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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
AMELIA
It’s been forty-eight hours since that world-shattering row with Jake, and my soul is a fractured, twisted mess of grief and despair. Yet a relentless voice within grates, “Buck up, and move on, girl.”
The rational course is clear: return to England, slip into the role of innkeeper, and accept my future making a living with a stiff upper lip. But “making a living” doesn’t seem enough when I’ve actually lived a life.
I shake my head. Useless thoughts. Unproductive. I need to pull myself together.
There’ll be lots to tackle when I get back. Modernizing the inn’s reception software. Refreshing the exterior paint. Revamping the breakfast menu—nothing wins hearts like a trendy avocado toast.
All worthy causes that would have the inn running better. Not five-star upgrades, but serviceable. Adequate. Mediocre.
Mediocre. Jake’s pronouncement of my life.
I was livid at that verbal slap. But now his assessment verdict haunts me.
Is it truly a mark of shame, though? In a world awash with the ordinary, my story is one of many. There’s no disgrace in the everyday, no dishonor in the mundane.
At least I got this brief, incandescent interval to live my dreams, each more vivid with Jake by my side. But stars are meant for gazing, not grasping, and I cannot hitch myself to his light.
I need to come to terms with the new-old direction of my life, pull on my big-girl knickers and face the music—or in this case, the deafening silence of the British countryside.
I should call Gran. A straightforward task: pick up the phone, scroll to her name, hit connect. Yet somehow, every time I try, my hand recoils like I’m reaching for a loaded trap.
Deep down, I know the truth—it’s not the thought of England that terrifies me, it’s the vacuum my life will be when I leave Jake behind.
Maybe that’s why Fordwich, once synonymous with home, now whispers of surrender.
But haven’t I already given up?
Thunderous knocking yanks me out of my wallow-fest, and I bolt up.
Has Jake come back?
Unlikely.
The tenants are returning any day and have booked a cleaning service. I’ve made room for them to work by corralling my belongings in the dining nook.
Flanking my bulging suitcase is a collection of odds and ends I haven’t been able to stuff inside: A tote filled with RhythmRoutes swag—that can go in the rubbish. Then there’s my gala gown, enshrouded in a plastic garment bag, and draped over a chair.
At its feet, my heart-achingly beautiful red shoes sit atop their box.
Fitting them into my carry-on might be feasible, but the stark truth is Fordwich is less glitz and glamour, more messes and mops.
Sell them? Or donate? It’s like choosing between ripping off a Band-Aid or slowly peeling it away.
Dragging my feet, I head to the door.
It flies open before I fully twist the knob, revealing a visibly irritated Yvonne.
Dread and joy engulf me, and my heart wrenches. How do I miss her already? She must know I botched things with Jake.
“You missed Brady’s recital!” she launches, sweeping past me to collapse on my settee.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Given everything, it didn’t feel…appropriate.” It was a family affair, where I’d be the uninvited ex-girlfriend lurking in a corner.
Yvonne’s brows furrow in confusion. “Huh?”
He hasn’t told her.
Misery and irritation knot in my gut thanks to Jake’s radio silence. Now it falls to me to break the news and watch her walk out the door, too.
“Jake and I are no longer together,” I force out, voice flat, then brace for the inevitable.
“What? Really?” For once, Yvonne is genuinely taken aback, a rarity. “I should have known he’d fuck something up.” She’s shaking her head, talking more to herself.
But I can’t let her blame Jake. I can’t torpedo their relationship, too. “Oh, no. It wasn’t him. It was me.”
“You?”
I nod.
“ You? ”
I nod again.
“But why?” She looks a little lost. “You guys were so good together.”
A fresh wave of grief rushes through me. Trying to explain feels like I’m coughing up splinters. “Remember how I told you my tours were mobbed by the press, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They scared off all my genuine clients. Said terrible things about me and children.”
My stomach twists at the memory, as if I’m reliving the moment. “Refunds were requested. Horrid reviews were plastered online. And then, the investment from Gotham Guides fell through.”
Despondence stirs in me. I was close. So bloody close.
I wait for understanding to set in. But then she shrugs. “That sucks… But what does that have to do with you and Jake breaking up?”
I sigh and continue. Might as well see this sad story all the way to the end. “Then, Gran called. She told me she was turning management of the inn to Ben and Margo. Because I’d said I wasn’t going home.” I pause here. Now she’ll understand.
“And then?” She waits as if there’s more to the tale.
And then what? That’s it. That’s all. Though I can’t even quite figure out how I went from there to here. “I don’t know. I was in a panic. And when I told Jake, he immediately asked me to move in with him.”
Because of course he would. Why did I get so angry with him?
“Ah. Mr. Fix-It. His default configuration. So, what’s the problem?”
Why are these Cunninghams so insanely stubborn? “I said no. We broke up. I have to go back. I don’t have a job. My tours are a failure. I don’t have a place to live. ”
“Let’s not forget you lost your boyfriend, too,” she adds sarcastically. “Doesn’t sound all that different than things were when we met. Maybe we should go buy you a teddy bear to hug?”
I glare at her. Really? I’m trying to feel sorry for myself. Thanks, Yvonne. “So, I’m still a loser.” I flop down beside her.
“Obviously. But if nothing’s changed, why are you leaving?”
I blink. It’s an entirely reasonable question.
But isn’t my answer entirely reasonable as well? Slowly, I turn to face her and try again. “The inn was my backup plan. I thought I’d always have the option to return. But if I don’t go back now, there won’t be room for me at the inn.”
