I thought I was dead.

You’re overdramatizing the situation.

Regardless, the thought of saying goodbye had forced my eyes wide open. I’d been slammed into my deepest, darkest secrets, and I didn’t like what I’d come face-to-face with.

In those horrifying moments of mortality, I introduced the ideal me to the real me.

And I didn’t like it.

I’m afraid.

Not just of failure and dying but of success and living.

Madeline had given me a dream career after a decade of meaningless labour. She’d given me something priceless after the death of my family. And all I could do was moan about crowds and cower in corners when people wanted to befriend and congratulate.

Who did that?

Who willingly choose a life of loneliness because she was too afraid to risk sharing herself with others?

Who am I?

I didn’t know.

Not anymore.

The girl I’d been when I boarded in America had died as truly as if we had crash-landed. I no longer wanted to be that Estelle. I wanted to be something more. Something better. Someone I could be proud of. If another life-or-death moment came along and made me score-card my life, I wanted to be happy not afflicted.

I wanted no regrets, and right now...I had millions of them.

Grabbing my suitcase as it appeared on the carousel (so much for having it go through to Sydney), I clutched my hotel and shuttle voucher and made my way outside. My suitcase creaked behind me. I needed a new one. The wheels on it had well and truly given up—I might as well cart it on sheer plastic for how useful they were.

The minute I get home, I’m going to reinvent myself.

Home.

The thought of sleeping in yet another hotel brought frustrated tears to my eyes. I’d begged at the check-in counter for a reprieve. I was happy to wait in the terminal for a possible departure. I was content to be patient. But the crew had been adamant that despite the fact the storm was passing, and other airlines would depart later tonight, they wouldn’t risk flying.

That was their final decision, and I had no way of getting home (unless I wanted to swim).

I need to sleep. I want this day to be over.

I hated the whiny voice inside, complaining of inconvenience and delays. Only moments ago, I’d admitted I didn’t like my desire to hide away and run from human contact.

Perhaps this was what the messages had been trying to say—not to avoid calamity but to walk right into it, so I could realise what was missing before it was too late.

Maybe the messages weren’t about dying but awakening.

Is that what this is?

A wake-up call?

Something to show me how much I needed to immerse myself in a life that I was squandering away, letting every experience and priceless moment pass by in a blur of non-requited joy?

If it was...what should I do about it? Be more spontaneous? Be brave, try new things, and accept deviations to my regimented plan?

“Are you with the Evermore party?” A wiry man in a turquoise shirt with a frangipani sewn on the breast pocket smiled as I stopped at Collection Point C. I’d been told to wait there and I’d be taken to my hotel.

A hotel full of noisy people. Of stress. Of sleeplessness.

I shuddered.

Stop that.

Reinvention...remember?

You might meet a handsome stranger in the hotel restaurant and have the time of your life before flying home as planned tomorrow.

I scoffed.

As if.

“Miss...is your name Ms. Evermore?”

I frowned. “I’m Estelle Evermore, but I’m travelling on my own.”

The guy’s forehead furrowed. “Oh? You’re not with Duncan, Amelia, Conner, and Pippa Evermore?”

“What? No...” I looked past the guide and froze. By the frangipani-decorated van stood the family who’d boarded while I’d been stuck at the gate in Los Angeles.

The wife smiled, waving a little. “Hello again.”

I swallowed. “Uh, hi.”

The driver tapped his clipboard. “So you know each other? You family or not?”

“We’ve met but aren’t related.” The husband with his bushy beard grinned. “We’re strangers but more than happy to travel in the same van.” He strode toward me, hand outstretched. “I’m Duncan. Nice to meet you...”

My manners kicked in. “Estelle. Pleasure to meet you...for the second time.”

“Likewise, Estelle. That was rather random back in the States, huh? Never met another Evermore before. Perhaps we are related and just don’t know it.” He winked as his large hand wrapped around mine, squeezing warmly. “Oh well, any girl as pretty as you is welcome to join our family.” Turning to face his loved ones, he pointed at each in turn. “My wife Amelia, and our rug-rats, Conner and Pippa.” He rolled his eyes at his brood. “Say hi, kids.”

The little girl hugged her tatty-stuffed kitten. “Hi.”

The teenage boy didn’t look up from his gaming device, his fingers flying over the controls.

I waved lamely. “Hi, guys.”

“Don’t mind them. Just tired and need sleep.” Duncan took a step back. “So, what brings you to Fiji?”

Before I could answer, footsteps sounded behind me followed by an intake of breath. “You.”

My heart skipped as I whirled around. My gaze locked onto the vibrant blue eyes framed so deliciously in black glasses.

The man from Los Angeles.

“You.”

He smirked. “I already said that.”