Chapter 7
“Ice cream? Ice cream always makes things better,” Elle says, mostly to herself.
We drop our tote bags on the dusty ground at the old barn where the Secret Service has pulled over.
The worn, red-painted wood barn looks like it’s been there since Abraham Lincoln was president.
So long, sandy beaches. Hello, existential crisis, rustic edition.
A couple chickens appear by the barn’s door.
“Must be our welcome committee,” Elle deadpans. At least she’s done with the silent treatment. My shoulders sag like a wilted flower in the summer heat. It’s hard to say whether the ride here or the time Dad’s parade float broke down, halting a rowdy Saint Patrick’s Day parade, was more tense.
I rub my sore back, which was squished for three hours by Elle’s backpack, pillow, and panda stuffy as she mashed buttons on her Nintendo Switch, her large AirPods Max headphones on her head, ignoring her loser big sister who got our Hawaiian vacation canceled.
All the while, the scene from our car window changed from urban city blocks to suburban neighborhoods to empty golden hillsides with a smattering of trees, and occasional big farmhouses with old wraparound porches and rocking chairs.
Mom said this is Virginia horse country, and sure—it’s beautiful.
Just not what I’ve spent months planning for.
I’m not great at improvising, which is why the whole Pineapplegate fiasco baffles me.
I don’t go off script. I know I can’t order my own pizza.
I can’t even sleep over at a friend’s house without their parents being cleared by the FBI.
Hence, no sleepovers. Hawaii was set. I had a plan for my bucket list. Life was unfolding exactly how I planned. Until I met Gabriel.
I sigh. My bucket list does not have horseback riding or farms. It has beaches and new foods. Picnics and staying up late, all things I envisioned doing near a beach. Not landlocked, and certainly not at a barn that smells like manure or farm animals or both on a grueling summer day.
Agent Shaw paces nearby on his phone, his voice low and annoyed. Nessa stands near our SUV, her eyes shielded by her mirrored Ray-Bans, her head moving side to side as she scans our surroundings. I can only imagine what’s going on in their heads: We had swimsuits ready, not cowboy boots.
Suddenly, a loud and rhythmic chugging sound rips through the air.
Elle and I twist to see the source of the noise. If my jaw dropped any lower, Mom would need to send a search party to find it.
A confident and glowing Tita Karra approaches driving a small green tractor, pulling a wagon behind it.
Agent Shaw and Nessa settle when they see it’s Tita and not some rando. I hear Tita’s call sign “Razzle” as Shaw’s shoulders relax.
With a swift and firm motion, Tita stops the tractor several feet from us. “Long time no see,” she jokes from atop the vehicle.
“You can drive a tractor!” Elle exclaims.
Tita chuckles. “Sure! Your mom used to fly helicopters. I can drive a tractor.”
I do a double take. Just three days ago Tita was in a fancy ruby Gucci gown, but today her sun hat, jeans, and boots look right at home on her.
Tita opens her arms and motions us in for a group hug. I breathe in her jasmine-and-citrus scent. The jasmine reminds me of my serious mother, but the citrus is playful like my tita.
“You okay?” she asks as I pull back. Her smile remains on her face, but I can see the worry in her eyes.
My mouth twists as I try to hold back my tears. “Honestly, not really,” I say.
She nods and pulls me in for a hug again. “I know. I know. This isn’t what you wanted,” she whispers. I’m thankful for Tita; she’s always been a sounding board and ally for me.
“We’re going to make the best of it while you’re here.” She gestures at the wagon. “Let’s start with the scenic way to the inn.”
“You mean we’re not sleeping in the barn?” Elle says dryly.
“If chickens and cows help you sleep at night, I won’t stop you,” Tita teases. She taps the wagon and motions for us to jump in. “Come on. You’re in for a treat. The Mystic Hollow wagon ride is an exclusive attraction in the region.”
“When in Rome,” I mutter. I thank Shaw for finding wood crates to help us climb onto the high wagon bed. Once aboard, we find hay bales lined up like benches.
In some other dimension there’s a version of me who’s sitting at the beach drinking from a coconut.
This version of me—the one who just had to get a yucky pineapple pizza—is sitting on scratchy dry stalks and overwhelmed by dust and the scent of straw and dirt.
At least I’m in a T-shirt and sweats and not something I’d mind getting dirty.
“Hang tight,” Tita orders as she locks the back gate of the wagon, then hops onto the driver’s seat. The tractor roars to life and the wagon starts moving with a jerk.
Elle yelps with a loud, delighted shriek. I’m relieved my sister looks happy at the moment.
Agents Shaw and Nessa climb back into their SUV and drive behind us. Our tractor trudges along a bumpy dirt path. “Is she trying to hit every rock possible?” I complain to Elle.
She giggles. “All right, Your Highness. Next time we’ll ask for the royal carriage.”
Soon the farmland changes from dirt and hay bales to an orchard that looks like the perfect place for picking apples when they’re in season.
“Who owns this land?” I call over to Tita.
“It used to all belong to the inn,” she says. The tractor is loud, but I can still hear the regret in her voice. “But they sold the orchard part a couple years ago.”
“That’s too bad,” I say.
We follow a dirt path into a grove of trees. The shade is a welcome relief. A creek trickles nearby, and even over the rumble of the tractor, I can hear birds chirping not far away. The trees part, revealing a lush, rolling field—and then I see it.
