Page 49 of The Sun and the Moon
“The temp drops fast,” Cadence counters.
It’s clear from their exchange that there is substantial history between them, but it feels more familial than romantic.
“And you’re Lola,” I break in as the thought enters my head and then immediately leaves my mouth. I extend my hand, and Lola ignores it.
“Sydney, the pilot daughter,” she says brightly. She grabs me in an unexpected embrace. She smells of cinnamon and sugar, and I remember she was experimenting with baking cookies recently, but somehow she feels like the type of person who would just always smell like that.
She presses back, and then motions to the man-tree beside her. “This is Hawthorne. My plus-one.”
“Hawthorne,” Cadence repeats his name as if searching for the rest of it.
“That’s it,” Lola says.
“Named for the author,” Hawthorne says, his voice a rumble of thunder through my bones. Lola leans into him, but with her petite figure, she only reaches the middle of his chest. The logistics of this pairing baffle the mind.
“We have a theory,” Lola says. She and Hawthorne lean toward us. Cadence and I instinctively reciprocate. This move puts our bodies even closer. The light press of her arm against mine is almost all I can think about. “This is a hell of a lot of trouble for an engagement party.” Lola raises both her thick copper eyebrows.
Without her saying the rest, my stomach drops. A cold pit forms in its place.
“You don’t mean you think they’re secretly getting married this weekend?” Cadence asks, sounding appalled. Lola bites her lip and nods.
“They invited, like, fifty people,” Lola continues. “I saw the guest list. And plus, this romantic setting—”
“Solvang is hardly romantic,” Cadence cuts in.
“We’re surrounded by wineries and cute inns, it’s practically a Hallmark movie,” Lola says, scrunching up her face in annoyance. Cadence leans back, as if by moving away from Lola she can get away from this possible scenario.
“There you two are,” Moira calls to us. She motions for us to come over. Cadence looks like she wants to stay put, Lola makes her wide eyes wider, and Hawthorne stands erect like the old-growth tree that he is.
“Come on.” I tug lightly on the edge of Cadence’s t-shirt, and I could swear she leans in. Against me. It doesn’t last long, but I know it happens.
“There’s a problem with your rooms,” Moira says.
And for the second time in two minutes my insides become a tundra.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cadence
They only have one room available.
I keep repeating the words in my head, trying to alchemize them into something different. I had assumed Moira, in her infinite psychic-ness—and her certainty that I would come to this party—would have gone ahead and booked me my own room. I don’t mean to sound entitled or anything, and it isn’t my preference, it’s just what my mother would normally do.
So not only is this a disaster, it’s suspect, as it goes against behavior I have come to expect from her. My mother is the type of person to plan a dinner reservation without confirming you’re available and then make you feel like shit if you can’t make it. The Hygge is her haunt. The spot she stays in every time she comes to Solvang.
“You’re telling me that you forgot to book me my own room?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“I forgot to call in the whirlwind of your arrival,” she says, tapping her room key on the counter. Impatient. I can read on herface the subtle shift from amused to agitated as it happens in real time.
“And there’s nothing available, not even for you?” I ask, not trying to flatter her, though she definitely takes it that way. Her smile creeps back out, chasing her annoyance away with the flames of her ego. I cross my arms to shut out her happiness as it bounds toward me.
“The Danish Days Festival brings in thousands of extra travelers,” she replies. “So, as you can probably imagine, the whole town is full.”
I open my mouth to argue, because in a tourist town like this, there has to be something available. An Airbnb at the very least—even if it’s not ideal. But Rick gets in there first.
“Well, Syd wouldn’t mind letting you bunk with her,” he says, and then turns his crystal-blue eyes to Sydney. I swear to God, the look that passes between them is loaded. He practically pleads. My mind is glitching over his use of the wordbunk, like we’re two girls at summer camp and not two gay girls with heaps of chemistry and a stupid soulmate prediction fucking around with our heads.
“Oh, what a wonderful idea, love,” Moira says, gripping Rick by the arm and tugging him in for a kiss on the cheek. He beams.
