Page 1 of A Fall to Remember

1

MIRANDA

Crowded, muggy, loud, high-stress, and yet the best place for people watching, Miranda thought to herself as she hurried to her gate, dragging her carry-on, which she’d stuffed with enough souvenirs to share with the entire town. In hindsight, she probably didn’t need fifteen hand-painted mosaic ornaments or multiple sets of Catalina Island dish towels, but she couldn’t resist. This trip had been her first getaway in twenty-six years.

Twenty-six years. Her pudgy little baby with those dimply cheeks and soft blue eyes was twenty-six. A full-grown adult. It still didn’t seem possible that so much time had passed. Up until recently, she hadn’t thought that much about age. It was just a number. A date to be celebrated. Another flip of a year on the calendar. Miranda didn’t feel old. She wasn’t old. Age, in her humble opinion, was merely a state of mind. But her fiftieth birthday was looming out on the horizon. At forty-eight she’d suddenly found herself for the first time since Pete was born—and maybe ever—questioning what was next.

It was a strange and unsettling feeling. Every time she thought about her future, her stomach would swarm with cautious butterflies. She’d carved out a simple, quiet, beautiful life in her hometown of Half Moon Bay, where she ran a boutique grocery store and deli. She’d been content and happy.

No, scratch that. I am content and happy.

She sighed as she shifted her bag to her other arm. Still, something felt like it was missing. Maybe this was the natural progression of parenting. Now that Pete was grown, he didn’t need her in the same way. He had his own life, friends, and future plans. He seemed happy to be back home in Half Moon Bay, too, but she couldn’t expect him to stay forever. She didn’t want that for him. She wanted him to go explore the world and have big, bold adventures.

But what about her?

That’s why she’d taken the trip to Catalina Island for a solo three-day excursion. Hey, maybe it wasn’t a different continent, but it was a start. The time away had allowed her ample space to sit in silence without the distractions of running the Green Grocer and consider what her next chapter might include.

There was only one glaring problem—she didn’t have some kind of grand revelation. It wasn’t like she was expecting the skies to part and a shaft of light to shine down on her from the heavens, illuminating the way forward. Okay, well, yeah, technically that would have been cool. Instead, she’d sipped fruity cocktails and kayaked around the island, leaving feeling refreshed and rejuvenated but still completely confused about why she was struggling to picture what came next.

She shook her head, trying to free herself from her worries as she squeezed past a family wearing matching neon orange Meyer Family Cruise T-shirts with one exception—the teenager at the back had designed his own shirt, aptly in basic black with white lettering, which read: I don’t know these people.

Pete would love that. Miranda fumbled through her purse for her phone and snapped a blurry picture for her son as an announcement sounded overhead that her flight would begin boarding in ten minutes.

Miranda texted Pete the picture with one hand, lugging her purse and carry-on in the other. She should have been paying more attention to her surroundings because the next thing she knew, she ran smack into the middle of a solid chest.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry,” she said as her feet gave way beneath her. Her flip-flops slipped over the polished floors that suddenly felt like ice. She was sure she probably looked like a cartoon character whose feet were going a mile a minute, trying to keep traction with the floor.

Don’t fall.

Don’t fall.

Too late.

She was already headed toward the ground and taking the poor, unsuspecting man she’d just bumped into down with her. Her carry-on and purse went scattering. So did the man’s things—maps, files, travel guides, even a printed boarding pass.

“I’m mortified,” Miranda said, reaching for a pocket guide to island hopping in Croatia. She got a better look at the guy as she handed him the book. He was undeniably attractive. About her age, with salt-and-pepper hair and a scruffy beard hiding a tan. His soulful eyes reminded her of melted chocolate, but they were simmering with annoyance. She hadn’t realized until this very minute that she had managed to spill his iced latte all the way down his lightweight travel shirt. “Your coffee,” she gasped, holding her breath and digging through her purse for hand wipes. This couldn’t be happening. “Here, use these. I was texting my son a picture of a funny T-shirt, and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I should never walk and text at the same time. It’s not my forte. You know how it is with phones. I tease my son all the time about not texting and crossing the street at the same time, and here I am ignoring my own advice. You should see the shirt, though. It was so funny. The rest of the family had matching cruise T-shirts, but not this kid.” She stopped herself. She could hear the voices of Pete and her niece, Elise, in her head, reminding her that she didn’t need to overshare. It was an ongoing joke. Miranda tended to rattle on whenever she was nervous, and this tall, dark, and handsome stranger was making her extra chatty.

The man dabbed his shirt with one of the wipes. His voice was low-pitched and strained. “It’s okay.”

It didn’t sound like it was okay. She noticed the way his gaze shifted, sweeping over the mess, his eyebrows drawing together as he chewed on his bottom lip like he was trying to decide what to do next.

“But your coffee.” Miranda tried to mop up the spill but only made things worse, creating a puddle of soggy beige liquid on the airport floor. “Let me at least buy you a new one. Or a shirt. Something. I feel terrible.” Heat burned on her cheeks. She wanted to slink off and pretend that this had never happened, but she had to at least make it right with him.

The man forced a pained smile as coffee stains continued to blossom on his shirt. He attempted to pat it dry, but it didn’t work. “It’s fine. I have a flight to catch.” He wiped off his papers and stood, offering Miranda his hand. Their eyes met briefly. Her first assessment was correct. He was very handsome but in a casual, approachable way. He was also doused in coffee, thanks to her.

Great.

“Really. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Her face had to be on fire. She pulled her hand away and picked up her bags, which ironically had been spared any coffee splatter. “I can’t let you get on a flight like that.”

Another announcement sounded that her flight was pre-boarding.

Shoot. She needed to hurry.

“It’s fine,” the man repeated. His smile faltered as he tossed the soggy wipes in the trash. “I’ll change when I land.” He stuffed his travel guides and coffee-stained papers into his satchel and started to walk away.

Miranda’s heart dropped. She had just ruined a stranger’s flight. The poor guy was probably going to have to fly to Croatia in a wet shirt thanks to her. But there wasn’t much she could do about it now.

She started toward her gate. A voice behind her stopped her. She turned to see the guy walking backwards.