Page 129 of The Oscar Escape
Oscar nodded. “We’ll need one of those.”
“Oscar, what are you planning?” Inez asked, sharing a look with his father.
His dad clapped him on the back. “I know that look. Oscar’s doing what I did in this very location years ago. He’s cooking up a scheme to get the girl.”
Oscar looked at his dad. “It might sound nuts and a little over the top. We’re talking planes, helicopters, cars, and a little love-match magic.”
“You’re in good company,” his father assured him. “Take it from me, kid. Nothing is too crazy when it comes to love.”
“I’ll need your help to pull this off. Can you call Landon and Harper? I need to speak with them.”
“You got it, son.”
Oscar surveyed the group. “I’ll need everyone’s help—and we’ll need to call in reinforcements.” He turned to the judge. “You told Aria that if she made your festival a success, the islanders would always have her back.”
The twitch of a grin curled the jowly judge’s lips. “It’s the Havenmatch way. We take care of each other. And she delivered. You both did.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say.” He eyed the spot on the porch where his mother had carved the numbers. It was almost as if she were there, cheering him on.
“There it is,” Ivy said, still beaming.
“What, Ives? What do you see?”
“Your real smile. It’s back, Ozzy Bear.”
He tapped his sister on the nose and tossed her a wink. He was a man on a mission—a mission fueled by love. “We’ve got an escaped rock star to intercept and a happily ever after to orchestrate.” He admired the ring on his left hand. His wedding ring. He pulled his chain from beneath his T-shirt and touched the twisted bit of silver and gold. Aria’s wedding ring. He studied the group. “Everyone, the stakes couldn’t be higher. We’ve got a lot to do. And I’m grateful to have you with me.” A grin spread across his lips as determination coursed through his veins. “Let’s findmy wife.”
Chapter24
ARIA
Aria gunned the delivery truck’s engine and darted through a yellow light.
Horns blasted.
Okay, fine! It might have been the teensiest bit red.
Damned impatient Denver drivers!
“This thing isn’t as easy to drive as you’d think, asshat,” she yelled out the window as she zoomed through the intersection in the clunky bread box on wheels.
At least it wasn’t cold and icy out today. Otherwise, she might have found herself making friends with a tree trunk. In fact, the weather was perfect—slightly overcast with temps hovering in the low sixties. Late October in the Mile High City could be a real wild card. Residents could either be shivering in a foot of freshly fallen snow or picnicking in the park decked in tank tops and shorts.
And that explained her outfit.
She glanced at her tank top—the one covered in lobsters. The one she kept wearing and washing, day after day, along with the matching lobster panties. She’d also insisted on rocking the red boots. The tour’s costume designer had artfully dressed her in outfits that covered her crustacean clothing during PR events. But today was the day of her last concert, and the haughty designer relayed the directive that the record label wouldn’t approve of her fisherman fashion. The sourpuss was adamant: the tank top and boots had to go.
That was the moment Aria knew that she had to go.
After hearing the demand, she’d offered the woman a placating smile and asked for a moment alone. With no one around to judge her fisherman fashion choices, she’d leaned against the wall and tried to decompress. Since she’d returned to Denver, life churned around her in a raucous rhythm, and she always seemed to be a beat behind. Her mind was elsewhere, lingering in the past with the scent of salt in the air and the ebb and flow of the ocean setting the tempo. As she stared at herself in the mirror, questions that had been with her for nearly her entire life looped through her head.
Who was Aria Paige-Grant supposed to be? And what was she supposed to do?
It wasn’t her fault the question was answered by a piercing whine coming from outside. When she’d looked out the window, she saw two men unloading a cake from a Cupid Bakery truck.
Instantly, she recalled climbing into a delivery truck on her ninth birthday and wishing she could take off with all the goodies.
It had to have been a sign. No, an escape.
