Cassidy Lane (4 page)

Cassidy nodded. “No
kidding. It’s like at any moment someone’s going to throw on a Walkman and start moonwalking, right here at the Creamery.”

Patti closed her
eyes and began to sway. “I’m hearing the mixtape in that Walkman right now. It definitely has the Backstreet Boys on it.”

“You want some?”
Krista held out a spoonful of milk shake to Patti, who shook her head, then slid down the booth a bit and groaned.

“No thanks. After
that burger I just inhaled, I think I have an indigestion situation going on here.”

Cassidy smiled and
lightly patted Patti’s stomach. “So, what’s the verdict on tonight? What did you all think?”

Krista shrugged. “Overall,
I think people looked pretty good.”

Cassidy nodded. “I
agree. With a few notable exceptions, of course.”

“Some of the
ladies have let themselves go, that’s for sure,” Andre said. “Did you see Crystal Hightower? Ouch. Eliza Wood still looked smoking, though.”

Cassidy leaned across
the booth and poked his shoulder. “Hey now, some of the gentlemen
weren’t looking so hot either. I’m still trying to erase the image of present-day Kevin Tyson from my brain. Yikes.”

Patti sat back
up and put her arm around Cassidy. “Brandon Forrester sure looked good.”

“Hell
yes
, he
did.” Krista pointed her spoon at Cassidy. “Girl, you need to get on that.”

Cassidy cocked her
head to one side. “I need to get
on that
? I can’t believe you just said that.”

Andre rolled his
eyes. “Krista has two drinks and starts talking like Queen Latifah.”

“Now Queen Latifah
is
rad
,” Krista said with a nod.

Cassidy took a
sip of her milk shake. “Anyhow, while I agree that Brandon Forrester could probably stop traffic, he is definitely
not
interested in me. He didn’t even say good-bye before he left. Plus he has two kids and lives three thousand miles away from me.”

Krista shrugged. “He’s
still a babe.”

Just then a
dark figure appeared at the end of their booth, and they all looked up.

Trent.

He was holding
what appeared to be a joint.

“Any of you
know where Eliza Wood went?” he asked with a squint.

Chapter Two

CASSIDY FLEW HOME
to New York the next afternoon. It was nearly midnight by the time she opened the door to her modest one-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side. After wheeling her suitcase across the hardwood floors into the bedroom, she walked back into the living room and plopped down on the couch to go through the stack of mail that had accumulated in her absence. She’d been in California for only a week, but judging by the mound of paper crammed in her mailbox, it looked more like she’d been gone a month.

She flipped through
the stack, tossing credit card offers and catalogs into the wicker recycling basket near the couch until she spotted what appeared to be an invitation. She paused, trying to think whether she knew anyone who was getting engaged, but came up empty. She carefully opened the thick cream-colored envelope and smiled at its contents. It was a birth announcement from Sarah, one of her college roommates. Smiling up at Cassidy was baby Sophia Isabel Sanders, delicately swaddled in pink, all six pounds eleven ounces of her.

Cassidy walked into
her immaculate kitchen and admired the sparkling linoleum floor, glad she’d scheduled her cleaning lady to come over during her trip. She slid the announcement under a magnet against the refrigerator door, which was already half-covered with photos of her little nieces, Caroline and Courtney. Her brother Tyler lived with his wife Jessica in Saratoga, not far from the childhood home in which their parents still lived, but “just far enough,” as he liked to say. Cassidy studied the pictures for a moment, already missing her family a little bit, then poured herself a cold glass of water before climbing into bed.

It was time
to switch gears back to her life in New York.

Early one evening
the following week, Cassidy laced up her running shoes and set out for a jog through Central Park before it got dark out, which was happening earlier each day, now that September was coming to a close. Many of her friends in New York complained that the Upper West Side was too far uptown, or too sleepy, or too full of baby strollers, but as a lifelong runner, for her its proximity to the park trumped any other consideration. She’d lived there for nine years, and in her current building for three. Though it was hardly the trendy part of Manhattan, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in New York.

Despite being part
of an enormous city, the Upper West Side—in her opinion, at least—had a small-neighborhood vibe that made it feel almost intimate, with enough mom-and-pop shops tucked between the chain stores to rival any midwestern town. It also boasted a respectable number of restaurants and pubs, which made for a robust nightlife—albeit one comprised of a considerably older demographic than in the more “happening” parts of town. One thing Cassidy admired about the Upper West Side was its seamless mix of brownstones and doorman high-rises, an architectural melting pot that reflected the diversity—and beauty—of New York City. She also considered it to be one of the prettiest neighborhoods in all of Manhattan, second only to the West Village. The streets were always clean, the buildings well maintained, the trees abundant and tall. And on clear evenings such as this one, with the sun setting over the Hudson River, she felt lucky to partake in the quintessential New York experience: a run through Central Park.

The Upper West
Side would never be the hippest part of Manhattan, but it would always be Cassidy’s home away from home.

Plus she’d never
considered herself “hip” and wasn’t about to start now.

She rode the
elevator down to the lobby and waved to the doorman before stepping outside and making her way toward the park. Her building was a high-rise on Seventy-Third Street between Amsterdam and Columbus, just a few steps from the express subway stop, another geographical perk. While part of her missed the charm of the walk-up brownstone she’d lived in before, there was something to be said for a speedy elevator and twenty-four-hour security, not to mention a newer apartment with central air conditioning, a dishwasher, and a washer and dryer right in the unit—no more finding strangers’ socks in her laundry! Plus now she had a gym in her building, which gave her no excuse when it was just too hot outside—or too cold—to run. Though she’d never been much of a gym person, the harsh weather of New York often tested her resolve to keep in shape.

