Page 3 of Pink and Country

No Saunders around. A con. No busy sidewalks. Pro? Con? Tough call.

Being on my own was my normal. Here or there wouldn’t matter much. Okay, a pro then.

My mind raced through the possibilities. I rubbed my eyes with my closed fists. I hadn’t taken vacations in—ugh, forever. When was the last time? I sighed. Too long ago. I massaged the nape of my neck with my fingertips, untying the knots in my upper back and shoulders. My pulse picked up.

I scanned my small apartment. With its ivory walls, dark ceilings, maple floors, and colorful accents, it wasn’t much, but I liked it. It was home.

I moved here, a three-hour drive from Atlanta, three years ago, after I graduated college. After everything. When my life collapsed. This place was supposed to be my fresh start. The first step to move forward. My apartment wasn’t big by any means, but it suited me.

New me.

New life.

New career.

New home.

That was the plan back then. Did it work out? Honestly? Not really. A bit. Maybe.

Bernice butted my cheek, purring into my ear. “You want to go, girl?” She purred some more. “And now you have an opinion.” Could a cat and my best friend know what I needed better than I did? No, not going there.

I dropped my shoulders forward and scraped my hand through my hair.

“Okay, girl, let’s do this. Let’s go on an adventure for a month.” Bernice and I exchanged what could pass as smiles, at least in my head.

In the last few years, I’d lost sight of who I was. It was time to get my power back. To redefine myself. To find where I belonged. To dream again. To do this whole new me, new life thing. Give it a real shot. I blew out a breath. I’d been waiting for a sign for a long time. Could this be it?

Yeah. Time to get my groove back.

Straightening my spine with a new resolve, I typed a message to Saunders, letting her know I’d go to the cabin. I would do this. I would get out of my comfort zone. About time , the smart side of my brain screamed at me. I high-fived myself—or at least I imagined I did.

The mountain air would clear my head. See, it worked already. Just thinking about it released years of pent-up tension from my back. I remembered reading somewhere, a while back, about how living in the mountains made you healthier and happier. Green therapy, they called it. I risked nothing trying it for a month.

The seclusion would help me focus. The idea grew on me. A wide grin painted my face. “Time to pack,” I said out loud, mostly to myself. Or to Bernice, who had already retreated to the comfort of my bed.

I shut my laptop, sauntered to my bedroom, and rose on my tiptoes, propped on a plastic stepstool I kept in there, to grab my suitcase on the top shelf of my closet.

Yeah, I was doing this.

No more excuses.

No more procrastination.

The mountains were calling me, and I was answering.

Half-packed, I sat back before my laptop to find half a dozen new messages from Saunders. I expected nothing less from her and imagined my friend doing a victory dance in nothing else than her underwear when I agreed to her retreat idea. Saunders emailed me lists. List with an S . Itineraries, things to do in Green Mountain at this time of the year, the best places to eat on my way up there. She attached forms to sign, the cabin’s rule book, and other documents I didn’t dwell on. For now.

For an instant, I wondered if she sent those to all her wealthy clients or if she compiled all this information for my sake only. Knowing my best friend, probably a mix of both. Part of her foolproof strategy to win me over.

I skimmed over the documents I printed and emailed back the signed forms. It looked official. It even included a non-disclosure agreement. I shrugged. Guess that made sense since Saunders only booked high-end private destinations for her clients. Anyway, I trusted my friend. Back in my bedroom, I finished packing, adding more sweaters to my suitcase under Bernice’s watchful eye, now curled on my pillow.

Jitters filled my heart, knowing I’d enjoy one of Saunders’s destinations for once. My best friend offered me a month-long vacation, and I intended to make the most of it.

2

Carter

“N o, June, I won’t do it. No interviews. I’m done.” I scratched my forehead with the tip of my thumb. Anger simmered inside me. Get a hold of yourself, Carter. “You don’t understand, I won’t do it. I won’t explain anything. It’s nobody’s business.” Juniper, or June as I called her, my assistant-manager slash am-I-Carter’s-personal-assistant slash keeping-Carter-out-of-trouble-should-be-my-main-job, was my go-to girl in my music career.