Page 8 of The Love Bus

T he next morning, for all my internal pep talks, I woke up feeling sluggish.

How did these people manage to look so perky? Like, as we made our way outside to the bus, a shiny, silver, modern-looking thing with the WonderWorld Tours logo stenciled on the side, they looked…excited.

Oh, right. They’d actually signed up for this.

The sun was just beginning to climb, casting a pale gold light that hadn’t warmed anything yet, and the wind tugged at my boho skirt, making it flap around my calves like it was as restless as I was.

My hair—left down today to curl around my shoulders—kept whipping into my face, tangling in my lashes and sticking to my lip balm.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I shifted my smaller bag to the other hand and hugged it closer, relieved I’d remembered to pack a jacket to throw on over my T-shirt.

One of the few things I’d done right lately.

The moment had finally come. I’d managed to avoid conversation during check-in last night, but doubted I’d be able to stay invisible much longer.

Still trying to delay the inevitable, I glanced up. Had the sky been this blue yesterday? There was no haze, not a single cloud, just an endless expanse of color. It felt almost surreal, as if someone had turned up the saturation on the world overnight.

It was...pretty.

I definitely wasn’t in Rhode Island anymore.

I handed my suitcase to the kid, a true ginger, who was loading them into the storage compartment, and then climbed up the steps onto the bus and into a narrow aisle.

Most of the seats were already filled, and it didn’t take long to notice that nearly everyone was paired up—older couples, lady friends, and a set of obvious siblings—all chatting, laughing, or flipping through their itineraries.

As the murmur of conversation and the rustling of bags filled the bus, yet another unnerving thought crept in: Am I the only one here alone?

It’s what Mom had planned. Wasn’t it? And if Mom could do it…

A voice cut through the noise. “Sit here with me, sweetheart.”

I blinked as I realized a woman was talking to me.

She was patting the seat beside her, her smile as bright as the vibrant purple and teal tracksuit she wore.

Her light gray hair was frizzy and curling in every direction, wilder than mine, though partially tamed by the funny hat perched on her head.

As she pulled it off and set it in her lap, her short curls sprang free, sticking out everywhere.

“I’m Barbara, but most people call me Babs,” she said, staring up at me cheerfully from behind glasses—oversized with bright red frames.

Everything about this woman was bright. Like, she was the total opposite of my mom. She actually reminded me a little of Gran. “We can take turns sitting by the window.”

Before I could process the offer, she kept going.

“We’re in for quite the adventure, aren’t we?

Morty—my husband—he and I used to go on trips like this all the time.

Those were the days.” Her eyes went soft, before focusing in on me again.

“I saw you last night, but you left before I could introduce myself. I think we’re the only single gals on this tour though, so we’re pretty much stuck with each other. ”

She wasn’t wrong. And while I hadn’t been planning on having a bus buddy, something about her energy made it seem like it wasn’t really up to me.

Dazed, I slid into the seat, nodding and mumbling a polite response, happy, at least, that she seemed like the type who could fill any silence with or without outside help.

“You aren’t wearing your nametag. Didn’t you get one last night?”

“Oh…” I feigned a grimace. “No,” I lied.

I had gotten one, but it had read Evelyn Faraday, Walpole, Mass.

I hadn’t worn it first, because…duh, Evelyn was my mom’s name, and second, because if people picked up on the Faraday part, although it was a stretch to imagine people paid that close of attention, someone might make the connection—that I was the Luna half of Lunch with Leo and Luna .

Or that I had been until a little more than two weeks ago…

“I…” My voice trailed off.

As the last trickle of passengers were boarding, I happened to glance toward the front, and that’s when I saw…

Him.

I’d officially gone off the deep end because, surely, I was hallucinating now.

The hot guy from the airplane was making his way down the aisle, looking as out of place as I felt. This morning, his brown hair was damp, combed back, and his scruff a little thicker than it had been the day before, but he was not alone.

“Oh my,” Babs whispered near my ear. “Tasty morsels like that one don’t usually sign up for these tours…”

The tasty morsel was dressed more casually today—well-worn jeans that fit a little too well and a plain Henley, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms.

What was it about a good pair of forearms, anyway? And this guy’s were top of the line. Strong but not bulky, with just the right amount of light brown hair curling softly against his skin. I glimpsed four tiny red marks on the right one.

Yep. Definitely him.

