Chapter 23
The sun is barely risen when Dad leaves for the regional airport where his plane is parked.
He’s chipper and alert after a lifetime of having to be a morning person for his job.
I’m sad to see him go, but he’s meeting with a children’s hospital and that’s too important to skip.
Ruby and I are the only ones downstairs to see him off after Dad insisted that Elle get her rest.
After Ruby hands him a bag of local breakfast items and gives a fond farewell, Dad wraps an arm around my shoulders and we walk down the porch steps.
He hums, projecting he’s in good spirits despite the both of us looking a little bleary-eyed.
“This inn is fantastic,” he muses as we stop at the foot of the stairs to say our goodbyes.
“Your mom was not happy after the pizza delivery stunt, and adamant you all stay away from the press. I think you lucked out here at Mystic Hollow Inn.” He hesitates.
I frown. “What?”
“You know your mom and I always do our due diligence.”
I tilt my head. “Spill it, Dad.”
He sighs. “About Gabe. Seems he was instrumental in some huge news story here a couple years ago. He was the photographer.”
I blink. “Yes, he said it was a story for his school paper.”
Dad arches his brow. “It’s not often a teenager scoops a major scandal that throws very powerful people into jail.”
I frown, recalling the backstory he shared with me. “He said he worked on a story about a bully?” I’m at a loss for words because he didn’t give me any details either.
My dad chuckles. “That’s one word to call an ex-congressman.”
I didn’t realize his story was political. “Dad, is that what you meant about Gabriel taking photos of stars last night?” My head spins as I connect the dots. “Are you saying he’s some lowlife tabloid photographer? I think Gabe helped put a real bad guy in jail.”
“Yes, he did a good thing exposing corruption. But when journalists get big scoops, they tend to want more.” He places his hands on my shoulders. His gaze holds mine. “Just be careful, honey, that’s all I ask.”
I struggle with what to say. Gabriel isn’t working for his paper. He’s applying to art school and needs to take photos of me for his portfolio. Yet only I’m in on his secret. Should that worry me? I take a deep breath.
“He’s a good guy, Dad,” I say, but I can still see the doubt in his eyes. “Is that why you mentioned Oliver last night?”
He frowns. “What?”
I cross my arms. “Last night at the firepit, you were talking about people we love. You mentioned Oliver.”
My dad shakes his head. “Elle was talking about her friends. Oliver is your friend, but…” He hesitates. “I have been suspecting maybe a bit more?”
My face reddens.
Dad closes his eyes like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “Honey, I’m not here to interfere with your crushes, but you’ve been hanging out with Oliver a lot. And when Oliver tells me he may be coming to visit you…” His voice trails off.
My jaw drops. “Sorry? Did you say Oliver is coming to visit me? And why is he telling you and not me?”
He lifts his hands. “And that’s where I officially step away from teenage drama. I talked with his dad about some new properties. Oliver was there. He mentioned he wanted to see you. Very casual. All chill. Not sus.”
I groan. He kisses my cheek. “Take care of yourself and your sister, Abby.” He pauses, head tilted in thought. “And even though you’re technically grounded, allow yourself a little fun, okay? I’m glad that boy can stomach some serious firepower. Maybe he’ll teach you to appreciate hot sauce.”
I wave one last time as his car pulls away. And the feelings of uncertainty and doubt wash over me, like how I felt the first day I arrived at Mystic Hollow.
Dad was right.
Oliver’s text arrives after lunch as Elle and I visit Mystic Hollow’s florist shop to look for flowers for the jubilee. I’m instantly pulled away from my happy place among the fragrant blooms and potted plants in the shop’s greenhouse seeing his text message.
You’ll never guess where I am, he writes with a winky face emoji.
Instead of being excited, I’m full of nerves. Pineapple farm eating pineapple ice cream? I write.
Aloha, Hawaii. I’m back in DC. He sends me a map with a pin in it. ETA Mystic Hollow in three hours. Want to grab dinner?
My hands shake as I type. The idea of my worlds colliding is more anxiety-inducing than relieving. You don’t have to come out here to visit me.
I watch as gray dots dance on my screen as he types his response. Sure I do. We’re way overdue for a fancy dinner. Something you wanted to do this summer, right?
I groan. I told him “foodie” dinner—of course Oliver would interpret that as “fancy” dinner.
Though I was careful not to mention the bucket list to him.
Knowing Oliver, he would’ve accidentally told others about my list. When I wrote the bullet I was thinking of a few “foodie” places in DC I read about on a food blog.
I tap my phone. Fancy dinner? I’m in Mystic Hollow. They have a great burger joint. The diner connected to Pat’s ice cream parlor comes to mind.
