Addison

 

Have you been on the cable car yet? Walked across the Golden Gate Bridge? You need to do everything! Enjoy being a tourist!

I had to get out of here if it was the last thing I did.

After the emotional rollercoaster of seeing my knight, feeling that incredible spark, and then finding out he was Sabrina’s Todd, I needed to put as much space between me and The Flower Girl as was humanly possible.

I switched everything off, locked up, and beat a hasty retreat out of the Ferry Building, across the tramlines and plaza, and out onto Market Street. I walked at a brisk pace, my heart beating hard, praying not to bump into Naomi or Todd.

There must be millions of men in San Francisco. And, out of all of them, I had to fall for Todd. Todd! The one guy that absolutely had to be a no-fly zone for me.

I clenched my fists at my sides as I walked past the high-rise buildings, the business people, the street performers, the storefronts, not really seeing any of them. Todd’s face flashed into my mind and my tummy did a flip-flop. That smile, those eyes . . .

No. I couldn’t think about him.

I quickened my pace.

What was I going to say to Sabrina? “Hey, Sabrina. Your fiancé dragged me out of a hedge when I crashed your scooter and now I have feelings for him. All okay with you?”

No, no, no. That could not happen, would not happen. I needed to forget about him, think about other things. Move on dot com.

No matter what he’d sparked in me.

Without even realizing it, I found myself standing on the sidewalk, facing one of those classic cable cars, slowly revolving around on a turning plate. I blinked.

I was in one of the world’s most famous cities, and I was paying zero attention to it.

I pulled my phone out of my purse and took a series of photos of the cable car and its surroundings. I chose the best and uploaded it to Instagram before I returned it to my purse. I was going to be a tourist, damn it!

I crossed the street and waited with a group of people, their cameras slung around their necks, their caps and T-shirts screaming “I’m from somewhere else!” They stood out like a group of very sore thumbs in a sea of hip and stylish San Franciscans.

A few moments later, the cap-wearing gang boarded the cable car, all of us scrambling to get one of the external seats they were famous for.

I won.

Planting my butt firmly on the wooden-slatted seat, I let out a heavy sigh. I would forget about Todd and instead lap up the city around me.

With a clang of bells, the cable car lurched forward and we were off, making our slow progress through the city streets. I sat, wedged between the super-sized passengers excitedly chatting among themselves as they snapped their cameras in some sort of tourist-induced photographing frenzy.

I soaked the city up: the sights, the sounds. We made a steady climb up the street, the island of Alcatraz sitting in the sparkling blue harbor below, the beautiful bay area beyond.

This. This was what I was here for. A new life in a new city.

Not other people’s fiancés abandoned at the altar.

Careful not to bump the tourists on either side of me, I pulled my phone out of my purse to check where I was—and where this cable car was taking me. As I glanced at my screen, I was shocked to see three missed calls from Tonya, my bestie from back home in New Zealand.

Three missed calls in the last thirty or so minutes meant only one thing: a problem.

I dialed her number. She picked up after only one ring.

“I can’t believe you’re in San Francisco!”

“How did . . . ?” I stopped myself.

I’d uploaded a photo to Instagram. Of course! That was dumb with a capital D. The game was up, I had to own up to her. “Yup, I’m here all right.”

“I am so jealous! I’m looking out the window at the pouring rain right now,” Tonya replied.

I pictured her in our old apartment in Wellington, curled up on the sofa in her favorite pj’s, her curly hair tucked behind her ears.

“It’s pretty nice here, that’s for sure.”

I watched as we slid past a row of ornate buildings, a pretty florist in an old Victorian building on the corner, reminding me of Blooms on Valencia back in Orlando.

“Nice? I’ve heard it’s spectacular! What are you doing there? I thought you were in Orlando.”

I bit my lip. What should I say? Tonya had been my best friend since I met her on our very first day of school. She almost knew me better than I knew myself. I couldn’t lie to her.

“I’m here for a while. I kind of . . . switched lives with someone.” I held my breath, waiting for her response.

“You did what?!”

I had to remove the phone from my ear, her screech was so loud and high-pitched. I swear dolphins in the nearby bay pricked up their ears.