I dropped my head to stare at my lap, curiosity bouncing around my head.

Just as Babs had pointed out, he did not fit the “bucket-list tour” demographic. He looked too…capable. Too sharp. Too put together.

And, since he looked just a little older than me, he was definitely too young.

Everyone else looked like retired teachers and empty nesters, but not this guy.

Babs leaned into me again. “He looks like trouble, doesn’t he?” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Um…” How was I supposed to answer that?

Still, I side-eyed the latest passengers to climb on. Babs wasn’t wrong.

The woman with him looked to be in her early sixties, definitely age-appropriate for our group.

She wasn’t stiff, exactly, but carried herself with a certain…

caution. Like she was trying to blend in while keeping something to herself.

She paused halfway down the aisle, scanning the seats, and he leaned in to say something in a low voice.

She nodded and touched his arm—gentle, familiar.

“I’m so glad you’re here. You don’t mind if I take the window, do you?” She tilted her head back and smiled up at her much younger companion adoringly.

Was he…?

Oh my God!

Was he…like, a gigolo or something?

The thought hit me out of nowhere, and I had to stifle a snort. It wasn’t entirely impossible. He had the looks for it, that was for sure. And the whole “bossy but secretly charming” vibe only added to my suspicion.

Still, the idea felt ridiculous—almost as ridiculous as the fact that the same man who’d made my flight to Denver so uncomfortable was right here.

On this bus.

I mean, what were the odds?

But before I could even begin exploring that thought, his storm-cloud eyes landed on me. Recognition dawned, and for a second, he looked almost as startled as I felt.

“Aisle Seat Guy…”

“Grumpy Girl,” he returned so quietly, I wasn’t sure if I heard him right.

I was still processing this unexpected turn of events when he slid into the seat beside the older woman.

The same row as me and Babs.

He in one aisle seat, I on the other.

“ Seriously ?” I wasn’t asking him, I was asking the universe.

The man’s companion leaned forward, brushing back a strand of platinum hair that had fallen forward. “Do you two know each other?” Though she had probably been aiming for polite curiosity, more than a hint of suspicion came through loud and clear, her forehead wrinkling with concern.

Without meaning to, my brows shot up. If that tone was jealousy, then my gigolo theory was gaining plausibility.

“We flew in on the same plane,” he answered for both of us.

The woman’s eyes widened, but then her lips curved into a pleasant smile. “Are you from Boston, then?”

I was not. But neither did I want to admit that I was from Newport.

Nope. No need to share. Seriously, just two weeks ago, my face had been plastered all over social media.

“Around there,” I answered vaguely.

“What a fun coincidence.” The incredibly enthusiastic Babs leaned around me to join the conversation.

“I flew in from Portland.” She was smiling, eager for all of us to be friends.

“I’m Babs, lovely to meet you,” she said, then she turned to me.

“And this is…oh!” She laughed. “I didn’t give you a chance to introduce yourself, did I? ”

And then she waited.

“I’m…Luna.” I waited anxiously for recognition to light up their eyes, or for the inevitable opinion on Leo and my breakup. And then exhaled a breath of relief when neither came.

Babs just nodded, waiting for the May/December couple across the aisle to offer theirs.

“Christine Grady,” the woman said, breaking into a more welcoming smile. “And this is my son, Doctor Noah Grady.”

My son.

Of course! With that little tidbit, I noticed that Christine Grady’s eyes, although colder looking, were similar to her son’s.

“Just Noah.” He rubbed his fist over his chin. He didn’t look over when he spoke.

“Are you married, ‘Just Noah?’” Babs asked, and even though I’d barely met the woman, I was embarrassed on behalf of both of us.

Not that it kept my stare from trying to catch a glimpse of his left hand.

Before he could answer, the PA system crackled to life, and Tay's too-cheerful voice filled the bus.

“Good morning, everyone!” she said, pausing to adjust the microphone as feedback screeched back at her. “Welcome aboard! I hope you all got a good night's rest because we have an exciting day ahead.”

The bus hummed quietly as the engine idled, and Tay, who was standing at the front, gestured behind her toward the driver's seat. “Before we get rolling, I'd like to introduce you to the man who's going to be getting us to our destinations in a timely manner—our driver, Mr. Joey Bloomington!”

The young man seated behind the wheel turned slightly, brushing a boyish lock of red hair out of his face, and gave a quick wave.