Page 15 of The Roads We Follow

Adele doesn’t bat an eye when I refer to our mama by her first name. I was twelve before I realized this wasn’t the normal practice of children everywhere.

After a curt nod, she walks toward the house, her block heels clacking against the driveway.

“Is she always like that?”

“Pretty much,” I say as I move to collect the blue toiletry bag from her trunk.

He clears his throat for longer than what should be humanly possible. “Um, I think you might be forgetting something?”

I twist back to see him pointing at the cheetah undies on the pavement.

“It’d be a shame to lose those,” he deadpans as he moves toward the trunk. “They look expensive.”

“Seriously,they aren’t mine,” I hiss emphatically, swiping them up and tossing them back into the open luggage compartment.

His chuckle comes out low. “Guess I’ll need to take your word for that.”

He reaches with both hands for a cooler that’s half the size of Adele’s trunk, and it’s a chore to drag my eyes away from his tan, sculpted forearms. If these are the arms of today’s bus drivers, then it’s a wonder why more people don’t choose this mode of transportation. I sling Adele’s toiletry bag and laptop satchel over my shoulder, then reach back to collect the long garment bag, nearly tripping over the tail as I work to follow our bus driver inside. Three strides into the air conditioning later, he sets the ice cooler down and heaves out a hard breath before closing the door and twisting around to face me. “You never answered my question.”

I blow a chunk of frizzing curls off my forehead and plant my feet on the top step. “I’m not discussing those panties with you one more—”

“Not that.” He shakes his head. “I’m still wondering if you’re coming with us?”

With two cumbersome pieces of luggage slipping off my shoulder, I lay Adele’s garment bag on the arm of the white pull-out sofa that stretches from the dining table to the driver’s cockpit. “Pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to make it five minutes on the road without me.”

His next laugh determines just how much I enjoy the sound of it. “What’s your name?”

I drop the last of Adele’s bags at my feet and work to catch my breath. “Just call me Cinderella.”

5

Micah

Thanks to Cinderella, the second thoughts I’ve experienced since boarding that plane yesterday have eased considerably. After Luella and her house manager had dropped me off to get acquainted with the tour bus parked at her grand estate, Garrett’s most recent lecture regarding my impulsivity had started to ring true.“You do realizehow ludicrous it sounds to be joining a random family for a two-week road trip in hopes it mightsolve the origin questions in your own family, right?”Of course I did, and yet it wasn’t enough to stop me from trying.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the beautiful woman I just met sort and put away each of the prepackaged meals and green drinks inside the fridge and wonder what her actual staff title is around here. If Jana is the house manager, could Cinderella be a personal assistant of sort to the sisters? I wonder how many employees it takes to run a property of this caliber. Definitely more than the grandmotherly Jana who drove ten miles under the speedlimit and mentioned her arthritis flare-up at every intersection we approached. Luella, on the other hand, pointed out famous venues and landmarks like she was my personal tour guide. As she talked, it was nearly impossible to drive down Broadway without wondering how many places my mother and Luella had performed at together back in the day. And even more impossible not to think how different her life would have been if Luella hadn’t pushed her from the spotlight all those years ago.

“Have you known the Farrow family long?” I ask Cinderella as I walk the length of the front lounge, which boasts white leather sofas on either side of me.

“All my life,” she replies simply.

“Then can I ask you about these framed pictures on the wall? They look like they’re all from the same time period.” I’ve lost sleep over how I might broach the subject of my true parentage with Luella, but maybe I’ve been overthinking it. Maybe this beautiful brunette with the out-of-control curls, witty mouth, and close family connection will prove an invaluable resource.

She lifts a Greek yogurt out of the cooler with her left hand, and I’m not disappointed to discover there’s no ring on her finger. She glances at me over her shoulder. “They are, actually. They’re all from the last road trip this bus traveled—a music tour. What do you want to know about them?”

At her reply, my mind sharpens. It’s what I’d thought when I studied them alone earlier. I’d recognized a couple of the framed pictures as duplicates of the ones my mother kept in her music office. Again, I’m surprised by how easy this seems. Perhaps God decided to throw me a bone.

“I was just trying to place the people in them. I recognize Luella, of course. She must have discovered the fountain of youth in the last thirty years because she looks the same.”

Cinderella rises from where she’s been squatting in front of the fridge and smooths her palm over the curve of her right hip where her belt loop is frayed from the escapade in the luggage department.I swallow and glance away, though my pulse kicks up considerably as she nears. Her green eyes gleam with unmistakable curiosity.

“That fountain of youth’s name is Elizabeth Harrington, and she’s one of the most highly esteemed aestheticians in the industry.” She smirks at me a bit. “Pro tip, you should really save those types of compliments for when she’s around to hear them. Flattery is anythingbutoverrated where she’s concerned. You’ll be sure to see that reflected in your tip, too. Just don’t let Adele overhear you.”

“Why not?” I muse. “Adele doesn’t like to receive a compliment?”

“Adele doesn’t like a lot of things.”

Whatever hope I had at masking my growing interest in this fairy-tale-like enigma disappears in a blink. Honesty has long been the quality I’m most attracted to in a woman, and this one doesn’t need any extra help in the attractive department.

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