Returning the phone to my own ear, I launched into the whole story about how I’d met Sabrina, the runaway bride, how our flights had been canceled, and how we’d talked and eventually agreed to switch lives.

“You knew the runaway bride? The one dashing through the airport on YouTube?”

“She’s on YouTube?” My voice cracked a little.

“Yeah, it’s a really popular clip. I can’t believe you were there!”

I thought of Sabrina and my heart broke. As if it wasn’t a difficult enough time for her, somebody went and put a video clip of her on the net. Jerk.

“Yup, I was there.”

“So, you’re telling me you met this bride at the airport and decided to change lives with her?” Tonya questioned.

I squirmed in my seat, glad she couldn’t see me. I knew Tonya had a point. I’d only known Sabrina for a matter of hours before we went to the ticket desk and purchased new tickets.

Our one-way tickets to a new life.

“It wasn’t like that, Tons. We talked for ages first. And she’s really nice. She’s a florist, too! She’s running Blooms, and I’m at her shop here in San Francisco. We both felt like it was . . . fate, I guess.”

“Fate?” I could hear the disbelief in her voice.

“Yes, fate.”

Because that was how it had felt. Until I’d learned my knight’s identity, that was.

“I don’t know, Addi.”

I bit my lip. “Can you please trust me on this one?”

“Are you happy?”

I didn’t have to think about my response. “I am.”

Other than falling for the wrong guy, that is. But I didn’t mention that.

She let out a puff of air. “Well, as long as you are happy, then I guess I’m all for it.”

I beamed. “Thank you. I knew you’d have my back. You’re the best, Tons.”

“Why did you want to switch lives with someone in the first place?”

I thought about it before I responded. “I guess I wasn’t feeling it. After Jon, I felt like I was treading water. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I don’t know. I think I needed a change, to mix things up a bit.”

“I get that, but, why didn’t you decide to come home instead? I miss you, and Geoff keeps asking after you.”

I bit my lip. Geoff was my ex, the one I left to follow Jon to Orlando. Much like Sabrina and Todd, we’d been together since high school, and at one point, I’d thought I would spend my life with him.

“He does, huh?” I asked, a smile twitching at the corners of my mouth.

In my darker moments, I had wondered whether leaving Geoff was a mistake.

“Are you kidding? He’s still totally in love with you.”

I smiled. “He is? It’s been two years, Tons.”

“Look, why don’t you have some fun in San Francisco and then think about moving back?”

“Okay,” I replied, not sure if I meant it.

Moving back to New Zealand and seeing Tonya every day would be so great. And Geoff? Geoff I would need to think about some more.

After bidding farewell to Tonya—and promising to keep her abreast of any further life-altering decisions I made in airports—the cable car stopped near a laundry called “Sandra’s Soapies.” I smiled at the name.

An oversized woman slowly disembarked. I glanced up at the blue sky, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on my face. I missed the heat of Orlando, but certainly not the stifling humidity. San Francisco in summer didn’t have much of either, and I felt a pang at the thought of Wellington, my hometown back in New Zealand, a place I hadn’t been since I’d left.

Was it time to go home?

A laptop bag came out of nowhere and hit me in the arm, interrupting my contemplation. “Ow!” I shot its owner a dirty look as I rubbed where it had got me.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” the laptop-weapon wielder replied.

“Sure, yeah,” I replied, shooting him a quick smile.

Accidents happened, and I’d finally got myself into a better headspace. I wasn’t going to hold a grudge.

“I think I need to go on some sort of laptop management course,” my new neighbor added with a smile. “I almost took down an old lady with this thing earlier today.”

I turned to look at him. He was probably a handful of years older than me, with sandy blond hair, dressed in a pair of chinos and an untucked checked shirt that matched his blue sneakers. His earphones hung out where his shirt buttoned up. He looked San Francisco cool.

I smiled. “That might be a good idea. You don’t want to go around maiming the population.”

His green eyes sparkled at me as he returned my smile. “Are you here visiting? You don’t look much like a tourist.” He nodded at the couple to my right, their Astros caps and T-shirts with “Everything’s Bigger in Texas” emblazoned across their chests.

“Yes . . . err, actually, no.”

He raised his eyebrows at me in question.

