ThanksGiving Romace

I have been awake for forty-eight hours, and my body is beginning to file a formal complaint against me for not taking care of it properly.

I sit in a small roadside cafe in New York, pressing my phone against my ear while covering my eyes with my free hand. The bright lights overhead feel like tiny needles stabbing into my skull. My eyelids refuse to cooperate, and every time I blink, they seem determined to stay shut.

“Riley, the customer likes your car, and he’s promised to make the payment on Monday.”

I exhale, dragging my fingers across my forehead. The last thing I want is to explain to Frankie, the mechanic who’s been helping me for two days, that I have nowhere to sleep tonight. Not to mention that the money from selling my car is supposed to fund my bakery, not to pay for another night in a hotel.

“Are you sure your customer is going to pay on Monday?”

“Yeah, girl. He’s not buying his first car from me. He’s good for it.”

I finally lift my hand from my face and try to smile as I finish my coffee.

“Thanks, Frankie. I owe you big time.”

I end the call and drop my phone beside my cup. My gaze falls to the handbag resting on the chair next to me. With a sigh, I pull out my wallet, empty it onto the table, and count every dollar.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time, just in case the money magically increases. But it’s not.

I lean back, staring at the total cash I have. Two options.

The first is to book a cheap hotel room, get some desperately needed sleep, and hope I can survive until Monday without a penny to my name. I press my lips together and shake my head.

Bad option.

The second is to catch a bus to Clear Valley, spend Thanksgiving with my family, and get some proper rest and food without spending a single penny. Then return to New York with a clear head and make my dream of opening my own bakery a reality.

I tap my fingers against the table as I consider the plan.

Clear Valley.

Home.

The place I haven’t visited in two years. I pull out my phone and check the bus schedule. My eyes widen when I spot the last departure for tonight—one hour.

Okay, Brooks. You’ve got this.

I gather my money, slip everything back into my handbag, and head to the counter to pay for my meal. After leaving a few dollars as a tip, I step outside.

The cold evening air hits my face, making me shiver. I look toward the road, hoping to find a cab, but the empty street offers no such luxury.

Also.

I don’t have enough money for one anyway. I open the map on my phone and check the distance to the bus terminal. Two kilometers. My thumb moves across the screen as I calculate the time. If I run at eight kilometers per hour, I should make it in fifteen minutes. Perfect.

I tie my hair into a tight ponytail, check the time once more, stuff my phone into my bag, and run. My sneakers hit the pavement hard as I pick up speed. My bag bounces against my hip with every strike.

A week ago, I had a job, a boyfriend, and a place to live and a car. Now I have a handbag and a few dollars to take a bus ticket somewhere I haven’t called home in years.

Quite an achievement, Brooks.

My thoughts drift back to the day everything fell apart. I had walked into Harry’s cafe expecting an ordinary day at work. Instead, I had found my boyfriend’s head between Rachel’s legs, the woman I had considered my best friend since moving to New York.

For a few seconds, I had stood there, staring at them as if my brain needed extra time to process what my eyes were seeing.

Five bloody years with Harry. And Rachel, I had never suspected either of them. Not once.

The worst part wasn’t even catching them together. It was remembering all the times I had trusted them without a second thought.

What a fool. A first-class, gold-medal-winning fool.

I had walked out without giving either of them the satisfaction of watching me cry. I didn’t return to Harry’s cafe, and I certainly didn’t go to the house we shared. I left my belongings behind, unwilling to spend another minute under the same roof as those two.

Three nights in a hotel followed. Then two nights sleeping in my car. Finally, I decided to sell it. Not because I wanted to, but because I needed the money to start over. Baking had always been my thing. It was the one skill I could rely on, the one thing that had never disappointed me. If I couldn’t keep the life I had built in New York, I would build another one. This time, on my own terms.

My legs pump harder as the bus terminal comes into view. A breathless laugh escapes me when I check the time. Fifteen minutes. I actually make it. I slow down near the entrance, bending forward with my hands on my knees. My lungs burn, and a few loose strands of hair stick to my forehead. I take several deep breaths, then straighten.

A glance around confirms that the bus is still there. Thank goodness. I hurry inside, barely avoiding the closing doors as I step aboard. The driver gives me a brief look before I purchase the last available ticket. Perfect.

I find an aisle seat, drop myself into it with a thud, and immediately pull my phone out of my bag. I call my mom before I change my mind.

“Riley?”

I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Yeah, Mom. IS that offer still standing?”

“Which offer, sweetheart?”

I roll my eyes, even though my mom can’t see me.

“The Thanksgiving offer.”

“Oh, of course, sweetie!”

I smile and lean back against the seat. In fact, I close my eyes for a moment with a sigh of relief.

“Can you or Dad come pick me up from the Clear Valley bus terminal?”

I check the time on my phone.

“In four hours.”

“You’re getting on a bus now?”

“Yep.”

My mom’s voice changes, and I can picture the frown between her brows.

“What happened to your car? And is Harry coming with you?”

My smile disappears. Anger rushes through my veins so quickly that my fingers tighten around the phone. I lower my voice, though the words come out through a clenched jaw.

“Mom, I don’t have my car anymore. And I don’t have that bastard Harry either. I’ll see you in four hours. Bye.”

