Page 9 of Hideaway Heart

Without waiting for him to argue, I hung up and put my phone on Do Not Disturb.

* * *

The trip took me almost twelve hours, but it was still light out when I arrived at my new home for the next couple weeks—an A-frame chalet nestled deep in the woods without a single neighbor visible in any direction.

Elated with the privacy, the mild temperature, and fourteen days of freedom, I tossed my hat aside, shook out my hair, and jumped out of the van. I was giddy with excitement—I’d stopped once for gas, once for a sandwich at a drive-thru, and once for a few fresh vegetables at a roadside farm stand, and I hadn’t been recognized asingletime. Twirling in a circle, I breathed deeply, taking it all in.

The air smelled like wet dirt and dead leaves and something tangy and herbal—like the dandelions you picked when you were a kid and thought were beautiful. I used to pluck tons of them from the vacant lot near our house and give them to my mom as a “bouquet.” Poor Mama would dutifully put them in a mason jar with some water every time.

The A-frame was small, its façade painted moss green and its roof—which extended all the way to the ground—was a deep orange. A wooden porch ran the width of the front, with two rocking chairs to one side of the door and a large potted plant on the other.

Glancing to the left, I noted a fire pit surrounded by four red Adirondack chairs. I wondered if I could figure out how to build a fire without accidentally burning down the house.

I approached the front door and quickly checked my email to find the code the rental company had provided to Jess, which she’d then forwarded to me. Punching in the numbers, the lock released and I opened the door.

Unlike my home in Nashville, which had been newly decorated in soothing whites and pale grays when I bought it, this place offered only comfy shades of brown. Knotty pine walls, coffee-colored couch, russet brick hearth, carpet the color of sand. I sniffed—it smelled slightly musty. Since the place had a screen door, I left the wooden front door open and cranked open the casement windows on either side of it to air out the room.

Straight ahead was a galley kitchen that would have fit within the breakfast nook of my Nashville home—just a dishwasher, a stainless sink, and a brown electric range that looked like it predated me. A butcher-block-topped peninsula jutted out from the wall, and two stools were tucked beneath it.

I wandered down the hall and found the bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. The white and yellow bathroom wasn’t fancy, but it was bright and clean, and the towels folded on the vanity looked thick and fluffy. The bedroom was small, and the steep pitch of the knotty pine wall opposite the door made it seem even more confined, like a cross between a treehouse and a teepee.

The queen-sized bed had no headboard, but it was covered with puffy white bedding and plenty of pillows. The window above it looked out into the woods. Kneeling on the mattress, I cranked it open, smiling when I felt the fresh, cool air come through the screen and caress my face.

It wasn’t the Ritz Carlton, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t need an ocean view or overpriced minibar or room service to relax. Happy with my cozy little hideaway, I hummed a tune as I headed outside to bring in my bags. (It took me a couple tries to get that damn suitcase out of the van, but I managed.)

After unpacking groceries, clothing, and toiletries, I stuck one vibrator under the bed and the other one in the shower, and traded my denim cutoffs, white T-shirt, and boots for running shorts, a sports bra, and Nikes. In the bathroom, I tightened my ponytail and smeared a little sunscreen on my face and arms. I was just about to stick my earbuds in and head out for a run when I realized I hadn’t let anyone know I’d arrived safely.

I picked up my phone and noticed I’d gotten several text messages while I was on the road. One from Jess, one from Wags, and three from my mother, all wanting to know how the drive was. There was one from my stylist, Kayla, asking me to put a few fittings on the calendar. And I had two voicemails—one from Duke (which I deleted without listening to), and one from my dad. I wantedso badlyto be able to delete that one too, but I couldn’t. It was like no matter how old I got or how many times he disappointed me, there was a little girl inside me who held out hope every single time that he’d somehow magically become the daddy I wanted.

I took a breath and played it.

“Hi, peanut. I know you don’t want to be bothered on your trip, so I won’t keep you, but I didn’t get a chance when we were on the phone earlier to remind you about that loan. I’ve got this new thing going that’s gonna be huge, and I’m getting in on the ground floor. I won’t bore you with all the details, but if you could just send me a check for, oh, twenty thousand—maybe make it twenty-five—that should be good. Thanks, peanut. You’re my best girl.”

I kept listening for a few seconds, almost like I expected something more, but of course, there was nothing else. He just wanted money, same as always.

I deleted the message. Took a deep breath. Counted to ten.

After I replied to my stylist, saying I’d add the fittings to my schedule and reminding her I was on vacation for two weeks, I sent a note to Jess.

I made it! Got in about half an hour ago, and all is well.

Yay! Place okay? I know it’s definitely not the five-star hotels you’re used to but you said you wanted something rustic where no one would find you!

You did a great job! It’s perfect. Small, hidden away, definitely rustic, but clean and cozy. I love it.

Good. Enjoy your time off!

You too!

Next, I texted Wags and my mom together.

I’m here. I’m fine. I’m happy. No sign of bears or even humans nearby.

I’m keeping my phone on Do Not Disturb so I can commune with nature, but I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t worry about me.

Immediately, Wags liked my initial message and typed one back.