“Actually, what I mean is I’m here for a while, just not sure how long, yet.”

“Ah,” he replied, as though my response made perfect sense. “One of those, huh?”

“What do you mean, ‘one of those’?”

“Something to do with a guy, right?”

I thought of Todd. No, definitely not. At least, not for me.

“No, actually,” I replied with an air of indignation.

“You say ‘actually’ a lot.”

“Do I?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, actually, you do.”

I bit back a smile. This guy was flirting with me! I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was definitely cute, a sort of ‘guy next door’ type, but in a stylish, Northern Californian kind of way.

“Maybe I should go to ‘actually’ management school?”

“Good idea.” He laughed, extending his free hand. “I’m Asher.”

I shook it. “Hey, Asher. I’m Addison.”

“Great to meet you, Addison. That’s a cute accent you’ve got there.” He held my hand a little longer than was necessary, and I could feel a blush blooming in my cheeks.

I shrugged. “New Zealand.”

“I’ve been there. I went skiing in Queenstown a couple of years back. It was awesome.” He released my hand as the cable car lurched forward. “Where are you headed?”

I clutched onto the vertical bar to steady myself. “Oh, I was just going to check the route. I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

“Well, this line finishes down by the Hyde Street Pier.”

“Is that anywhere near Marina?”

“Yeah, about seven or eight blocks away. You going to Marina?”

“I am,” I replied, pleased with myself for getting on a cable car that would take me back to Sabrina’s apartment. “How about you?”

“Oh, I’m heading home for the day. Thought I’d go the scenic route for a change.”

“What do you do?”

He told me about how he worked for a large social media company based in the city and how he’d moved to San Francisco from Minneapolis a few years ago. By the time we reached the end of the line, I had forgotten all about being a tourist, enjoying chatting to a flirty guy in the California sun.

Once we’d disembarked, he handed me a card. “I’d love to take you out sometime. Can I have your number?”

I hesitated. Todd was a no fly zone, so what was stopping me?

“But only if you want to,” Asher replied with a chuckle.

“Sure.” I gave him my number.

His eyes danced as he smiled at me. “It was really great meeting you, Addison.”

I could feel that blush heating up my cheeks once more. Sure, Asher didn’t give me the tingles like Todd did, but he wasn’t Sabrina’s ex-fiancé either, so things were already off to an excellent start.

I walked the eight blocks back to Sabrina’s apartment. I knew I needed to forget about Todd, but was going out with Asher the way to do it?

I just didn’t know.

I rounded the corner to Sabrina’s street and spotted a large, black, very flashy looking car parked out front. Among the Priuses and other environmentally sound cars, it certainly stood out.

Thinking nothing more of it, I entered Sabrina’s building and took the stairs to her apartment, slotting the key into the door. As I pushed it open, I was almost overpowered by the distinct aroma of Chanel No. 5.

That’s funny, I don’t wear that scent.

“Sabrina?” a sharp, anxious voice called out from the living room.

A second later, a woman appeared in the hallway.

Shocked, I took a step back. Finding the door behind me, I felt for the handle, preparing to make a hasty retreat. Only, the woman didn’t look like a burglar or would-be attacker. In her black and white A-line dress and chunky green necklace, she looked more like the society ladies I had as customers at Blooms.

“You’re not Sabrina,” she replied with a scowl, stating the rather too obvious.

“No, I’m not . . . who are you?” I demanded, jutting my chin out.

Unless she was part of a posse of society ladies hidden down the hall, I liked my chances against her.

“Excuse me? Who are you?” she demanded, glaring at me.

“You’re the one who’s broken in and entered my apartment. Either you tell me who you are or I’m calling the police.” I searched in my purse for my phone, found it, and brandished it at her. “See?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, her perfectly styled bob cut moving as she shook her head. “I’m Sabrina’s mother, Priscilla Monroe.”

“Her mother?”

My eyes swept over her. I took in her long limbs, her elegant physique, her attractive features. There was no denying it: she bore more than a passing resemblance to the famous YouTube runaway bride.

She put her hands on her slim hips. “And you still haven’t told me who you are and what you’re doing in Sabrina’s apartment.” She glared at me, and the expression “if looks could kill” ran through my mind.

