Chapter Seven
ZANE
A text exchange between Zane and his dad, Saturday, September 14, 3:30 p.m.
Zane: I’m off to Costa Rica. I hope it will be the kind of trip you had, just what I need to figure things out. Thanks for all you have done for me, Dad. I love you.
Dad: thumbs-up emoji
WHAT AM I DOING HERE? That’s a great question—one I’m not sure I have a good answer for. Somewhere between the moment Amelia hugged me goodbye, whispering in my ear, “You could still go with her, you know,” and seeing Macey trying to hide her shaking hands and then crying in the TSA line, I made a decision: I couldn’t let her go alone. So when we got through security, I went to the Delta counter and changed my ticket. It took longer than expected, so I didn’t get to meet her at the gate and had to surprise her on the plane. And she definitely looks surprised. I just can’t tell if it’s a good surprise or a bad one.
“I was wondering if you want some company?” I ask. “On your trip.”
Her eyes widen, her cheeks instantly turning bright pink. I can see something like hesitation flicker across her face. She opens her mouth, then closes it, as if debating something.
I reach up and rub the back of my neck, feeling suddenly unsure.
“Sir, can you please take your seat?” an attendant asks, and I look behind me to see I’m holding up the plane.
“Sorry,” I say, sliding into the open aisle seat next to Macey as the remaining passengers shuffle past us. I tuck my backpack under the seat in front of me.
“What are ... why?” she asks, looking so confused right now. Her eyes are wide, her posture frozen in place, her hands gripping the armrest like she’s bracing for impact.
“Can I get you a drink?” the flight attendant asks, leaning in toward us with her arm resting on the seat backs in front of us, her gaze flicking between Macey and me.
I ask for water and then turn my attention back to Macey. “I’m here because you need a Mr. Darcy, right?”
She moves her head up and down in slow movements.
“And I’ve got some time off, so ...” I give her a shrug. It feels weak, even as I say it.
“But ... Costa Rica?” She squeaks out the question.
“I thought I could go with you instead.”
She’s not excited like I thought she might be. Or even relieved I’m here and that she doesn’t have to do this alone. I must have misread something important. Amelia said Macey needed someone to go with her, but now I’m not so sure.
In my head, I thought I was being gallant, like this was some kind of hero move—not that I was trying to be a hero. I just wanted to be a friend, to show her I’m still here, even after all this time. And maybe we could fix whatever made us drift apart. At the ticket counter, it felt like the right choice. Now, with her wide-eyed stare, I feel like a moron.
“You ...,” she starts. I lean toward her slightly, waiting, but she doesn’t finish.
I lean away and rake my hand through my hair, messing it up and feeling like I’ve stumbled into one of those TikTok videos where someone plans a grand surprise, thinking it’ll be a hit, only for the comments to say, “I’m going to hold your hand while I tell you this ...”
The flight attendant comes by and gives me a small bottle of water. I twist open the cap and take a big gulp.
“Macey, did I mess up here?” I ask after I’ve drunk almost the entire thing.
“I ...,” she says. I wait, but nothing more comes. The silence feels heavier than it should.
I think what I’d like to do is leave now. Leave and pretend I didn’t do something so spontaneous.
It doesn’t matter, because I can’t change my mind. A flight attendant has just announced that the doors to the plane are closed. Unless I want to cause a scene and get escorted off, I’m stuck.
“Are you just going to stare at me?” I ask. I give her a crooked smile and tap my fingers on the armrest, trying to bring some levity to the moment.
“Sorry,” she says, giving herself a little shake. “I’m ... so confused.”
“I just thought maybe you’d want the company, since you seemed nervous to go on your own.”
She’s stopped staring at me and is now looking at her hands in her lap, as they fiddle with the zipper on her hoodie. Her fingers tug at the zipper, pulling it up and down, her movements quick and restless.
“Please say something,” I say, after another bout of silence.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “Yeah, I ... wasn’t either.” I let out a chuckle. “It was rash. Maybe I didn’t think it through.”
“Maybe?” She gives me a sort of sheepish grin.
I nod, now feeling even more embarrassed that I did this. “I can change my flight in Atlanta. You don’t have to be stuck with me.” The words feel heavier as I say them, as though I’m offering her an out but hoping she won’t take it. Which is ... ridiculous. I tried to help, and she doesn’t seem to want it. Why does that bother me so much?
“Zane,” she starts, but then stops herself. “You ... it’s ... ugh, why can’t I speak?” She says that last part more to herself, sounding frustrated. Her hands clench briefly before dropping back into her lap.
