Page 4 of Her Surprise Vacation Date

Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather meet someone like how my parents did—in person instead of through a phone screen. I’d been hoping to do that tomorrow—my days off finally coincided with the singles hangout at my church—but now I’ll be spending it babysitting my sister’s friend instead.

Yeah, I’m just a little annoyed by this change in plans.

But I already said yes, so there’s no use in grumbling. I grab a duffel bag and start throwing in some random shirts and shorts that, judging from their smell, should be clean. In my sleep-deprived state, I can’t recall the last time I did laundry. In fact, I can’t recall much more than my own name. It typically takes me a whole day to recover physically and mentally from a shift. Let’s hope whoever Amelia’s friend is will be okay with my current zombie-like state.

As I lock up my apartment and hustle to my sedan, I realize that I don’t even know who I’m picking up from the airport. Other than the fact that she’s one of my sister’s book club friends, I have no identifying information. Not a name or age or even the color of her hair. I suppose I’ll have to wait for Amelia’s text to find out more.

It’s not until two cups of coffee and a hundred and fifty miles later, when I’m parked at a rest stop, that my phone dings. A screenshot of a flight number and arrival time pops up on my screen.

A phone call from my sister soon follows. “Did you get my text? How’s the drive going? Where are you at?”

“I did. It’s going okay. I’m near Cambria, and I got caffeine like you suggested.”

“That’s why you sound a tiny bit more chipper.”

“Ha ha,” I drawl as a yawn escapes my mouth. “How’re you feeling?”

“Tired, but a little less green.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital and get some meds to help with the nausea?”

“That’s exactly what Hope said when I told her I couldn’t make our trip. I’m fine, really. I’m just going to keep downing clear liquids and sleep this off.”

My ears perk up at the mention of a name. “Did you say Hope? Is that who I’m meeting?”

“Yeah, I thought I told you. Sorry, I’m so out of it.”

“No biggie. I figured you just told your friend to keep an eye out for the tall, dark, and handsome man who’d be picking her up.”

A loud cackle comes over the line. “Oh, please. I would never be able to say that with a straight face. Anyway, Hope knows what you look like. It’s been a while since she’s seen you in person, but you haven’t changed that much.”

“Say what?” I feel like I should know who she’s talking about, but the gears in my brain are moving in slow motion. “I’ve met this friend of yours before?”

“Of course! She was over at our house practically every day when we were growing up. She slept over sometimes on the weekends, too. Don’t tell me you don’t remember my best friend in the entire world?”

I shoot up in my seat, and my head nearly hits the roof of the car. The pieces of the puzzle are falling into place, creating the last picture I was expecting. My sister’s best friend? The only person she could be referring to is?—

“Hope O’Connor!” Amelia exclaimed. “I can’t believe you forgot about her!”

“I didn’t forget about Hope.” My calm tone hides the shock that’s swirling inside my gut. That one name conjuresup memories of flaming red hair and bright blue eyes that used to glare at me whenever I tormented her—Hope’s words, not mine. In my defense, I was a goofy prepubescent kid with the maturity of a gnat. I thought girls liked it when boys played jokes on them. I had no game at all when it came to the opposite sex then.

Maybe I still don’t.

I look down at my holey sweatpants and faded T-shirt, then glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. In my rush, I’d forgotten to comb my hair and hadn’t bothered to shave. My dark hair sticks up like an untrimmed hedge and the stubble along my jawline resembles a porcupine’s back. Yikes. Maybe zombie-like wasn’t an exaggeration.

“Would you do me a favor, Shane,” my sister’s voice resounds in my ear again, “and pick up some cookies for Hope? Tell her they’re my ‘I’m sorry I ditched you with my brother’ apology cookies—no offense to you, of course.”

I shake my head and grumble, “Offense completely taken. But yes, I’ll get the cookies.”

“Great, thank you! I’ll pay you back. See if you can find Hope’s favorite. They’re?—”

“Oatmeal raisin.” I’m already doing a search on my phone for a bakery close to the airport. “Either that or chocolate chip with walnuts.”

“Um, yes, but how did you know that? How did you know those are her favorite?”

“You guys used to bake all the time when she came over.”

My answer ends my sister’s interrogation, which is a relief because it’s the only one she’s going to get from me. There’s of course another explanation why I know what Hope’s favorite cookies are, as well as every other detail about her from high school.

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