It couldn’t be him. Maybe the milkshake I’d gulped down at lunch warped my brain and I was currently in the middle of a sugar-induced hallucination.
Because there was no way that was him.
But when I lifted my head, I saw his favorite gray sweatshirt. His worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His distinctive dimple as his lips curved into a smile so soft it obliterated all the edges of my resistance.
“Surprise.” Josh’s voice seeped through me like warm honey. “Missed me?”
“I—you…” My mouth opened and closed in what I presumed was a deeply unflattering imitation of a goldfish. “You’re supposed to be in New Zealand.”
“Change of plans.” He shrugged with a casualness people reserved for a change in dinner orders, not international flights. “I’d rather be here.”
“Why?”
Thudthudthud. Was it normal for a human heart to beat this fast?
“I want to visit the crochet museum.”
Maybe I fell asleep at the funeral home and entered the Twilight Zone, because this was too absurd to be reality. “What?”
“The crochet museum,” he repeated. “It’s world famous.”
Whittlesburg’s crochet museum was the town’s biggest attraction, but it wasn’t world famous by any stretch of the imagination.
The Eiffel Tower, Machu Picchu, Great Wall of China…and the Betty Jones Crochet Museum? Yeah, no.
“World famous, huh?” Something strange and fluttery was happening in my stomach. I never wanted it to stop.
“Yep.” Josh’s dimple deepened. “Read about it in a magazine in an airport, and I was so inspired I changed flights last minute. I’ll take crochet over sailing the Milford Sound any day.”
A knot of emotion lodged itself in my throat. “Well, far be it for me to question your love for crochet.” Do not cry in the lobby. “Are you staying at this hotel?”
“Depends.” Josh stuffed his hand in his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you want me to stay here?”
A small, scared part of me wanted to say no. It would be so easy to run up to my room and lock myself in there until my mom’s funeral, then leave and pretend the trip never happened.
But I was so tired of running. So tired of fighting the world and myself at the same time, of pretending everything was okay when I struggled just to keep my head above water.
It was okay to reach for a life raft, no matter what form it came in.
Mine happened to come in the form of Josh Chen.
I dipped my head in a small nod, not trusting myself to speak.
His face softened. “Come here, Red.”
That was all I needed.
I flew to him and buried my face in his chest while his arms closed around me. He smelled like soap and citrus, and his sweatshirt was soft against my cheek.
The curious stares of the receptionist and other hotel guests burned into my side. We would be the subject of town gossip by tomorrow, no doubt, but I didn’t care.
For the first time since I landed in Ohio, I could breathe.