I’ve got something better than burgers in mind…. He leaves one more note about picking me up around five.
“Watch out,” Elle says. I look up from my phone as I nearly collide into a rack of sunflowers. My sister is hunched over a bucket of tulips.
“Sorry. I was…” I lower my phone. “Oliver is going to take me to dinner tonight,” I say.
Elle huffs as she gives me a look like she saw this coming. “Shocker. He’s got a schedule to keep, after all.”
I gasp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She casually adds more flowers to her bucket. “It means he’s like you, the human equivalent of Siri. Although you’ve been going off script this entire summer, which has been aaa-mazing.”
I scoff. “Human equivalent of what?”
She looks me up and down. “You two always have an answer for everything. I’m pretty sure you were born with an itinerary embedded in those pretty heads of yours.
” My frown is Texas-sized. Is that really how she sees me, like a machine?
Elle keeps going. “So, Oliver is probably freaking out that he’s off schedule asking you to officially be his boo. ”
My jaw tightens. “Elle, that’s so rude. Oliver is my friend, a real friend. Not some robot programmed to hang out with me. And as a ‘real’ friend he’s keeping his promise to take me to a fancy parent-free dinner.”
“Your list said ‘foodie,’ ” she deadpans.
I groan. Even Elle knows there’s a difference between fancy and foodie. “You know what I mean.”
“But why?” she asks.
“He invited me. I agreed. Case closed. Stop making up problems.”
“What do you girls think?” Mrs. Rey beams as she gestures at the large pot on her table. It’s a display of golden flowers with the state flag of California displayed in the middle. “Each state flower will have its own pot. And we’ll arrange all the pots, so they form a star,” Mrs. Rey explains.
“Fifty states, fifty flowers,” I muse, in keeping with our fifties theme. “It’s going to be stunning.”
“I agree,” the florist responds eagerly. “You girls are so talented. All the great work you’re doing for our town is so very much appreciated. I hope you make it back here next year, and the year after, and after.”
My heart warms. “Definitely, Mrs. Rey, it feels so nice to be part of the community.” And I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time somewhere without my mom or her staff shadowing me. It feels—liberating.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Rey clasps her hands like her prayers have been answered. “Wonderful! And guess what? We’re going to have some of your flower displays at the dance tonight to give people a little preview.”
I open my mouth to respond, then shut it as I process her comment. “What dance, Mrs. Rey?”
She covers her mouth as she laughs. “I forget how isolated you girls are at that inn. Hasn’t anyone told you about the Founder’s Day Dance? It’s tonight.”
I flush. “Yes, I’ve been focused on the jubilee and lost track of time.”
Mrs. Rey winks at me. “You should both be there. It’ll be a lovely time, especially for kids your age.”
Mrs. Rey lets us leave her shop only after we promise to attend tonight’s dance. Elle is practically glowing. “How convenient Oliver is taking you out to dinner tonight. Maybe you and your boyfriend can check off ‘dance under the stars’ too,” she says. I elbow her. She scowls.
“Hey!” Gabriel waves at us two stores down.
He’s left Pat’s ice cream parlor holding a stack of flyers.
He approaches us, looking fit in a T-shirt and khaki shorts.
We stop on the sidewalk to chat. “The pie contest is a hit,” he says.
“Bunch of folks have been asking for flyers.” He holds up our latest advertisement about the jubilee.
“That’s awesome,” I say, but I don’t feel it. I’ve felt a bit off since the tree swing last night and his “Abby isn’t serious” comment. Something no one has ever accused me of. And then my dad’s revelation about his journalism story didn’t help.
He tilts his head, obviously detecting my hesitation, but fortunately he doesn’t push. “Do you have anything else to take care of while we’re in town?”
“Dress shopping,” Elle says.
I give Elle a nudge as Gabriel shrugs. “Sure. Do you want me to wait for you?”
“For tonight’s Founder’s Day Dance,” Elle continues. “I need a dress.” Her tone is unusually harsh.
Gabriel hesitates. “I was going to mention the dance. Marge asked that I take photos tonight and—”
“Abby is going too,” Elle interrupts. “She has a date.”
Gabriel rocks back. “A date?”
“Tita Karra is going to meet us here to take us shopping,” Elle says. “And then she’ll take us home.”
Gabriel nods, still refusing to make eye contact. “Sounds good. I’m going to drop the rest of the flyers at Latte Love…See you later.”
It isn’t until Gabriel is out of earshot that I yell at Elle. “What was that? Why were you rubbing my dinner with Oliver in his face like that?”