Before Mom can ask another question, I hang up. I toss my phone into my handbag and let my head fall against the seat. There. The bomb has been dropped. Now I can enjoy the next four hours without explaining why my entire life has gone down the drain in days.

My gaze wanders toward the man sitting by the window beside me. He doesn’t seem interested in the scenery outside. Instead, his attention remains fixed on a photograph in his hand. I don’t mean to look, but the photo catches my eye. A beautiful woman stands beside a handsome little boy, maybe four or five years old. Both are smiling at the camera, their faces bright with the kind of happiness that makes even a stranger smile.

I quickly look away. Not my business. I fold my arms around my bag and rest my head against the window. Within minutes, sleep claims me.

“Excuse me, miss. Wake up.”

A deep masculine voice pulls me out of sleep. I stir, scrunching my nose as I slowly open my eyes. For a moment, I have no idea where I am. Then I realize my head is not on the pillow; it’s on someone’s shoulder. Then the sight of the bus seats brings everything rushing back.

Right. Clear Valley.

I lift my head off his shoulder, and a grunt escapes my mouth as I feel a sharp pain in my neck. I rub my eyes and look around. The bus is empty except for the man sitting with me. I look at him.

“Have we reached Clear Valley?”

He stands, holding his jacket in one hand, and shakes his head. He points toward the exit.

“We need to get off. The bus has some engine trouble, so the driver is calling for a replacement. We have to wait at that cafe over there.”

I release a long breath and push myself out of the seat. My legs protest after the run, and my neck after an uncomfortable nap, but I ignore them. I grab my bag, and the man follows me outside. A small roadside cafe sits a few steps from the terminal. The smell of freshly brewed coffee reaches me before I even open the door.

I head straight to the counter and order a coffee. The man from the bus steps up beside me and orders too. As he reaches for his wallet, a card slips out and lands near his shoes. He doesn’t notice. He pays for his coffee, takes it, and turns toward an empty table, leaving the card behind.

I take my coffee, bend down, pick it up, and hurry after him.

“Excuse me! You dropped this.”

He turns around. I hold out the card, but my eyes catch the two things printed on it before he takes it.

Brandon Hayes.

Clear Valley.

I shoot up my brows, then I look at the card again, then at the man standing in front of me.

“I don’t know any Brandon Hayes in Clear Valley.”

His fingers close around the card as he takes it from me. One brow lifts, and a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

I follow him toward the table. I take the seat opposite him. I wrap both hands around my cup.

“Yeah. Clear Valley is so small that everyone knows everyone there. You can’t exactly walk around without somebody knowing your business.”

He places his wallet and cup on the table.

“So how come I’ve never met you?”

I take a sip of my coffee, almost burning my tongue. A small wince crosses my face before I put the cup down.

“Are you from Clear Valley?”

I point toward the card in his hand.

“Is that your card?”

His eyes flick toward it before returning to my face. He seems slightly surprised.

“Yeah.”

I lean back and look at him for a moment.

“How is it possible that we’re both from Clear Valley and have never met?”

He shrugs. He sips his coffee.

“Well, we have a big farm and...”

A short laugh escapes me before he can finish.

“We only have one big farm in the entire Valley, and that belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Hayes.”

I make a small O from my mouth as the surname finally registers.

Hayes.

I look at him again, my eyes widening. Before I can put two and two together, he gives me a knowing smile and nods.

“I’m their son, Brandon Hayes.”

I bite my lip before I can speak.

“They have a son?”

I blink, trying to process the revelation.

“I always wished I had them as a parent when my parents didn’t listen to me. They’re so lovely and polite. I actually used to feel bad for them because I thought they didn’t have any children.”

A chuckle escapes him as he leans back in his chair.

“Well, I’m their only son in flesh and blood. And I have absolutely no desire to have you as my sister.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips. I shake my head and reach for my coffee again.

“Trust me, having a sister isn’t all that exciting. I have one. Last year, I taught her son to say ‘fuck you’ whenever someone was unfair to him, and she’s still angry with me.”

His lips press together as he tries to hold back a laugh.

“I mean, I didn’t teach him to say it to his mom whenever she refused to take him outside to play.”

He nods, looking down at his coffee before meeting my eyes again.

“I agree. That’s not your fault.”

I place my cup on the table and extend my hand across it.

“By the way, I’m Riley Brooks.”

​Brandon blinks, then reaches across the table and shakes my hand.

“I thought Ethan and Olivia had one daughter.”

My smile fades, and I nod slightly.

“Unfortunately, they have two, and I’m definitely the worst one.”

His brows draw together as he looks at me.

“And why would you say that?”

I shrug.

“Because I left Clear Valley ten years ago. I always felt suffocated there, and I barely visited my parents.”

“Maybe that’s why we’ve never met. Mom and Dad moved to Clear Valley ten years ago, and I used to visit them every year.”

My eyes lift toward him.

“Used to?”

He nods, taking another sip.

“Yeah. I’m visiting them after five years.”

We finish our coffee, talking about life in Clear Valley and New York. Soon, the replacement bus arrives, and we continue our journey, talking along the way.

For the first time in seven days, I actually feel alive.