“Isn’t that like a biblical reference? They were ready to put you out in the manger, huh?” Yvonne gives a crooked smile before her lips flatten and her voice goes firm, as if exasperated with me. “Amelia. I remember you practically floating on air when you broke the news to your gran you were staying here. Where’s that girl? Is she really giving up?”
I’m exhausted but lay it all out. “I tried, Yvonne. I really did. I called to see if I could return the tour equipment but was told I’d only get half the money. I asked about an extension on the flat. Not a possibility. Looked at more Airbnbs, but no. Can’t even afford that.”
She scoffs. “Have you never heard of couch surfing? Ooorr you could, you know, move in with my brother.”
“Gran took me in when I had nowhere else to go. She had no choice. How can I ask that of Jake now?”
“You don’t have to. He’s already offered.”
“It’s the same thing.”
Yvonne throws her hands up, clearly over it. “Because you’re still a ten-year-old child? You needed help and a home at that point. Of course she took you in. She’s your grandmother. She loves you. She wanted to take care of you. Just like Jake wants to take care of you. Seriously, he aches to.
“I know my brother. When Dad died, Jake decided to ‘man up’ or whatever. How that ended up in his head, I have no clue, but he’s been in fix-it mode ever since. In school, he would go after bullies twice his size. When we were teenagers out on dates, he’d wait up for us—half the time falling asleep on the steps.
“When Beatrice, Carla, and Helena got married, he scared the crap out of Rick, Dave, and Jerry before welcoming them into the fold. And the second he signed with the Titans? He bought Mom a house, paid off all our loans, and cleared our mortgages. Without asking, of course.”
My heart contracts. That sounds just like the Jake I know.
I sigh. Impulsive and maddeningly stubborn, to the point of wanting to hurl something at him, but generous to a fault, endlessly caring, and always able to get a laugh out of you even when you are determined to stay angry. All while sporting that roguish smile that makes it utterly impossible to do anything but love him.
My stomach gives a sickening lurch. Because I do. Love him.
The insight detonates, sucking all the air out of the room, leaving me suspended in a void of numbness, before catapulting me back into a dizzying vortex of “oh-bloody-hell-what-have-I-done?”
Swirling in a storm of desperation and cluelessness, I look at Yvonne, a lump forming in my throat. “What do I do? I let him walk away.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “So go after him. Work it out. Learn to manage him better. I get it. You’re new to the squirrel-taming business. It just requires a little practice to rein him in.” She goes on, “What happened with the tours—it sucks. But there are tons of jobs out there, and if the problem is cash? This is America, land of opportunity. The streets are paved with cheese, as per American Tail . Do you know it?”
I shake my head, lost.
“A story about immigrant mice. Masterful.” She nods sagely before continuing, “Point is, opportunities are everywhere. You could dog walk. Or sing. Or launch a matchmaking service for lonely socks. For fuck’s sake, I’m thinking of starting a blog about the existential crises of houseplants or moonlighting as a psychic for paranoid goldfish. Some ideas will pan out. Others won’t.”
She gives me a wry smile. “But whatever the case, it’s your decision. You’re in charge of your life. You. You’re the one who jumped on a plane and got yourself over here. You figured out the awesome tour idea. And you’ll sort this thing out somehow. Trust yourself.”
Do I trust myself? Can I find a way?
My brain goes into overdrive—train city rats to stage a distraction. Run a decoy tour to head off the press. Or maybe just hire a body double—someone with thicker skin and, ideally, better hair than me.
“Harass Gotham Guides into giving me another shot? Tell them I’ll give tours in disguise?” I say, only half-joking.
“Perfect. Everyone needs an excuse to get dressed up. You can dress up as Slash. And I’ll be Lady Gaga in a meat suit. And if those guys don’t go for it, there’s plenty of cash in New York. They aren’t the only money-hungry company in town. Or license out the idea to them. It’s amazing. Make sure you take a big cut of the profits, and then when things are calmer, you can resume giving tours yourself. People were pestering you because you were new to the scene. Otherwise, New York is full of celebrities who aren’t bothered by locals. You just happened to pick a profession where you were surrounded by tourists.” She shudders. “So, you call Gran, say thanks, but no thanks, and get back to business. Any job near Pencil Dick isn’t worth it.”
“And the inn? It’s my home.”
Yvonne looks at the shoes from the gala. “Ruby red to remind you that you’ve got the power. Only, you don’t need to click your heels to find home. You’re already here.”
A horde of nerves coalesces in my stomach. “And Jake?” I’m almost afraid to hope.
“He’s my brother. And as idiotic as he is, I’m required to love him. And I’d love for you to get back together. All he wanted was to be with you.” Her gaze softens when she looks at me.
“And if it doesn’t work out…?”
“I don’t know why you think it won’t. You don’t get just one chance. You get as many as you make. Sometimes, that means no backup plan, just trusting the universe to show up with what you need when you need it.”
“You mean like Jake?”
“No. I mean like me .” She flashes me an impish grin. “Because even if you lose the mister, you’re still stuck with the sister.”
The urge to cry hits me, but instead, a chuckle slips out at her awful wordplay. It’s like a break in the clouds.
She grins, and my heart twists at seeing the same sparkle in her eyes that Jake gets when he makes me laugh.
“Amelia, I love you, whether or not you’re with him. You’re your own person. I know how hard it is trying to be seen for yourself when everyone lumps you with a group—I mean, I’m part of the Cunningham box-set, after all. But the good thing is: if one of us faceplants, there’s a whole crew ready and willing to scrub off the dirt. Trust yourself to trust other people.”
She’s right. I should have trusted myself to trust Jake. I should have trusted in us. I’m going to get him back. Tether him to me, if that’s what it takes.
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