“Yeah. About that . . .” My dad’s face pinches. “When Billy went into the storage room to grab your suitcases, he couldn’t find them.”

And just like that, the happy little bubble that had been growing around me bursts.

“What do you mean, ‘couldn’t find them.’ They lost them?” My clothes . . . my shoes . . .

“With all the delays and shuffling back and forth, they probably just got shoved somewhere. I’m sure they’ll turn up soon.”

“And if not?” My voice has turned shrill.

My dad frowns in thought. “Insurance usually covers a couple hundred bucks. You got insurance, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, it’ll replace maybe a sweater and a pair of heels,” I mutter. My exhilarating day has just taken a nosedive into the ground. “I’ve been wearing two pairs of jeans since I got here. How am I supposed to manage even longer?”

Jonah, who’s been quiet this entire time, offers with faint amusement in his voice, “I’ll be more than happy to take you to Meyer’s to grab a few things.”

I stab the air in front of him with my finger. “This is your fault. If you took the bigger plane in the first place, my luggage wouldn’t be lost.”

“If you’d packed for a week instead of a year, we wouldn’t have had to leave your things behind,” he retorts smoothly.

“Hey, you admitted to being a jackass about that whole thing earlier!” Why is he changing his tune again?

“Give it a day or two,” Agnes says calmly, the ever-gentle referee stepping into a feud between opposing teams. “These things happen, but they have a way of working out.”

I grit my teeth against the urge to call bullshit. I know she’s only trying to help.

My dad sighs. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go home.”

Chapter 15

When Jonah strolls through my dad’s door the next morning, I’ve already gone for my run, showered, dressed, and am filling half a travel mug with coffee while scrolling through my Instagram feed. To my delight, I woke up to a slew of new followers and comments, thanks to the aerial shot above one of the villages that I posted last night, along with a quick story about the little boy with the pizza and a recap of the terrifying landing, which people seemed to find amusing. “So where are we going today?” I ask, pushing aside thoughts about our little spat last night over my luggage.

Jonah sidles in next to me, smoothly lifting the pot without hesitation, his callused hand—nearly twice the size of mine—-momentarily grasping mine in the process.

My heart stutters.

“I’m taking a group of hikers and their guide into the interior.” His voice sounds especially deep, cutting into the stillness of the house. “There aren’t any extra seats.”

“Oh.” I frown, a wave of disappointment hitting me. I thought he was joking yesterday about doing his “penance” by taking me out for the day. But maybe there was some truth to it.

I focus on filling the other half of my mug with soy milk.

“Did you want some coffee with that?”

“I don’t like the taste of coffee. That’s why I always drink lattes at home.” I tell him about Simon’s Cadillac of barista machines.

He eases the pot back onto the burner and shuts the machine off. “Sounds like you’ve got a decent stepdad.”

“Yeah. He’s been pretty great to me and my mom.” When I texted home last night to tell them that I’d decided to stay, Simon sent me his credit card number in case the airline charged me. And then he told me that I was doing the right thing and he was proud of me.

“My stepdad’s a dick,” Jonah murmurs. “Then again, so was my dad.”

I steal a glance as he takes a sip from his mug, squinting against the bright sun as his gaze drifts to the yawning fields beyond the window. He’s opened a door for me, just a sliver. I prod through gently. “So your parents were divorced, too?”

“Yup. My dad was a selfish jerk who didn’t treat my mom right. Look, I’ve got a supply drop for a camp this afternoon, if you want to come out with me then.”

“Okay!” I say, a little too quickly, too eagerly. “Maybe I’ll come in to the office this morning anyway. I can work on the website some more. Download the pictures I took yesterday.” I didn’t get much of anything done last night, the excitement from the day catching up with me as I listened to Mabel trash-talk my dad before beating him at checkers for the fifteenth day in a row. I can’t figure out if he’s letting her win or not.

Jonah doesn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as usual, wandering aimlessly through the kitchen, his mug to his mouth. Eventually he pauses in front of the small kitchen table, his eyes roaming over the wallpaper.

“Do you know who drew the nipples on those ducks?” I keep forgetting to ask my dad.

“Drew what?”

“Nipples. On those ducks.”

He frowns at the wall. “What are you talking about?”

“Those!” I close the distance and lean over the table, tapping the wall with the tip of my fingernail. “See? Nipples. There . . . There . . . Someone drew nipples on every last one of these ducks.”

“Say it again for me?”