“Wow.” A stately white two-story house rises ahead, with a red roof, twin chimneys, and black-framed windows tucked behind cute old-fashioned shutters. A wide wraparound porch is lined with rocking chairs, and there’s even a wicker swing. Iron lanterns dangle from the porch’s columns.
Flanking the main house are east and west wings, and down a winding dirt path sits a quaint green-roofed cottage. The entire inn is surrounded by green fields and gorgeous blue-and-purple hills rippling in the distance. It looks like it has welcomed guests for over a hundred years.
A black SUV that must belong to our advance security detail is parked on the mansion’s circular driveway.
I glance with delight at a large tree where a well-loved wooden bench swing hangs.
The swing’s cushioned seat would be the perfect place to curl up and read a book or maybe stargaze. Stargazing is on my unofficial list.
“What do you think?” Tita asks.
“It’s nice,” I offer.
Her eyes crinkle. If I were her, I’d take my terse response as a win. The place is beautiful but still not where I had planned to be. No, this mansion represents my summer plans gone wrong.
“I think it’s magical,” Elle calls out. “A romantic countryside home like Longbourn House in Pride and Prejudice.”
Mystic Hollow Inn has a magical vibe, sure, but romance?
Romance was a tropical setting, ocean waves, a brilliant sunset.
If Oliver and I are going to start our relationship, that would’ve been the ideal place to begin.
Instead, he’s on a ten-hour flight there and I’m here.
I glance at my phone and his last messages to me.
Miss you too. Followed by: Deep breaths, champ. You got this.
The large white front door of the inn opens. My breath catches seeing the boy who walks out. Of course. This is my life. Elle leans forward. “Abby? Is that…”
“Yes. Elle. It. Is.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. I hate how he’s even cuter in a white T-shirt and jeans. Gabriel Calabrese stands in front of the inn, hands tucked in his black jeans pockets as he looks warily at our wagon.
This is the perfect storm: the boy who got me in trouble, in the place that ruined my summer plans. With a tight smile on his face, Gabriel strolls to the wagon. “Hey,” he says as he opens our wagon’s gate.
“Good to see you again, Gabriel,” Elle says with a little too much joy as she grabs the hand he offers to help her down. He lowers her like she’s no heavier than her favorite panda stuffy.
It’s my turn to jump off, and I stare at his outstretched hand that’s connected to a very nicely muscular arm. I’m suddenly self-conscious about my gray sweats and baggy Save the Whales T-shirt.
It’s like I gave up even trying. Which, to be fair, I did after spying what I was supposed to wear today—a red-and-yellow tropical flower dress—hanging in my closet this morning.
“Need a hand?” Gabriel asks.
I scoff. Last time this boy helped me, I ended up making a fool of myself on national news. “No thanks. I won’t need your assistance.” Ever. I don’t say that last part out loud.
His brows scrunch but he steps back. I lower my foot to see how far the ground is. Not even on tippy-toe could I reach.
I puff a strand of hair off my forehead and grab the wagon’s metal gate, which—is not secured and flings wider. As the door swings, I swing with it. “Whoa!” My legs fly out, dangling like a kid in a chair that’s way too big, flailing in midair while I cling on for dear life.
“Abby,” Elle says, rushing forward.
As the gate swings back toward the truck, I grab the edge of the wagon to steady myself and somehow, miraculously, lower myself down. I land on the gravel road with a loud thump and catch myself just in time before face-planting.
“I’m fine. I’m good,” I say as I wave a hand to stop a worried Agent Shaw’s advance.
As I recover, my audience appears in several stages of shock. Agent Shaw seems upset, wondering how he drew the short straw to get the clumsiest member of the First Family. Elle is clutching her belly as she laughs herself silly. And Gabriel has a pained expression.
“Hay naku. You girls are running a full-time campaign to end my sanity,” Tita Karra exclaims as she rushes to my side to help steady me.
With as much confidence as I can muster, I toss my long, frazzled hair behind my shoulder. “I’m fine.”
She shakes her head, then starts for the front door. “Come on, let’s get you two checked in.”
She glances at Gabriel. “Hoy, godson, can you get their bags?”
I frown. “He doesn’t need to do that.”
“He does if he wants to get paid.” Tita chortles. My blood goes icy. No, no, no, no, no. I watch with horror as Gabriel grabs luggage from our SUV.
“Do you work here?” I cry.
He hauls my bag down from the vehicle with ease. “Nah, I just like hanging here for fun.”
I glower at him, ignoring the heat rushing to my cheeks as our eyes meet. He chuckles. “Although watching you fall out of the wagon was pretty funny.”
My jaw drops. “I didn’t fall out. I just miscalculated a little.”
His lips curl into a wicked smile. “Mm-hmm. Bet you help your dad remember his astronaut days.”
“Sorry?”
“You seem to have trouble with gravity?”
“Har. Har,” I say and glare at him. “And I guess you’re the hotel jester?”
“Yeah. And maintenance. And occasionally the front desk. Welcome to my family’s business.” He cocks his chin at the sign hanging in front of the building.
It says Mystic Hollow Inn in dark cursive writing over the logo of a large—
I groan so loud I’m sure Gabriel’s ancestors hear me. I gesture at the large pineapple on the inn’s sign. “A pineapple? Really?”
“In colonial Virginia, pineapples were a symbol of hospitality.” He laughs triumphantly. “See, Pineapple Princess. There’s some Aloha Spirit for you.”
I glare at his back as he makes his way inside with my luggage. Tita hollers for us to come inside, and I feel like I’m stumbling into a nightmare—the kind with gross pineapples and a cute boy who should come with a warning label.