Instead, this is what I get via text: Why u always callin', girl?! LOL Text me & I'll reply later. Busy now.

My heart drops, and I feel a frown trace across my lips. Texting isn't the same as seeing her face, or Cody's, not the same as seeing the beach in the background or hearing their voices. I don't want to text. I want to talk, face to face.

I message Cody next, but all I get is sorry, can't talk right now, love ya babe. Groaning, I fall back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Tomorrow, fall break is officially on, and I'll be able to talk to dad again. No way is he going to want to sit with my sulking ass for an entire week.

No freaking way.

Three days into the break, it becomes obvious to me that Archie is nowhere near letting me go back to California. I do manage to get him to give up the car keys so I can go into town though.

Before I leave, I take advantage of the empty campus and toss my boy persona aside, grabbing the duffel bag from the downstairs closet that I stashed there the day we moved. It has a lot of my girly stuff in it.

“Oh, how I've missed you,” I whisper, putting my contacts in and grinning at myself in the mirror. The flat-iron is next, and I take care of those stupid curls, giving myself a sleek, edgy straight 'do that keeps the hair off of my face.

Once I've given myself a smoky eye, red-red lips, and falsies, I feel more like myself. I wouldn't exactly say I was glam, but … back home, my face was always on point. Pursing my lips, I blow myself a kiss in the mirror, douse myself in body spray, and dress in a tight red dress and heels, something I'd wear to a college party.

In reality, all I'm doing is driving into town to hit up the bookstore, the café, and some of the boutique shops. There's not much else except some little farm store that sells both tractors and pies, and some famous food truck that sells hot lobster rolls.

So boring.

I hate Connecticut. I can barely pick it out on a map.

With a sigh, I stand up from the dressing table and pause, listening as Dad's footsteps head down the hallway to his room. He's already given me his keys, but when I asked for them, I was wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt. If he sees me like this … it won't be good.

As soon as I get the chance, I sneak out and practically sprint to the car, locking myself in and feeling my breath come in wild pants. I've got pepper spray on me now, and a Taser. Dad hates guns, but I sort of wish I had some tiny purse-sized pistol right now.

The road into town is winding and narrow, cutting through the winter-dead trees. It takes over an hour to find civilization, and I feel a weight fall from my shoulders as I park in front of a salon and pull the parking brake.

This is what I needed, a break from the Adamson Academy campus, and all its stifling secrets, and heavy-handed Student Council.

Climbing out, I toss what little hair I have and swish and sway my way into the bookstore. I'm here for juicy romance novels with shirtless men on the front of them. Seriously. I'm so sick of the boys at that school. Petty a-holes.

Besides, I hate reading on my phone because all I do is check for messages from Monica and Cody. And I never remember to charge my Kindle. No, I'm in the mood for paperbacks this time. Print is not dead!

Bells jingle on the door as I shut it behind me, closing my eyes and breathing in the sweet scent of ink and paper. Heaven. Monica used to make fun of me for reading too much. Cody, too, come to think about it. But since neither of them is around, and since they don't seem too interested in talking to me, I'll drown myself in words.

I'm browsing the romance section, a towering stack of novels in my hand, when I hear someone approaching from the other end of the aisle. My heart starts to pound, and I turn, losing half my books in the process.

“Whoa there,” a warm voice says, catching them in mid-air. I blink over the remaining stack of books at a gorgeous, chiseled face, sandy hair, and a muscular body in a striped shirt, and apron. There's a name tag there, too, right over one of those perfect pecs. Jeff.

Hmm.

He smells like cinnamon and coffee, and I find myself smiling as his sparkling blue eyes take me in.

“Hi there,” he says, and I find myself grinning. For the first time in forever, I'm being looked at as Charlotte, the pretty girl, and not Chuck, the ugly boy that nobody likes.

It's a nice change of pace.

“I'm Jeff,” the guy adds after a second, balancing my stack of books under one arm.

“I figured as much—from the name tag,” I add, batting my eyelashes. What are you doing, Charlotte? You have Cody. Only … it doesn't feel like I have Cody anymore. He barely talks to me. Seems more interested in chasing Monica all over the place … I exhale, but I'm not a cheater. No way. Not in a million years. “I'm Charlotte, by the way.”

“Charlotte. Beautiful name,” he replies, nodding his chin at my books. “Do you want me to keep these at the counter for you? And maybe make you a free coffee at the same time?”

“Sure, why not?” I laugh, following him to the front and finding a small café in the back of the store that I didn't know was there before. It has fresh cinnamon rolls drizzled with caramel under glass, lemon tarts with edible flowers, and coffee that smells like heaven. “So, how long have you worked here?” I ask, settling down on a stool and setting my books aside.

Jeff gets to work making me a drink, and I feel myself relaxing. The window behind the counter is open, and I can hear wind chimes and birds chirping, the soft lull of conversation from people seated outside. It's cold out there, but the sun is out, and it's beautiful anyway.

“Since I graduated,” he says, handing me what's clearly a handmade mug with a little chip in the corner. I smile as I curl my hands around it, and Jeff pulls out a tart and hands it over to me. “Assuming you like lemon?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and I grin.

“Love it,” I say, picking up the tiny fork and carving out a bite for myself. “So, what else do you do when you're not hawking coffee and books?”

Jeff grins, and leans his elbow against the counter, watching as I put the lemon tart on my tongue and shiver with the sour-sweet taste. Oh god, it's so freaking good. I swallow, and Jeff raises an eyebrow.

“It's delicious,” I tell him, and he nods, standing up straight.

“My parents own this place. I've got a business degree, so I decided to come back here and help them figure out a way to make this place profitable.”

“Like giving away free tarts and coffee?” I ask, and Jeff laughs.

“Only to our best customers,” he adds, and I realize we're sort of flirting. Not good. Flushing, I focus back on my tart and start cutting tiny pieces off with my fork. The front door opens, bells tingling, but I'm too busy trying not to look at Jeff to notice the person coming up on my right side.

“Give me a flat white, please,” a familiar voice says, and I glance up to find Church Montague standing one stool over from me.

Oh. Shit.

Cursing, I spin away, so that by the time he turns toward me, all he can see is my back.

“Well, hello,” he says, all bright and cheerful. Pretty sure that means he's insane. “I haven't seen you around here before.” There's a brief moment there where I consider spinning around and saying hah, I got you! but then the reality of what that would mean hits me.