Chapter 3
The first step of The Plan happens that evening as I sit alone next to an empty seat at an outdoor performance of the local symphony at a park a few towns away.
The county is mostly rural. Just a collection of small towns with farms and pastures between them. But we’re close enough to big cities to have a percentage of the population be wealthy, so we have a number of cultural activities that wouldn’t happen in other rural counties.
One of those activities is quarterly symphony orchestra performances—outdoors in spring and summer and indoors in autumn and winter.
Anyone can attend, bringing blankets or folding chairs to set up in the grass around the performance space. But the rows of chairs in the best positions are ticketed, and I’m in possession of two of them.
Aunt Grace and Audrey were planning to go, but they were happy to sacrifice the tickets in service of The Plan.
Wes is already in place. Jake, his father, came early to nab a prime position on the grass nearby, and Wes is sitting with him and Aunt Grace and Audrey. He’s pretending not to notice me.
Or maybe he actually doesn’t.
Natalie spent a lot of time deciding on my outfit.
I’m wearing one of Aunt Grace’s dresses—she lived for twenty years in Europe before moving home after our parents died, and she has a large collection of the most beautiful, bohemian dresses in existence.
This one is a warm dusty pink with large white polka dots and a long, swingy skirt, and I’ve paired it with cute boots and the same hand-knit white cardigan I wore yesterday.
I’m a little more dressed up than most people in attendance, but I’m not the only one who used this as an opportunity to wear something nice.
Besides, I’m supposed to be on a date.
Only my date isn’t showing up.
I would never consider myself a great actor, but our livelihood and Blossom Park itself is on the line, so I call on every skill I possess to pretend an increasing impatience over my no-show of a date.
I check my watch. I keep pulling up messages on my phone. I look around, peering at every newcomer. And then I finally stand up and make an obvious search of the park in all directions.
“Maybe he’s just running late.” That’s the older woman with an elegant updo and no-nonsense shoes sitting beside me. “We still have a few minutes.”
I sit back down with slumped shoulders. “I know. But I’d think he would text if he were running late.” Responding to her sympathetic smile, I go on. “It’s a new thing. So I might be stood up.”
On cue, my phone chimes with a new message. I check it and see the text from Audrey. Fake message canceling on you.
I slump even more.
“He stood you up?” the lady beside me asks.
“Yes.” I tuck my loose hair back behind my ears. “Story of my life.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re so pretty, and you have the sweetest smile. I’m sure young men are falling all over themselves to get to you.”
“That’s so nice.” I’m genuinely appreciative of the woman’s kindness, so I don’t have to fake my smile. “But I’ve gotten stood up more than once. And now I have an empty seat in the first row.”
“Do you know anyone here out on the grass? Maybe someone can take the seat so it doesn’t go to waste. It would be a shame to have even one empty seat in this row.”
“That’s a good idea. My aunt and sister are here. Let me find them.”
Everything is going exactly right so far. When I search and then spot the blanket, Aunt Grace, Audrey, and Jake are seated there but not Wes.
I walk over, smiling ruefully as I explain that my date canceled so maybe Aunt Grace would like the better seat.
Aunt Grace is only in her forties, but her hair went white ten years ago. She wears it long and wavy, and it’s a striking contrast to her clear skin and blue eyes. She’s in a folding beach chair next to Jake, and she explains that she’s comfortable where she is.
Audrey has to leave early, so she doesn’t want to take the good seat.
Then, right on cue, someone walks up behind me and gently pulls up my sweater from where it’s slipped partway down my arms.
Wes.
I give him a resigned look and gesture toward the seats.
He shrugs and says he’ll take it if no one else will.
So the two of us walk to the reserved seats, and it feels like everyone is watching us as we do.
I’m sure that’s not true. The sweet older lady in the seat beside me clearly hadn’t spent any time on social media lately. She had no idea who I was. The same must be true of a large portion in attendance.
But some will know.
I see a few phones raised, and one flash goes off as I turn to give Wes an annoyed look.
We brainstormed a little argument about who would sit in what seat, but it doesn’t feel natural. Instead, when I glance up at his smug expression, I scowl at him in the way I always do.
“What’s that for?” he asks, clearly annoyed and confused by the scowl.
“You don’t have to look so superior.”
“You keep saying that, but this is my normal expression.”
“Maybe your normal expression is superior. Did you ever think of that?”
“I’ve always understood superior to be a desirable trait.”
“Not made-up superiority over other people.”
He snorts. “You’re imagining things.”
We’ve reached the chairs now, and I flop down in the seat next to the kind, smiling woman.
“So you found someone?” she asks.
“Yeah. My sister has to leave early, so I got stuck with a family friend.”
“Aw, he doesn’t look so bad. He’s a very handsome young man, and you two look like you know each other very well.”
“We do. All our lives.” I slant him a look.
He’s shaking his head at me. Then, in a wry gesture, he scoots his chair to the side so there’s a little more distance between us.
Laughter spills out of me, and it’s genuine. Something about the look on his face.
When the orchestra starts up, we settle in to listen.
I’m dying to check my phone to see if anyone filmed and posted about us, but I don’t dare.
Instead, I sit for a couple of hours next to Wes and try to focus on the music.
But mostly I’m thinking about Blossom Park.
And a little bit thinking about Wes.