But when it
really came down to it, the reason she’d moved was to have more space. For several years she’d struggled to pay her bills with a combination of meager book royalties and savings, but she kept writing, and once her novels started selling well enough to generate a steady income, she’d decided to move out of her cramped studio. It was time to start treating herself like a real professional, and that meant having a proper work space. So after years of writing hunched over her laptop on her couch, she’d relocated to a one-bedroom in a building just a few blocks away and set up her “office” in a tidy corner of her living room. The new apartment was hardly opulent, but she had it all to her herself. She thought it funny, if not downright absurd, that for most people in Manhattan, being successful meant being able to afford a decent-sized place without a roommate—no matter what one’s age.

As she jogged
along her usual five-mile path through the park, she thought about the reunion and the different roads everyone’s lives had taken since graduation. By now most of her former high-school classmates probably owned honest-to-God grown-up houses, complete with big backyards, electric grills, and two-car garages. As far as she knew, she was the only one from her class who was living in New York City.

The sun was
just beginning to set as she ran, and somewhere along the way the chill of fall had crept into the air. Summer was officially over now, and before she knew it the days of running in shorts and a tank top would be gone as well. Part of her looked forward to the onset of winter, especially that magical first snowfall, when a soft blanket quietly covered the entire city, everything peaceful and still, the white canvas unblemished, at least for the first few hours, before it all turned to slush and mud. But another part of her knew she’d miss those balmy summer evenings when she could wear a sundress to dinner and never even think about bringing a sweater. She’d never experienced either of those things growing up in Northern California.

Her split affection
for the polar extremes of New York weather was similar to the way she felt torn between the two coasts. When she was in New York City, she loved the energy emanating from every corner—the dinners and drinks with friends, the mature social scene in which she never felt old or out of place for being a single woman in her thirties. But every time she went home to see her family in Palo Alto, she couldn’t help but imagine herself unpacking her suitcase for good, especially now that Tyler had children and her parents were getting older. After this last trip in particular, she could picture a life of solitary writing on a sunporch overlooking the rolling hills of Silicon Valley, punctuated by ice cream dates and trips to the park with her nieces. She would rent a small cottage in or around Palo Alto, maybe in Portola Valley or Woodside, and immerse herself in a low-key yet busy life as Auntie Cassie, as Courtney and Caroline called her. Plus Patti was out there, and despite the twenty years since they’d both lived in the same town, Patti was still the only person she could trust to tell her if a pair of jeans made her butt look big.

Opposite coasts, separate
lives.

After finishing her
loop, she stopped at a bench on Central Park West to stretch for a few minutes before slowly walking back to her building. Would she know when it was time to move back to California? Or would there ever be a concrete signal? She was thirty-eight years old but still didn’t have a life plan beyond
finish this novel.

For now, at
least, that was enough.

Back to work.

The next afternoon
Cassidy was pondering the latest notes her editor had sent over on her book when the alarm on her phone went off. She picked it up and saw the daily notification for
Respond to reader e-mails.
Was it three o’clock already? She opened a new browser on her laptop and logged into the e-mail account connected to the Contact Cassidy tab of her website. Though she didn’t receive a ton of fan mail, she got messages from time to time, and it never ceased to amaze her that readers made the effort to send her a note. Answering fan mail was one of her favorite parts of being an author, if not
the
favorite, because it reminded her that real people were actually out there, enjoying her work and making her feel like she had a calling in life.

Today she had
just one message, but it put a smile on her face.

Dear Cassidy,

I love to
curl up in bed with a good book and just discovered
Gretel Court
! I read it in two days and absolutely adored it!!!  I couldn’t believe that I found myself nervous for Bonnie when she was tracking down Joe near the end. I was cringing while waiting for his reaction, like they were real people and not just characters. You do such a wonderful job of connecting the reader with the character. I laughed so hard at some parts that I was almost in tears. Thanks for the happy ending too. I’m about to start reading
Montague Terrace
and can’t wait to dig in. Keep writing, please!

She smiled at
the e-mail, feeling grateful to Debbie in Chicago for sending it. Maybe she hadn’t found the man of her dreams and moved to the suburbs to raise perfect children, but missives like this helped her remember that in the grand scheme of things, she was doing OK.

She replied to
the message and had just hit send when a new e-mail appeared in her in-box.

She gasped.

The sender’s name
was Brandon Forrester.

She opened the
e-mail and nibbled on her fingernail as she read.

Hi Cassidy, it
was nice seeing you at the reunion. I’m not sure if you’ll get this or if you’re even in town, but I’m going to be in New York next week and thought you might want to grab a drink. Let me know—Brandon

She stared at
the computer screen, her heart suddenly beating a whole lot faster than it had been thirty seconds ago.

No way.

She read the
e-mail three more times.

No way.

Had Brandon Forrester
just asked her out? Brandon Forrester, the man whose piercing gray eyes and disarming smile had been lingering in the back of her mind since the reunion?

She immediately picked
up the phone to call Patti, but it went straight to voice mail. She left a brief message, then hung up the phone and looked at the time. It was 3:28 p.m., lunchtime back in Palo Alto. Patti was a stay-at-home mom, and now that her kids were in elementary school, that meant she spent most weekdays volunteering in one way or another on campus.