I pushed the door closed behind me and took a couple of tentative steps forward. “My name is Addison Bloom. I’m a friend of Sabrina’s.”

She crossed her arms. “I’ve never met you.”

“I’m from . . . err, out of town. She’s asked me to run her business for a while.”

“You’re running The Flower Girl?” Her eyebrows shot up behind her bangs as she looked me up and down. There was more than a hint of disapproval on her face.

Self-conscious, I pulled at my sweater. She was right; I hardly looked like I ran an elegant city florist shop.

“I don’t usually dress . . . Look, you’re clearly upset and worried about your daughter.”

She pursed her ruby red lips in response.

“Please believe me when I say she’s doing fine.”

She pierced me with her eyes once more. “Where is she?”

I swallowed. Wow, this woman was intimidating! I pitied poor Sabrina, not for the first time today.

“I . . . I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

I scrunched up my face. “Both?”

“This is ridiculous! Do you know who I am?” She turned on her heel, walking back down the hall into the living room.

That was clearly a rhetorical question, then.

Slowly, I placed my purse on the hallway cabinet by the door and followed her, feeling a little like a clueless victim in a horror movie. I reached the doorway and peered in. Sabrina’s mother was standing with her arms crossed, her back to me, staring out the window.

“I’m sorry I can’t tell you, Mrs. Monroe. I’ve made a promise to Sabrina.”

“Ha! Sabrina has no problems breaking her promises, did you know that?” She turned to look at me.

I swallowed. “You mean about getting married?”

“Of course, I mean about getting married!” She began to pace the room, her expensive heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “Todd, of course, is overwhelmed with grief, not to mention humiliated. And Bitsy?” She put her hand over her heart. “Bitsy is utterly devastated.”

I had no clue who Bitsy was, and I chose not to mention my two meetings with Todd to the pacing Mrs. Monroe.

Not that he’d looked exactly overwhelmed with grief. Sad around the edges, yes. Overwhelmed? No.

“I’m . . . sorry to hear that.”

“This wedding was so important! That’s what I can’t seem to get through to Sabrina. The joining of the Monroes with the Blakelys? Well, it would have been a very good thing for all of us. And now she’s run off to God knows where.”

“I assure you, Mrs. Monroe, she’s quite safe.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Where is your accent from?”

“New Zealand.”

She placed her fingertips on her forehead. “New Zealand? Please tell me Sabrina hasn’t gone to New Zealand!”

I smiled at her, trying my best to quell my nerves. Being in a small room with an irate Mrs. Monroe was no easy thing.

“I’m sorry, as I said, I can’t . . .”

“Yes, yes. I know.” She waved her hand in the air. “You can’t tell me. Well, Maddison, I will find her and I will bring her home. With or without you.”

“It’s Addison,” I said quietly.

Were all the scary society ladies of San Francisco going to get my name wrong?

She wasn’t listening. I watched, openmouthed, as she collected up her Chanel monogrammed black and gold purse from the sofa and stomped down the hall and out the door, slamming it behind herself, adding an exclamation point to her statement.

Not that it needed one.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in a long whistle.

Well, that went swimmingly.

I kicked off my sneakers and padded across the floor to Sabrina’s bedroom. After that little altercation on top of the day I’d had, I needed a lie down.

Either that or drink a large glass of neat whiskey.

Probably best to go with the lie down.

I reached Sabrina’s room and flopped on her bed, staring at the ceiling. This was so much harder than I had thought it would be! First Naomi, then Todd, and now Mrs. Monroe, a woman who could give The Devil Wears Prada’s Miranda Priestly a run for her money.

I propped myself up against the pillows. Sabrina’s wedding gown, still hanging over the closet door, caught my eye.

I got up to grab a glass of water. That’s when I noticed the few photos around the apartment with Todd in them. How could I have missed these? There was one of the two of them wearing sunglasses. The photo looked like it had been taken in some exotic tropical paradise. Then on the bookshelves there were a few more. I suppose I was so caught up in being in San Francisco I didn’t pay close attention.

Nor did I recognize that the gorgeous man in these pictures just happened to be my knight.

Oh, Sabrina. If you don’t come back and marry Todd Blakely soon, I don’t know what I’ll do.