“That’s a godsend,” Mom confirms, making Sam gasp and me laugh.
Part of me wants to text Gavin and ask him how he and his girlfriend met. I want to ask him what her name is, what she looks like, what school she goes to. I realize that my curiosity is something I’ve been burying, and it’s been easy, since Gavin and I don’t see each other every day. But if we’re going to be friends, I know she’s a part of him that I’ll have to accept and like.
Still, I want to ask if he thinks she’s the one. I hope that he would say she’s not, and that maybe I could ask him what he thinks about finding the one person you’re meant to be with the same way you find your way back to some familiar place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sunlight slants through my window, casting a pink hue around my room as the light bounces off my white walls. It looks peaceful, and in the rays of light tumbling to the floor, I can see little dust particles floating around. I can see all the little tiny bits of nothing that exist all the time even though we can’t always see them. In the quiet I wonder if Sam is awake on the other side of our wall. I wonder if she got up and did yoga, or if she made a smoothie for breakfast, or if she went for a quick run, or if she’s redoing her nails because she decided at the last minute that a darker shade of green would be perfect.
I expect to open my door to the familiar color-coded tornado of wedding planner Sam, but instead I find an empty hallway. Still, there’s excitement in the air. It’s the same as when I would wake up first on Christmas, ready for presents even though everyone else was still sleeping.
I knock lightly on Sam’s door. Nothing. I twist the knob silently and open the door just a crack to find her still in bed. She’s lying on her stomach, a drool stain starting to widen on her pillow.
“Aw—”
“AH!” I shriek.
“GRAPES!” Sam yells.
“What?” Mom and I ask, opening Sam’s door wider.
“Sorry,” Mom says, rubbing my shoulder.
“Good morning?” I say, smiling at Sam, who now has no choice but to rub the sleep out of her eyes and get out of bed.
“I was having a dream about the grocery store,” Sam explains through her yawn.
“Makes sense,” Mom says. “I’ll go wash off some grapes.”
“It’s prime wedding time!” I say, jumping up and down. “You’re about to be Sam Hubbard Davenport, princess of jam.”
“Ha ha, you’re so funny,” Sam says, her voice hoarse and monotone.
“I’ll go make coffee in addition to those grapes,” I say, leaving her be.
With all of us up, the house comes to life. Sam and Dad shower first while Mom and I get coffee and breakfast figured out. Then we eat together. Mom and I leave the table early to go shower and get dressed in our sweatpants and tennis shoes. Dad just puts on his suit because he doesn’t see the point in changing at the inn when he can just be ready. Mom mumbles something about him needing to be more helpful, while she pours another cup of coffee into a travel mug.
We pile into the car and I text my friends to make sure they’re on the way. Before I put my phone away, I text Gavin an excited emoji saying, Today is the day. Brooke is already at the inn, dressed and standing out front when we arrive. She’s holding a tablet in the crook of her elbow and has on tennis shoes that—interestingly enough—work with the bridesmaid’s dress.
She’s in charge of directing people about where and how to park and where to go once they’ve gotten out of their cars. Since the inn is only meant for a small number of guests, we had to get approval to park in the driveways and on the lawn. Sam and I hustle inside to the dressing room, where Sam’s hair gets pressed and curled; her eyes are painted with powder to become an earthy-tone-with-green smokey eye; and her lips are shaped, moistened, and polished to look like a rich-burgundy-colored berry.
My hair gets separated into two parts. The back is pulled into a knot bun and the front is braided into five braids, all laid over the rest of my hair and tied into the bun. Barrettes with little pearls on the end are fastened into the bun to hold the braids in place. The woman who does my makeup gives me browns, bronzes, and desert reds; and for my lip color she goes with a slightly-darker-than-nude brown. When she holds the mirror in front of my face, I honestly can’t believe I even had the potential to look this good. I feel a little funny when I realize that the one thing I want to do the most is take a selfie with natural lighting and send it to Gavin, just to put myself on his radar and see what he thinks.
“Sam, we have a situation—”
I look up to see Grace, Sloane, and Abby frozen in the doorway to the dressing room, staring at me, not Sam. They all look beautiful in their dresses. Sloane has on an indigo floor-length chiffon dress with silver leaf detailing around the neckline. Abby is wearing a pink dress with sequin embroidery and scallop sleeves. And Grace’s dress reminds me of Halloween because it makes her look like a princess. It’s a pale shade of blue with a pleated skirt and floral-print top.
“What?” Sam asks, making weird wide eyes at them.
Sloane makes different eyes at Sam, and I realize they’re doing that thing where they have a conversation that no one can hear.
“The eagle hasn’t landed,” Abby says, winking.
“What?” Sam asks again.
“The eagle hasn’t even left the nest,” Grace adds, pushing a few tendrils behind her ear.
