I gain two bars of signal, then three. Then 4G! Yes! Before I have a chance to press Cecily’s name again, a rusty green pickup truck speeds past on the other side of the road, its wheels kicking up the mud and flinging it over my back from hair to sneakers.
“Oh my god!” I scream as the icy liquid seeps into my leggings and sweater, through my underwear and T-shirt. “How does this keep happening?” I ask the universe.
“Hi, babe!” Cecily’s voice rings through my headphones.
“Cecily! Can you hear me?” I shout into my phone.
“It’s a bit crackly, but yes, I can hear you.”
“Okay, good, if I die on this road, please delete my internet history.”
“Share your location with me,” she says.
I tap at my phone. “Done, how are you?”
She sighs. “I’m good. How’s it going?”
“Good, yeah, I’m power walking on the side of the road to find a croissant and a decent cup of coffee.”
“You wanted to talk about Spencer’s ‘wrench’ or something?” she reminds me. The promises he made onstage in Rome went down so well with the crowd, it feels irresponsible not to at least ruminate on the idea.
“Yeah, the wrench he threw onstage. I’ve been thinking about it. I think we should start looking into to it. Could you start throwing feelers out to your media contacts?”
“And you’re sure you’re happy for me to write the pitch?” Her voice softens.
“Yeah, of course. I trust you, and I have a lot on my plate today.”
“Great.” I can hear her smile through the phone. Delegation is clearly not my strong suit.
The ground changes from dirt roads to cobblestones as I pass into what one might refer to as a “village,” as in a place where some humans live. Inhabitants include a butcher shop, a tiny self-pump gas station with a farm shop attached, and a tobacco shop.
“The hotel website said there was a bustling town nearby, but there’s barely anything here.”
“Where are you? Find my Friends says you’re in the middle of a field.”
I squint at a nearby signpost. “Lay de Lis?”
“Ahhh, I see. There’s anactualtown half a mile from the hotel in the opposite direction.”
My chin drops. “So I just walked two miles for some chewing tobacco?”
“Hmmm, I think there’s a café attached to the back of the tobacco shop.”
“Merci le gods!” I step around the tobacco shop to find the most adorable café I’ve ever seen. Vines of ivy wrap around the rustic white one-story building like a warm hug in the winter sun. An optimistic pair of tables and chairs sit like guard dogs on opposite sides of the front door. I snap a photo and send it to Cecily.
“Oh my god, cuuuuute,” she coos down the phone. She then proceeds to gasp, then cackle like a witch.
