Page 8 of Off Plan

“One where we’ll stroll around, like I’ve never seen your little town before, and talk to your crackpot neighbors, like we can’t already predict every damn thing they’re going to say, and you two will ply me with baked goods like I’m a hog heading to slaughter, hoping I’m too high on carbohydrates to object when you sit me down for a Come to Jesus?”

“That’s not…” Micah began.

“Yeah, fine, that was the plan,” Constantine admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t befun! Besides, your whole family’s coming. You’ve always enjoyed it in the past, right? Didn’t you always wanna live in a small town? Maybe now that Victoria’s no longer in your picture, you could move here full-time.”

“Con,” I said gently, “People change. Dreams change. Some folks are perfectly happy in a small town, but some of us want more.”

Con sniffed. “In my opinion, the only people who don’t want to live in O’Leary are people who haven’t been here yet. It’s a great place. Plenty of hot guys…” Con seemed to remember he was talking to a straight man and added, “And plenty of nice women, too. I even dated a couple, once upon a time. O’Leary’s basically a bisexual paradise!”

“Someone needs to lock you down to write the tourism slogans, Connie. Massive oversight there.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, guys, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but…”

I looked around the area again and frowned. Still no sign of my bag, though the crowd was beginning to thin out, and I swore I’d seen the same two bags going around the belt twice now, neither of which was mine.

Shit.

“But, what?” Micah prompted.

“Huh? Oh. But I can’t come.” I ran a hand through my hair without thinking, disturbing the pomade, and felt my wavy hair spring free like a convict presented with an open cell door.

Double shit.

Now I’d need to fix myself up before I got to the resort.

“If you can’t even concentrate on a simple conversation, Mase, you’re worse off than I thought. I’m coming to your apartment—”

“No, Micah!” I said, more forcefully than necessary. “You can’t. That’s, um… my exciting news. You remember the job opportunity I mentioned a few weeks back? The one I found on MedLister?”

“No.”

“Sure you do. On an island—”

Micah made a rude noise. “You mean that scam you mentioned at the party after Olivia’s recital?”

“It’snota scam.”

“Well, it’s not a real job opportunity.” The amusement in Micah’s voice was thick. “Come work on an island no one’s ever heard of, where international law probably doesn’t apply! We’ll pay you a billion dollars once you sign your life away!It’s like ‘Come to my van by the river and I’ll give you some candy,’ but for grown-ups.”

I set my jaw. “No. It’snot. It’s a position as a doctor on an island in Florida, where regular old domestic and state laws apply.”

I was pretty sure.

“But—”

“A job where I’d be running a practiceon my own, with almost total autonomy, which is a huge step up from being the newest, youngest doctor in a suburban practice in case you didn’t know.”

“Sure, but—”

“And, though the initial base salary is… not exactly impressive, you can’t put a price tag on the networking I could do while living and working on an island with anexclusive resort. Who knows what sorts of people I might meet and treat? The potential for the future isunlimited.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And,yes, there’s a three-year contract, but that’s only if the chosen applicant wants to take advantage of the private grant that will pay off their med school loans,because this island is just far enough from the mainland to qualify as a rural, underserved community. And it comes with a three-month probationary period, anyway, just to make sure it’s a good fit for both parties, so it’s hardlysigning my life away.” I paused in my tirade. “So… yeah. Not a scam. A great opportunity. The opportunity of a lifetime,really.”

In the silence that followed, I could practically feel the twin rivers of shock flowing through the phone line.

Con spoke first. “I mean. That all sounds great forsomeone, Mase, but you live here. Near your family.” He forced out a chuckle. “You have a whole wardrobe of cashmere sweaters, and you’d never use them in Florida. You can’t fuck with the sweaters, Mason. I wouldn’t recognize you anymore.”

I swallowed. Every one of those sweaters had been chosen by Victoria. I’d donated all but one before I left.