“The eagle is having car trouble—” Abby says, biting her lip.
“His car broke down,” Grace corrects.
“What are you talking about?” Sam asks impatiently, picking up the front of her dress so that she can stand up.
Sloane tries to make eyes at Sam again, which looks weird, especially with Armao and Cheryl trying to mimic her facial expression.
“Ugh, just say it,” Sam says.
“Gavin’s car broke down, so he can’t make it,” Abby says, and she immediately steps back so that she’s hidden behind Sloane, who is even taller than normal in her glossy black pumps.
“WHAT!” Sam screams. “NO.”
“What?” I ask, looking down at my phone. Gavin still hasn’t texted me since I sent him that emoji.
“Mia,” Sam says, a lot quieter. “I was trying to do something, and… um.”
“We could try picking him up?” Grace offers.
Sam’s head jolts right back up. She checks her phone for the time and then turns to me. “Mia, Gavin doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“What?”
“And we called him last night to see if he was doing anything today that would be better than spending a whole day with you,” she explains.
“What? Wait, what?” I look down at my phone and text, Hey????
“We could try to go pick him up,” Sloane says, tapping on her phone. “He texted me his address. It’s not that far from here at all.”
“Do you think you’ll be back in time?” Sam asks, biting her lip.
“Would you be willing to stall for a little bit if we’re not?” Sloane asks.
Sam looks from them to me, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m still stuck on you somehow figuring out that Gavin doesn’t have a girlfriend, and you,” I say, pointing at Sloane, “are texting him?”
“We can catch her up on the way,” Grace says, taking my hand and pulling me toward the door.
“This will work. Everything will be fine,” Sloane is saying. I hear her tell someone not to let Sam cry, and then I hear the door to the dressing room close. I don’t see it, though, because Abby and Grace are ushering me down the hallway at the fastest pace we can move in high heels.
“What’s going on? Can someone please tell me?” I plead.
“Sam asked me about Gavin’s girlfriend,” Abby explains. “She said she didn’t believe you when you said he had one. So I said I didn’t know anything about him. She asked your mom if she had his number, which your mom was able to get from Gloria, and your sister worked some magic—aka asking him direct questions o
ver FaceTime—and found out that he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he likes you.”
“When?” I ask as we burst outside, none of us wearing coats.
“Last night, while I was helping her ‘set up’ the dressing room,” Grace says, smiling.
Sloane catches up to us and holds her phone down so that we can all lean forward and look. I’m familiar with the street that his house is on. I’ve actually probably passed it before.
“Whose car are we taking?” I ask, looking around.
Right outside the entrance to the Butterfly Bed & Breakfast is a cobblestone walkway that winds down three steps flanked by winter aconite and two low-cut hedges. We follow the path around to the parking lot, which is full of Sam and Geoffrey’s guests’ cars. I can already see that my and Grace’s cars are blocked in. Sloane runs across the wraparound driveway to where people have started double-parking, and when her shoulders sink, I can tell her car must be blocked too. Abby got a ride from Victor, but she doesn’t even know where he is right now, to get his keys.
“What do we do?” I ask. I check my watch. It’s 10:36. The wedding starts at eleven. The house is a little more than a mile away, which is nothing if we have a car.
“Let me see the map again,” I say, looking down at Sloane’s phone. “Why won’t he respond to me?”
“He said his phone didn’t charge last night, so it might be dead,” Sloane says. “He hasn’t replied to me for a bit.”
“So, we can’t even tell him to try walking here,” Grace realizes.
I look around as more of the Davenports and Hubbards roll toward the inn. We’re running out of time.
“The Wedding Date,” Abby shouts, clapping her hands together.
“What?”
“The Wedding Date. It’s a movie. At the end Nick is about to leave to go back to America after he and Kat have this big fight, and Kat realizes that he’s the one for her, so she runs off to find him. It’s, like, the end of your rom-com. All these meet-cutes, and now you have to go get your man, Mia! Now that we know who he is,” Abby explains.
I think. The streets around here aren’t that tricky, and I can use my phone to get to Gavin’s house…
“Okay. I’ll run to Gavin’s house and we’ll start walking back toward the inn. You guys go find Victor and get his truck and start driving on the path on Sloane’s phone until you find us, okay?”
