My heart lodges in my throat as I yelp. Spinning so quickly, I almost fall face-first. “Holy fuck!” Pressing a hand to my chest, I gulp in mouthfuls of air, attempting to breathe.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Lacey. Your neighbor.” The friendly-looking brunette rushes over, homemade pie in hand, offering an olive branch.
The sweet smell of cherries permeates the air.
When I’ve calmed enough to speak without wheezing like a winded hyena, I attempt to smile. I hope I don’t resemble a deranged freak show clown. “It’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry.” I wave off her concerns when she bites her lip guiltily. “It’s nice to meet you, Lacey. I’m Peyton.”
When the air settles, she smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I brought pie,” she declares, holding up the plate with pride. “I thought it would be a nice way to welcome you to the neighborhood, but considering I just scared you half to death, I kind of feel like I should have brought coffee, too.”
A laugh escapes me, which startles me because I don’t think I’ve laughed since “waking up.”
Lacey is quite pretty. With long, brown hair, sun-kissed freckles, and a kind smile, she radiates the girl-next-door vibe. She looks a little younger than I am, but I instantly feel like I could call her my friend.
I don’t have many—well, any—friends, so if I’m determined to do this living thing, what better way to start than by making my first friend. “I literally have nothing to offer you. Not even a glass of water because I don’t have any glasses.” Peering down at the delectable pie, I regrettably add, “Or forks, for that matter.”
Lacey’s light laughter fills the room. “Lucky for you”—she hunts through her large brown handbag, tonguing the corner of her mouth in concentration—“I never leave home without them.” Just as I’m about to ask what, she holds two plastic forks high in the air. “Ta-da!”
Another laugh slips past my lips, which surprises me. It feels so foreign yet so familiar, too. “I can offer you a view, though.” We both gaze out over the lake, a mutual respect for our picturesque backdrop.
“Sounds perfect to me.” She places the pie on the railing between us and hands over a fork. I gratefully accept.
“I thought this was a myth,” I confess, pursing my lips in thought.
“What?” Lacey asks with her fork paused en route to the pie.
“Friendly neighbors coming over with baked goods to welcome someone to the neighborhood,” I reply, tongue in cheek.
She grins, the sight shedding much-needed light on my otherwise dreary day. “It’s best to know one’s neighbors, they say. You never know who’s living next door to you. I wanted to make sure you weren’t a serial killer.” Her tone is completely playful, but a shiver racks my body.
Lacey reads my sudden withdrawal and gasps. “Oh gosh, I didn’t mean you were a creep or anything. If anything, I’m the creep for wandering in uninvited, bearing a pie.” She seems upset and genuinely embarrassed by her comment. But there is no need.
“It’s completely okay. I’m glad you came over. Before you did, I was debating whether I’d lost my mind.”
“And the verdict is?”
“The jury is still out,” I reply honestly.
This would be the time Lacey says welcome to the neighborhood and runs from this madhouse, never looking back, but she doesn’t. She thrusts her fork into the pie and cuts into it merrily. “So why do you think that?” she poses casually, the warm crimson filling sticking to her utensil.
Sighing, I know I have two options. I can either tell her the truth and risk the chance of losing my first potential friend, or I could lie and have the same outcome. I came here to start afresh and attempt to piece my life back together. So with that as my incentive, I exhale deeply. “I was involved in a car accident.”
Lacey’s fork trembles in transit to her mouth.
I realize I probably should have led with something a little less shocking. “Sorry, I’m still trying to figure out this whole social etiquette thing.” I scrunch up my face and shake my head because that revelation isn’t any better than my first.
Lacey chews her pie politely, waiting for me to continue.
“Six months ago, I woke from a coma.” The fact still leaves me winded. “I actually have…amnesia. I have no idea who I am. I have strangers telling me about the person I once was, but I have absolutely no recollection of any of it.” I toy with my fork, flicking my thumb over the plastic tines. “The doctors don’t know if I’ll ever remember. So far, nothing, but…”
“But what?” she asks, swallowing, utterly intrigued.
Pausing, I once again get lost in the gentle hum pulsating in the air. “But this place…something about this place feels so…familiar. It doesn’t make any sense because I didn’t grow up here, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been here before.”
Sighing, I dig my fork into the flaky pie crust, needing something to shove into my mouth so I stop talking. I have no doubt I freaked Lacey the hell out. Talk about jumping into the deep end. The unintentional thought makes my stomach drop.
We’re silent, both chewing pensively. As I deliberate what I just confessed, I find I can’t read the blank look on Lacey’s face. I wouldn’t blame her if she kept her distance, but she said she was my neighbor, which has me wondering how long she’s lived here.
Wanting a change of pace, I place my hand on the railing, shake out my hair, and strike my best model pose. “I don’t suppose I look familiar?” I know I look ridiculous, but that’s the whole point.
Lacey splutters up her pie, covering her mouth with her hand. “At the moment”—she’s doing a poor job at hiding her smirk—“you kind of look like Donald Duck.”
My pursed lips twitch before I burst into fits of laughter. “Well, at least I can rule out model,” I manage to choke out between chuckles. Lacey cackles along with me.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow.” She nods animatedly.
“I have no idea,” I reveal. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Period.” I have no idea why any of this is funny, but being with Lacey is like gossiping with an old girlfriend where everything is funny.
“Well, in that case, I insist you let me help decorate this place. We can go into town and grab a few things.” When something clatters loudly in my kitchen, Lacey’s eyes widen before she bites back a smile. “Maybe a lot of things.”
My heart swells at her suggestion because that sounds absolutely amazing. “Deal.”
I feel an inexplicable kinship to Lacey. I have no idea why, but she’s the first person I have met who I’ve been completely comfortable around. It could be because she has no idea who I was, and she’s meeting the new Peyton Lane 2.0.
Whatever the reason, I don’t question it.