Page 99 of The Sebastian Guarantee
She had a decision to make regarding her professional life. She was stone-cold broke.
She’d ventured out on her own with Foot Tap Studio, dreaming of creating Go Girl. Had that been a mistake? Was she better off putting her heartfelt aspirations on the back burner and going back to work for her aunt and uncle? Was that what her parents would want for her?
She stared into the coffee cup and narrowed her gaze, searching the dark liquid for the answers.
“Need a warm-up, sugar?” came a woman’s singsong voice.
Phoebe blinked, snapping out of her stupor, and looked up to find the waitress smiling at her. With a faded name tag sporting the name Val clipped to a pink apron, heavy makeup, and her white-blond hair piled on top of her head and saturated to shellac-level with hairspray, the woman looked like she’d been sent from central casting to play the part of the middle-aged, small-town server who’d been dishing out decaf, delivering plates of the daily special, and shooting the breeze with locals for the last half-century.
“A what?” Phoebe stammered, taking a second to engage with the real world.
The waitress slipped a pen behind her ear and held up a steaming pot. “A warm-up for the half-cup of coffee you’ve been staring at for the last hour. Let’s get you topped off. And it’s your lucky day, sugar. I’ve been told I make the best cup of joe in all of Stratlin, Colorado.”
That’s right—Stratlin, Colorado. Her mother’s hometown.
She hadn’t planned on setting off on a mini road trip. She’d run out of coffee, which had been all she could manage to consume these last few days. When she’d found the canister empty, she’d stared at her parents’ photo. She’d had no intention of leaving her apartment, but a strange feeling came over her as she gazed at their smiling faces. Like she’d been issued marching orders, she’d grabbed her tote, thrown in her laptop, and gotten in her car, thinking she would zip to a coffee shop to get her next hit of caffeine. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead of popping inside or breezing through the coffee place’s drive-thru, she hit the gas and hit the road. She’d jumped on the highway and headed east until the sun-beaten sign for Stratlin, Colorado, caught her eye.
“Got a lot on your mind, sugar?” the waitress probed as she filled the cup. “Man problems?”
Phoebe chewed her lip. “Um.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Job troubles?”
“Well . . .” Phoebe sputtered.
The waitress stepped back and looked her over. “Are you from around here, sugar?”
Phoebe could answer that one. “I’m from Denver.”
“A big city girl. But why do I think I know you?” the waitress mused, then walked a few tables down. “Clem, Amaryllis, take a look at this big city gal. I swear, I’ve seen her before.”
“I’ve never been to Stratlin. I’m sure of it,” Phoebe called, hating to cause a ruckus and interrupt a couple on her behalf.
This Clem and Amaryllis scooted out of their booth and ambled over. The elderly couple peered down at her. Clem, a slim man, wore thick glasses, a faded ball cap with a red fox embroidered on it, and the wordsStratlin High Schoolstitched beneath the animal.
At the sight of the fox, she couldn’t help but think of Sebastian and the poor animal who’d nearly met his maker on the day her life had gone from something out of a dream to the stuff of nightmares. She couldn’t help herself. Her heart hadn’t caught up with her head. It ached for the man who’d professed his love in the pouring rain. It had felt so real, so genuine. Sure, most declarations of love weren’t sandwiched between lightning strikes and near-animal electrocutions. Still, as hard as she’d tried these last few days, she couldn’t banish the image from her mind of Sebastian, gazing at her like she was everything he’d always wanted and never knew he could have.
She returned her attention to the couple. They stared at her like she was an attraction at the zoo, but there was warmth in their eyes.
“You know why you think you know this young lady, Val?” Clem said as a grin cracked his wrinkled face.
Val adjusted her apron. “I’m all ears, Clem.”
“Because she’s the spitting image of Melanie Funke,” Amaryllis answered before the man could continue, then gifted her with a warm grin.
Val cocked her head to the side. “Good gravy, she sure is.”
At the sound of her mother’s name, Phoebe’s throat tightened. She sat there, dumbstruck, staring at the trio. “I’m Phoebe Gale. Melanie Funke Gale is my mom—she was my mom. She passed away with my father . . .”
“Coming on twenty years ago, give or take a few years,” Clem supplied, his features growing solemn.
Phoebe swallowed past the emotion. “Yes.”
“We were heartbroken when we heard the news. She doesn’t have any kin left in Stratlin. Her granny passed not a year after Melanie graduated from high school. But we loved her like family when she was with us,” Amaryllis offered, her expression matching Clem’s.
Phoebe steadied herself. “How did you know my mom?”
“You’re looking at Stratlin High School’s former principal and school secretary, Amaryllis and Clem Wagner,” Val said, nodding to the couple.