“Okay,” Grace says. “So, should we—”
I don’t hear the rest of what she says because I kick off my heels, take up the hem of my dress, and start running. All of my swim practices, drills, and out-of-water conditioning have made me ready for this. I run down the driveway, past my very confused-looking grandparents, and turn onto the residential street that the inn is on. I run to the end of the block, take a right, and start down my nearly-a-mile stretch. With every step my heart beats faster, my blood throbs through my head, and my arms grow tired from holding the dress. Instead of thinking about the pebbles I feel biting into the soles of my feet, I focus on everything else. I focus on Sam’s wedding starting in less than fifteen minutes. I think about Gavin, liking me. I think about Gavin and me drinking Starbucks in the garden, about us sitting in his truck listening to music, about us hanging pipes in the greenhouse, about us texting about everything and nothing, about us awkwardly seeing each other outside the community garden for the first time… at the diner, when he came in and I was sitting with Ben on the night I was supposed to meet Darth Vader. I think about when I told Gavin that Ben was the guy I’d had a crush on, how excited I was that he’d showed up and saved the day, just minutes before Gavin came through the doors of November Always. I think about Gavin saying how much he doubted that Darth Vader was someone I didn’t know, and Darth Vader telling me he wasn’t a complete stranger. Suddenly it all clicks.
So when I turn my last corner and see a small figure dressed in black standing next to a pickup truck stuck at the end of a driveway, I run faster.
“Gavin!” I shout, my voice breaking without any breath.
His head snaps around and he starts running toward me.
“Mia!” he calls out when I’m just two houses down from his.
Then I crash into his arms, dropping my dress around my feet and leaning into him, wrapping my arms around him, feeling confident in knowing that he has feelings for me.
“Gavin,” I huff, placing my hands on his chest and feeling how soft he is. I feel his hands sneak around my waist until his arms are basically the only things holding me up.
“Breathe, Mia,” he tells me.
I force my head back so that I can look up at him, and wheeze a few more times. “Gavin, it was you. You are Darth Vader.” He nods. “The lie? Your girlfriend?”
“When I saw you with Ben—” He stops, searching my eyes. “I thought you’d finally gotten the guy you wanted, without even giving me a chance.”
“I didn’t know,” I tell him, feeling a little overwhelmed just thinking about it all. “When I stopped receiving messages from Darth Vader and we started texting I just figured he’d forgotten about me. Did you—”
“Smooth swap, huh?” Gavin smirks.
“Yes,” I say, and laugh. He swapped his name into Darth Vader’s contact. I look right into his eyes. “Gavin, I’ve been wanting the guy to be you.”
“I like you Mia,” he says, resting his forehead against my sweaty forehead. “So much.”
I snake my arms around the back of his neck, letting his hair fill the space between my fingers. “I like you too,” I whisper into the small space between our lips.
Without hesitation, his lips find mine. They consume me completely; the soft warmth makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in a long time. It feels like everything, but it feels effortless too. Even though he’s never held me in his arms, it’s like I’ve been here before. It feels like the place I belong.
“Nice kiss and all,” Sloane shouts. “But I was really hoping to see your sister get some action today, you know, at the altar and stuff.”
I turn around and see Victor’s truck. Sloane is standing in the truck’s bed, wearing her winter coat and holding mine. Abby and Grace wave from inside. Victor honks the horn and gives a thumbs-up, though I can’t tell if it’s to me or Gavin.
“Ready for a wedding?” I ask, looking up into Gavin’s eyes, their familiar darkness.
“And everything after that too,” he says.
Acknowledgments
First, I would like to thank my mentor and friend, Siobhan Vivian. Without you, my writing would not be where it is today and this project would not have been possible. I also would not have found my amazing agent, John Cusick, whom I am so excited to have by my side for this debut and for works to come.
Next, I want to express my gratitude to the editorial team at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers. You all have been so patient with me and made this experience brilliant and memorable. I remember reading the proof and still not believing that this is real! Krista Vitola and Dainese Santos, you both have been my rocks and pushed me to make this novel more than what I even imagined. Furthermore, I am grateful to copyeditors Jenica Nasworthy and Bara MacNeill for catching all the holes and saving characters from suddenly wearing glasses or spontaneously sprouting beards!
Thank you to Mel Cerri and Chloë Foglia for bringing Mia and the personality of these pages to life on the cover. Thank you to everyone at Simon & Schuster who helped make this book possible and helped get it into the hands of readers.
I must also thank my parents for always believing in me, and my brother, Thomas, for hyping me up.
Lastly, I want to thank my friend, roommate, and partner in crime, Brittany, for keeping me going and keeping me positive even when it has been hard to do so.
About the Author
Photograph by Brielle Loughney
Rhiannon Richardson was born in Oreland, Pennsylvania—a town she still has yet to find featured on a printed map. She graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a bach
elor’s in English literature and writing. When she isn’t writing she can be found hiking with her dog, Ernesto, exploring local cafes in search of the best vanilla cappuccino, and editing photographs. She currently lives in Stow, Ohio, with her best friend, dog, two guinea pigs, and twenty reptiles and amphibians.
Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Rhiannon-Richardson
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Richardson, Rhiannon, author.
Title: The meet-cute project / Rhiannon Richardson.
Description: First edition. | New York : Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, [2020] | Audience: Ages 12 up. | Audience: Grades 7–9. |
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