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It was a schlep to get all the way to High Springs, involving a layover in Atlanta, then a thirty-minute taxi ride from the Gainesville airport. In the cab, Phoebe panicked, watching the fare tick higher and higher, so she had the driver drop her off at the rusty gate. This was a mistake. The driveway was very long, and very dusty. And it was humid here.

She made it to Flamingo Cottage drenched in sweat and covered in dust, wondering why she’d brought her insulated parka. But she was here now, and the house was beautiful.

Phoebe squealed with delight, leaving her suitcase by the front door, which was adorned with a festive wreath, and running a lap around the outside of the little pink house. The grass smelled so fresh! The cushions on the outdoor sofa were actually warm from the sun! And the horseshoe motif—Phoebe saw now that there were more of them: a horseshoe-shaped door knocker and a horseshoe-patterned throw pillow—made her feel like she was in the country. And she was. She was actually in the country, in a small town straight out of a Hallmark movie. She couldn’t wait to get that firepit going and make s’mores.

She found the key in a hidden lockbox and let herself in. Inside, it was just as cozy as it had looked in the photos, with the delightful addition of a Christmas tree in one corner of the living room.

As she draped her coat over one of the dining chairs, a gray-brown fluff ball launched itself at her head. Phoebe shrieked. The cat zoomed around her ankles before skidding out of the room.

“Where did you come from?” Phoebe shouted after it.

She found a note on the kitchen table, written in shimmery gold ink.

Dear Phoebe,

Welcome to my home! Heat and AC controls are located by the back door. I left the Wi-Fi code next to the TV. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.

I forgot to tell you, I have a cat. His name is Mittens. Can you please give him one can of food for breakfast and one for dinner and refill his water bowl? He’s allowed to come and go as he pleases. Hope you’re not allergic!

Happy holidays,

Arden

Phoebe sneezed.

Mittens did not reappear as Phoebe settled in. She squeezed her suitcase into Arden’s tiny closet, plugged in the colorful lights on the Christmas tree, and started up the retro record player she found under the TV. Christmas music filled the small space, and Phoebe sang along, examining every inch of the little home. The walls were lined with books and potted plants. She saw a lot of book-club novels that she herself had read and many thrillers that she had not. There were only a couple of photos in the house. One framed picture of Arden with, Phoebe guessed, her mom on a beach somewhere and one on the fridge that appeared to be from a holiday party. Arden looked happy, wearing a red dress, surrounded by friends or maybe coworkers. Phoebe noted that Arden seemed to tower over a lot of them—maybe she was wearing heels.

After her inspection, Phoebe curled up on the couch, basking in the festive glow of the tree. She’d never had a Christmas tree before, and, like most Jewish people she knew, she’d always secretly wanted one. She’d made the mistake of asking her mom for one once, to which her mom had replied that celebrating Hanukkah meant they got eight nights of presents and, quote, “what could be more festive than a holiday centered on lighting candles and eating fried foods?” Phoebe hadn’t mentioned the Christmas-tree thing again after that.

Her family group chat flashed with a message from Kayla: Has anyone heard from Phoebe?

Phoebe swiped it away impatiently.

She hadn’t talked to her family, other than Sam, since the night she’d been fired. It wasn’t like Phoebe to go radio silent on them, so she knew they would notice. She just couldn’t face the crushing sense of failure that descended on her whenever she imagined telling them what had happened.

She’d have to tell them at some point tomorrow that she wouldn’t be at the Hanukkah party. That was going to cause a stir. Sam had given her an earful when she’d told him how soon she’d be leaving for the house swap: “You can’t miss the party. No one ever misses the party! I’m going to get in trouble for this somehow!”

For now, though, she wanted to focus on the task at hand: brainstorming ideas for her new business. She had no intention of kicking up her feet and relaxing on this vacation. No, the thought of spending a week in this adorable, secluded house while accomplishing as much as possible on her new idea—that was the vacation of her dreams.

Phoebe arranged her laptop, notebook, and pen on the small kitchen table. She knew she wanted to build on the brand she’d created on social media. Of course, she could just go freelance, spin up a quick website, and declare herself open for business. But she wanted more than that. She wanted to run her own digital marketing agency. But creating a full-fledged business came with its own challenges. She would have to create a portfolio to show clients that they would get a return on their investment. She would have to create and run targeted ads. She would have to, somehow, generate leads and attract new customers. And, of course, if it was an agency, there would have to be someone other than just her. She would need an investment in order to pay her employees.

There was so much to think about. First, she would have to write a business proposal. Then she would have a clear plan and well-defined next steps.

Phoebe stretched her arms over her head and got to work.

Chapter 4

Arden

Arden let herself into Phoebe’s apartment, slid the deadbolt into place, and leaned against the closed door.

Seattle scared her.

It was busy and crowded, the streets slick with rain, car headlights glaring off puddles and buildings. But she’d made it. She was here.

She shook off the feeling of unease and turned around to take in the apartment. It was bigger than she’d expected—possibly bigger than her house. There was a wide-open, gleaming kitchen with a huge island that seemed to serve as the dining table, complete with two low-backed leather barstools. The living room contained a long leather sofa, an acrylic coffee table, and a big flat-screen TV. Phoebe must be a minimalist, because the only decorations were the magnets and photographs on the fridge.

Arden admired the pictures and tried to guess which brunette might be Phoebe. She had mentioned siblings, and it looked like she had quite a few of them—all with pale skin and wavy brown hair. Based on Phoebe’s Live Bravely profile picture, Arden was pretty sure Phoebe was the one with the blunt bob haircut and the blue eyes that always seemed to be crinkled into crescents of laughter.