“Macey,” I say, placing a hand on her arm, which her eyes immediately track to. “It’s just me.”
Her eyes move to mine, and somehow I think that statement, which was meant to put her at ease, made things worse. Especially as her cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. How did we get here? Once upon a time, I could say things to Macey and touch her arm, and it would have been a nonissue. Maybe it’s the letter. Maybe we need to get it out in the open.
But then again, maybe I’m full of myself for thinking that letter she wrote all those years ago is the reason for the distance between us. It’s not like Macey’s life revolves around me. There could be something else entirely. Still, the timing feels too coincidental to ignore. Should I ask her about it? Could it actually fix whatever this is between us? Or maybe it’s not that easy.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say, pulling my hand back. “Because I’m feeling like an idiot.”
“You ... feel like an idiot?” Macey asks, frowning.
“Yes,” I say, gesturing toward the plane with my hands. “For this. For changing my flight. I thought I was helping.”
She lets out a long breath, shaking her head like she’s coming to a resolution of sorts. “You are helping,” she finally says. “I’m sorry ... It’s just that, well, I can’t believe you did this.”
“Me either,” I say with a self-deprecating-sounding chuckle.
“It’s ... I appreciate it, Zane. I do.”
I feel lighter and a little less stupid with her words, but only slightly.
The screens in front of us begin playing the safety video, and I lean back into my seat, feeling the tightness in my shoulders—tension I hadn’t even noticed—start to ease.
“But Zane,” she says, edging toward me so I can hear her over the audio. “You can’t actually want to do this.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Fly with you?”
She shakes her head before tucking some of the hair that’s come out of her bun behind her ear. “I mean ... um, dress up like Darcy and act out Pride and Prejudice .” Her fingers fidget with the strings of her hoodie, twisting them into tight little knots.
“How hard can it be?”
This time she snorts out a laugh, the sound tugging at something familiar in me—a glimpse of the Macey I used to know. “Well ... for one thing, I’ve been memorizing lines for months.”
“Months?”
“Yes, months. I told you they were very serious about their reenacting.”
“I could learn lines,” I say, though my confidence wavers. The truth is, I’ve hardly ever had to memorize lines—unless you count the eighth-grade play where I managed to do the whole thing with my zipper down. It’s on video. It’s a family favorite during the holidays, and Macey has seen it plenty of times.
“But ... would you want to?”
Her words hang in the air, and I take a moment to let them sink in. Do I want to? I could change my flight in Atlanta and stick to my original half-baked plan—hanging on the beach and hiking through the jungle, things I’ve done before and know I’ll enjoy.
Or I could do something completely different—something I’ve never done. It feels a bit like a challenge—not just the lines or the costumes, but the idea of stepping into something unknown. And maybe being there for a friend is reason enough to try.
MACEY
PLEASE SAY NO, PLEASE SAY no, please say no.
“Yeah,” Zane says, giving me a quick dip of his chin. “I think I do want to go. At least, I can try.”
My eyes go wide of their own accord, and my stomach drops as his words sink in.
You are strong, you are brave, you are absolutely freaking out right now.
I thought I had him. He looked like he was second-guessing. I was sure he’d get off in Atlanta and head to Costa Rica.
“Really,” I say. It’s not a question—it’s more like, Are you freaking kidding me?
And there go my cheeks again, heating up.
Because I don’t want Zane to go with me. Because it’s Zane, and having him play Mr. Darcy makes the whole thing feel unbearable. It’s not just awkward—it’s mortifying. If he actually goes through with this, I’ll have to say the lines I’ve been practicing—to him . I’ll be Lizzy, falling for Darcy, who’s being played by Zane. Freaking Zane.
I don’t think I can do it—and it will ruin everything I’ve been looking forward to. All the excitement I’ve felt about this trip? Gone. Now replaced with something akin to dread because it would just be so embarrassing to cosplay Pride and Prejudice with Zane. No, I need to find more ways to try to convince him to change his mind because I can’t just tell him outright to stick to his original plans—he did jump on a plane for me, after all.
I didn’t know what to say when he sat down next to me. I’ve hardly been able to speak to the man I pined over for so long—and, if I’m being honest, still have lingering feelings for. But when he said he felt stupid, I couldn’t just let him sit there and stew. I feel stupid all the time and it’s a terrible feeling. I had to make him feel more comfortable.
And then my brain and mouth finally got on the same page, and words happened. I may not be the oversharer I usually am, but at least I’m communicating with Zane, saying more words to him than I’ve said in years.
