Page 8

My eyes graze over this gorgeous, poised girl as though I’m seeing her through a new lens. With her tall, willowy frame, shiny blond hair, and heartbreaker face, at first glance, she appears to have everything going for her. And in a way, that’s still true. But, for the first time ever, I detect a shadow of sadness lurking within.

Knowing a window’s been cracked, and that it probably won’t stay open for long, I summon the courage to ask, “El, don’t you ever…” I pause, gnawing the inside of my cheek as I search for just the right word. “Well, I guess what I want to know is, don’t you ever get mad or resentful toward Arthur for putting us in these dangerous situations just so he can add to his collection of fine art and jewels?”

I freeze as I wait for her reply, worried I might have crossed a line. Elodie’s fiercely devoted to Arthur, and she’s told me multiple times that she thinks of him as a father.

Surprisingly, she just shrugs. “I guess I always figured it’s a small price to pay after everything he’s done for me,” she says, her voice quiet, face pensive.

“You mean like, saving you from the children’s home?” I ask, holding my breath as I wait for her to respond.

Elodie sighs. “You say that like it’s nothing, but you have no idea how truly Dickensian it was. If Arthur hadn’t stepped in when he did, I wouldn’t be standing here today. And I don’t mean here, with you, in New York City. I mean I never would’ve made it past my tenth birthday.”

As I continue to study her, I can’t help but wonder if, like Braxton and Killian, Elodie is also not from my timeline.

Before I can ask, she says, “Now, my turn to ask you a question.”

I give a tentative nod, braced for just about anything, as I watch her long lashes flutter and her lips curve into a mischievous grin.

Glancing past my shoulder, she says, “How come you never mentioned that your dad is so smokin’?”

I squint, trying to decipher her words.

“Between the tousled hair you just want to run your fingers through, that piercing green gaze, and the sexy, intellectual vibe, not to mention the way he fills out those jeans…I could easily forget about Jago. Nash too, for that matter.”

I follow her gaze to the back wall, over to where a man with wavy brown hair, wearing faded jeans and a light blue button-down shirt, is surrounded by friends, casually sipping a beer.

In an instant, my jaw falls slack, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, as a kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in my chest.

It’s him. Ohmigod-Ohmigod-Ohmigod—it’s really, truly him!

I gape at the sight, aware that I’m staring, but unable to stop. He’s a lot younger than I remember. His hair is darker, devoid of a single hint of gray, and the fine lines that will later spread like wings around his eyes have yet to appear. Yet, all the familiar mannerisms are there.

The way he stands with one hand hooked into his pocket as he rocks on his heels.

The way he tosses his head back when he breaks into a belly laugh.

The way he pinches his lips together in the same way I do.

The dad I haven’t seen in a decade—the man who was murdered by Killian’s hand—is now here, in the back patio of this random New York City bar, celebrating his twenty-first birthday, just a handful of steps from where I now stand.

This is exactly the moment I’d hoped for.

The very reason I put everything at risk by choosing to embark on this Trip.

And yet, now that the moment has come—now that he’s well within reach—I find that I’m frozen, numb, completely immobilized, unable to do anything more than gawk at the sight.

“I mean, it is him, right?” Elodie shoots me a tentative look, but all I can do is silently nod in return.

I should’ve come up with a plan. I mean, even if I could manage to make it across the room, even if I could get my tongue unstuck enough to form actual words, what the hell would I even say?

What’s the correct way to approach the parent you once shared such a strong bond with, but who doesn’t even know you exist because your conception is still seven years away?

“Honestly, Nat…” Elodie goes on, but her voice is like white noise in my ear.

My dad is here. I found him. Well, to be fair, Elodie found him. But still—he’s right over there!

“…acting weird, and if you’re not going to carpe diem, then I guess you leave me no choice but to—”

Wait—what?