Chapter 12 #2
Gabe clears his throat. “This is Abby. She’s a guest at the inn, and I’m showing her around town.” I silently thank him for skipping the whole president’s daughter backstory.
“How delightful. Y’know, I’ve been developing a walking tour for visitors. Maybe you two—” Marge frowns as her pocket vibrates. “Oh shoot. I need to take this.” She fumbles for her phone and steps away.
Pat thumps his counter, signaling his return. “One Pike Special.” He hands Gabriel a white paper bag, already half see-through with grease. A warm, salty smell hits my nose like a hug from a deep fryer.
My eyes widen. “Fried food?”
Pat beams. “Perks of my family owning the diner next door. We share the same kitchen.” He nods at the ice cream case. “This will go great with your ice cream. What’ll you have?”
Intrigued, I order Elle’s waffle bowl with bubble-gum ice cream—yuck—and my order of Neapolitan (all the classic flavors, vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, in one scoop).
I can already picture Elle’s face when she gets her scoops.
I know I can really use a couple brownie points when it comes to my sister.
As we head out, we run into an animated Marge as she paces on her phone.
She waves goodbye, but not before telling Gabe his mom’s council presentation needs to be moved again. Gabe nods, his face once again grim.
I wait until we’re away from Pat’s parlor before asking Gabriel my burning questions. “Is the inn in some kind of trouble?”
His stride slows and my arm hairs prickle. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I say nervously. My mom has always been better at reading people; I hope I didn’t offend him.
Gabe stares at his ice cream cone a moment before answering. “No, it’s fine.” He looks around and beelines for a nearby bench. He sits down and I take the unspoken invitation to join him.
“A big fancy resort opened nearby about a year ago and has been attracting guests away from our property.” He stares at his camera. “Summer is the hardest—we can’t compete with a resort that has a golf course, infinity pools designed for Instagram, and five-star dining.”
“How about Wi-Fi,” I say, and immediately regret it.
He rolls his eyes. “Of course.” He rakes a hand through his already unruly hair. “My mom is struggling more than she lets on. If the jubilee doesn’t bring in more guests, we’re in trouble.” His voice trails off.
His eyes dim. “If we can’t turn things around, the inn’s at risk.”
My stomach lurches and my ice cream suddenly feels less appetizing. “Here I am upset my summer plans are ruined. Meanwhile, you and your mom could lose your business.”
“Abby, don’t feel bad about wanting a real summer,” I hear him say, but my brain has already started churning. “You’ve done everything for your family. And for the country. That’s huge.”
He moves closer, tone soft but sure. “I want you to have the best summer ever. And I want to help you get it. Especially if this is your last chance.”
I exhale. His sincerity wraps around me like a warm blanket on a cold night.
“I appreciate that. I just didn’t realize how much the inn is weighing on you too.”
He stares at his hands. “Very much so.”
I suck in a deep breath. “What exactly happens at your jubilee?”
He looks to the sky. “What happened may be more accurate. Since my dad passed away, the festival hasn’t been the same.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and mean it.
He smiles in appreciation. “It used to be huge—barbecue, dancing, live music, and a ton of arts and crafts booths from businesses all over. Our inn hosts the festival during the day, while Grand Meadows, our region’s equestrian center, hosts the fireworks.”
I tap my chin. “So basically it’s like a county fair?” Elle and I have been to countless fairs during Mom’s campaigns.
He pauses in thought. “I guess so, but a much smaller one.”
I nod vigorously as my idea fully forms. “Hear me out,” I say.
He smirks. “I feel like what you’re about to say is going to add to the prison time I’ll be sentenced to for helping you leave the inn.”
I ignore his teasing. “We needed a way for me to leave the inn to work on my bucket list and your photos.”
“I thought we were going to play the theme music to Mission: Impossible and sneak out every day,” Gabriel deadpans.
“Did you really think we were going to trick Shaw and Nessa for the rest of the month?” I laugh. “I mean, Shaw I might be able to sweet-talk. He’s got a weakness for chocolate. But Nessa—”
“Is very good at her job,” Gabriel says, cutting me off.
“Right, Nessa is—”
“Right behind you.”
“We found Rapunzel.” I jump as the familiar stern voice startles me.
“Oh no!” I screech as both ice cream cups fall out of my hands and splat onto the sidewalk.
Nessa and Shaw look almost apologetic. Almost. The disapproval on their faces is more evident. If having them sneak up behind me is surprising, what’s even more shocking is seeing them in casual attire.
If I weren’t in hot water, I’d probably burst out laughing at the sight of Shaw in a tan blazer and salmon-pink shorts. So preppy.
Nessa, thankfully, looks low-key in olive-green athletic shorts and a track jacket.
“Abby, how could you drop my ice cream?” Elle yells from the back seat of a white X5 idling behind the agents.
Across the street, a black SUV that looks like the one we rode in here from DC is parked. Yup. We’re busted.
My blood chills as Tita Karra steps out of the driver’s seat of the white car. She is the more easygoing sister, but right now, lips pressed together and forehead clenched into a V, she’s channeling Mom’s fury. I blink, wondering if it’s possible to be grounded while being grounded.
“Get in the car,” she orders.
“It’s not her fault,” Gabriel says but is quickly shut down by my tita’s glare.
“Go home, godson,” she hisses.
Gabriel faces me. His eyes search mine like he’s asking for permission. “I’ll be okay,” I say in my most reassuring voice.
A few people in the park start to notice us. A boy my age with wild reddish hair cups his hands around his mouth and calls out, “What’d you do this time, Calabrese?”
Gabriel groans. “Kyle turd-breath Schwab.”
“Turd-breath,” I repeat. If I weren’t in trouble, I’d probably be snort-laughing.
Shaw lets out a pointed grunt—that’s our cue.
“Meet us at home,” Tita orders Gabriel.
Before I hop into her car, I squeeze his shoulders. “I have a plan,” I say to him, hoping he doesn’t hear the worry in my voice.
His brows lift, clearly not convinced, as he avoids Shaw’s glare. “Abby,” Tita Karra warns, muttering Tagalog curse words under her breath. I hop into her SUV and roll down my window to say goodbye to Gabriel.
His gaze meets mine and he looks strangely amused. Before I can ask him what’s so funny he raises his camera and takes a photo of me.
“I’ll call that shot ‘the moment before two teenagers are exiled to Area 51 for life,’ ” he says.