She settled back onto her spot on the couch and spent the next four hours devouring the story of a lonely fisherman trying to capture the heart (and body) of an aristocrat. Dustin had never understood how she could read a book cover to cover in one sitting. “Clearly you’ve never read a romance novel,” she had answered.

“Should I be jealous?” he’d joked. Only it wasn’t a joke. Dustin was so deeply insecure that he made the same comment every time he saw her reading anything with an attractive man on the cover. At least her wandering eyes—if you could call them that—were fictional. His ogled flesh-and-blood redheads while they were standing in line at coffee shops.

She tapped her smartphone and the screen lit up. It was midnight, an hour past when she usually turned in for the night, but she wasn’t tired. She was anxious; anxious that Finn hadn’t called her back; anxious that she had possibly messed up the only relationship that meant anything to her. Maybe she just should have agreed to Finn’s plan. Yes, she would have been disappointed when their search came up empty, but at least they’d get a few kitschy refrigerator magnets out of it.

Zadie picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found Finn. It rang. One, two, five rings and no answer. I shouldn’t be calling this late, she thought. She’s probably asleep.

But something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t a premonition, just old-fashioned intuition that was telling her she needed to talk to Finn as soon as possible.

Zadie dialed again, but it went straight to voice mail:

Yo, it’s Finn. My mom taught me not to talk to strangers, so only leave a message if I know who you are or you’re calling to tell me I won a bunch of money.

She must have turned off her phone when she saw me calling, Zadie thought. In seventeen years, she’d never known Finn to hold a grudge. Zadie could think of only one other reason why she might decline her call.

She shoved her phone in her pocket, grabbed her suitcase, and let the door slam behind her.

The house was just as Zadie remembered it. Even in the dark, she could make out the same red shutters, the same aluminum mailbox, the same withered persimmon tree in the front lawn. And for a moment she was sixteen again, sneaking in after a night of watching friends set off firecrackers behind the quarry. Her mom had waited up for her and had been thoroughly unimpressed when Zadie had told her where she’d been. “Firecrackers? I’d assumed you’d be doing something fun.” She was right. It hadn’t been that fun, certainly not fun enough to justify the two-week grounding she got as a result.