Page 21 of The Sun and the Moon
“Cadence,” Sydney says. Hearing my name in her mouth shakes something loose. A dormant feeling. A sleeping beast. Our eyes lock—heated, honest. “What’s the plan?”
“You want to help me break them up?”
“Call mepartner,” she says. “Let’s break this case wide-open.”
A thrill scampers up my spine, the heat of it curling around my ears and warming my cheeks. A partner. Someone who gets it,wants in. Someone who puts themselves in the fray with you and promises to have your back.
I don’t believe in soulmates. I won’t acknowledge that the Universe might be trying to turn Sydney into mine.
But a partner? I wouldn’t mind that.
Even if it’s only for a week.
Chapter Ten
Sydney
The plan is simple.
Like the most iconic little black dress.
Like an exceptional martini.
We’re going with a classic bait and switch.
Tonight at themeet the famdinner, we’ll start by getting them to open up about the progression of their romance. I’ll prod Moira about her business, using the very real truth that I don’t know anything about it and I’m curious how someone can make a living doing what she does. Her self-published books aside, it seems the bulk of her income comes from Kismet. We’ll push for a timeline with hard facts. Have they set a wedding date? Are they planning on having a ceremony or eloping? Anything we can use to gather clues about the fast track they’ve put themselves on.
“They’ll probably both cite their age,” Cadence had said as we plotted. Poking holes in the plan, prodding it, looking for flaws.Vigilantandearnest. Those were the words I thought as I observed her mind at work.
Her warm hazel-gold eyes were molten; her voice took on this manic, urgent rhythm.
Vigilantbecause she’s always had to be. A feeling I relate to more than anyone knows.
Us against the worldisn’t exactly a mantra that makes a kid feel secure.
Sure, Dad was there for me growing up—I’m convinced it was the best he could do. An old-school kind of guy, he wasn’t great at feelings. He wasn’t great with periods and mood swings, and there was an Airbus-size gap in his knowledge about everything from proper bra fits to how to handle broken hearts, but he never missed a parent-teacher night and he never forgot to sign a form or attend a band recital.
He was there in a lot of ways that count, but not in many of the ways a girl needs as she becomes a woman. Vigilance can become the coping method even when you look like a messy, devil-may-care,youngest female pilot in your airlinetype of gal.
“We’ll ask them why bother at all, then?” I replied, shrugging and smiling. Playing it like I was the one who would bring the chill to this duo. “The excuse for that one is a lot less obvious.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners with her smile. The levity in her face didn’t last long, which was good, because the way her skin flushed beneath her freckles made my stomach feel off-balance.
Pilots constantly experience our equilibrium going out of whack. We’re masters at maintaining balance against all odds. I just wasn’t used to the tilt while sitting at a metal bistro table in a Pasadena coffee shop where origami cranes hang from the ceiling and the windows are painted with an elaborate rose motif.
Now I flip my phone out of my purse to check the time. I’m the first one to the restaurant despite my preference for always beinga cool ten minutes fashionably late. My nerves got the better of me while I was getting ready. Joe got into my head about traffic. I worried there wouldn’t be parking. It was a mess in my head, and the only solution was to act. Lean into the nerves; that always gets me through it.
The sidewalk is damp from a light mist of rain; shadows and light play on the ground. The Eastside really isn’t my scene, but this little strip of road is the main drag in the neighborhood, and it shows in the variety of shops, bars, restaurants, and even a movie theater lining the road. The restaurant entrance is down a quiet street off the main drag, on the second floor of a brick deco building, with a balcony that overlooks the hustle and bustle. I’m waiting downstairs for literally anyone else in the party to arrive.
I have half a mind to hide out in the bushes until they do.
I open my texts, considering starting a thread with Cadence. She gave me her number so we could coordinate or communicate under the radar from our parents. I saved her in my phone as Ranger Girl and have convinced myself (almost) that I did so simply because I didn’t want either parent to know I was texting her, in the event they got a peek at my phone. I tap the icon for her fake name and open a text box.
Hey, I’m here already, I start to type.
No, that will make her think of me as both punctual and impatient. And it’s not that either of those labels is wrong, per se, it’s just not how I want the Ranger Girl with the wild hair and the sad eyes to think of me. I’ve never been late to a flight. Never been one to go with the flow. I just don’t want anyone to know I’m that way.
“You beat me,” a voice—Cadence’s voice—says. I look up to see she’s halfway down the block and moving stealthily. My breath gets caught in my throat, like a bug I’m about to choke on.Cadence has tamed her mane into a low ponytail, the curls smooth and soft as they billow over her shoulder in a cascade toward her chest.
She’s paired a hunter-green button-down blouse made of some kind of gauzy, clingy material with dark jeans and simple loafers.