“You’ll have to do a British accent,” I say, my next attempt to deter him. Surely that will scare him off. It’s not exactly a rule at the resort—it’s more of a suggestion—but he doesn’t know that.
“’Ello, Guv’na, fancy a cuppa?” he says, a little gotcha look on his face. “Or perhaps you’d prefer a spot of tea and a scone, madam?”
Crap. That was actually pretty good. It’s not the polished accent I’m sure we’ll be using this week, but it’s clear he can pull one off. Ugh.
“Or would you prefer an Irish one?” he asks, noticing my chagrin. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya!”
“I got it,” I say, tamping down the frustration in my tone.
The captain’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing we’re getting close to takeoff. A flight attendant sweeps by, collecting cups and checking seat belts. It gives me a moment to come up with another idea.
“You’ll have to wear the costume, and a nightshirt and cap to sleep in.” I try again, thinking that Zane, as long as I’ve known him, has always slept in only basketball shorts, and will probably hate the idea of having to wear a nightshirt.
“Hmm,” he says, looking as if he’s considering my words. He holds an index finger up, pointed toward the ceiling. “Maybe I’ll end up loving it and wanting to wear it when I get home.”
“Even a nightcap?” I ask, picturing him in one, the soft fabric flopping to one side, his dark curls peeking out from underneath. He’d probably look rumpled in the most annoyingly charming way, like some Regency-era rogue who can somehow make bedtime attire swoon worthy. Why does he have to look good in everything? This is not helpful at all.
I twist my lips, channeling Amelia, only she usually does that when she’s about to spring something big on someone, and I’m just trying to think of something else to make her brother change his mind.
“Will I have to share a room with a stranger?” he asks before I can come up with something.
“Yes,” I say excitedly, but then realize I’ve jumped the gun. My shoulders fall. “No. You won’t. Since Mr. Darcy is wealthy, you’ll have your own room and a valet.”
“A valet? Well,” he says, a smirk on his face, “I could get used to that.”
Why did I tell him that? I’m trying to convince him not to come, and I think I just made it sound more enticing.
“Are you done?” he asks, his slight smile emphasizing a dimple on his cheek. It’s a look I remember from a long time ago when we were close. Like he knows me. Like he gets me.
“Done with what?” I ask him.
“Done trying to make me change my mind.”
“That’s not what . . .”
“Macey.” He cocks his head to the side, a knowing look on his face.
I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable for being called out like that, and feel heat on my cheeks. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into, that’s all.”
“But you’re okay with me being here, right? Because if you’re not, just tell me.”
Tell him. Tell him!
“Yes. Of course,” I say.
Okay, listen. I wanted to tell him I’d be fine on my own, that he should stick to his Costa Rica plan, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He did something big for me. Huge, really. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. It feels wrong to take that away from him, to dismiss this grand gesture.
Besides, I was nervous about going by myself, wasn’t I?
Zane tilts his head, watching me with those steady, disarming blue eyes of his. “You sure? Because if this trip means as much to you as it seems like it does, I don’t want to ruin it.”
His words make tiny butterflies flutter around in my stomach. Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice, or maybe it’s the fact that he even bothered to notice how important it is. I fidget with the strings of my hoodie, twisting them tighter.
“It does mean a lot to me,” I admit.
“Why?” he asks, sounding like his sister.
“I know it probably sounds silly, but when I found out I won, it felt like things were finally going my way. Like ... maybe I won’t always be stuck where I am.”
Zane leans back in his seat, his brows pulling together. “Stuck where?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “In my life. At my job. In this rut where I don’t know if I’m ever going to do what I really want to do.”
His silence urges me on, even though I’m not sure why I’m spilling all of this now. It’s weird that he knows so little about my life, when once upon a time he knew pretty much everything.
“Winning this trip felt like a sign, you know?” I tell him. “Like maybe I deserved to have something good, for once. Something that was just mine.”
He looks away, toward the front of the plane, and I instantly get that uncomfortable sensation in my chest, the one I get when I feel like I’ve overshared.
He glances back at me, a tender-looking smile on his face. “Well then, do you have a script so I can try learning some lines?” Zane asks, giving me a hopeful grin. There’s a focus in his eyes now, the same intensity I’ve witnessed when he’s about to tackle something head-on.
I let out a breath, pulling my backpack out from under the seat in front of me. Resigned, I pass him the thick script. I guess Zane Porter is going to Pride and Prejudice Park with me.
And now I have to figure out a way to survive it.