“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t even know what needs to be done yet.” She sighed. “Paul Westerly suggested that he and I get hitched so I can stay in the country and because people would take him ‘more seriously’ if he had a wife.”
His spoon clanged against the French press loudly. A stone settled in the pit of Jace’s stomach, setting him on edge. “He’s a dickhead.”
“Right?” Angie watched him closely. The feeling of her eyes boring into him was like someone had taken a match to his blood. “Too bad it’s not someone other than Paul Grossterly offering.”
Jace tried to process her comment as he pushed the plunger down on the French press. Making coffee helped quiet his mind. He liked the process of it—the ritual. But right now, he couldn’t think of anything else except the idea that Angie might marry someone for the sake of being able to stay in Australia.
That was the one thing he could not help her with—because marriage wasn’t for him. Not now, not ever.
“I mean, you’re single. Ever thought about getting yourself a wife?” She winked. Was this one of those times where the words sounded serious but were meant to be a joke?
“Marriage is bullshit.” He spoke a little harsher than he’d meant to. “Two people decide they need a piece of paper to make it real. And for what, so one of them can inevitably walk away anyway?”
She blinked. “Cynical much?”
“It’s not cynical—it’s realistic.” He shook his head. There wasn’t much that Jace got fired up over—but this was one of them. “It’s hard enough to make it work when you’re in love, let alone when you’re only doing it for the piece of paper.”
“Wow. Okay, one, I was joking. And two, it’s a little insulting that I’m not even hypothetical wife material.” She walked into the kitchen and yanked the fridge open like she owned the place. “It took you less than a second to discount the idea.”
Jace was sure this was one of those verbal traps he had a tendency to walk into. When he was younger, his mother joked that she was going to give him a tattoo on his foot that said insert into mouth for how often he spoke without thinking. It wasn’t that he didn’t think, more that he only had one speed: straightforward. It had taken him years to develop a filter, and even now he hated using it. Why couldn’t he answer questions truthfully?
The thought of marrying anyone was…just no.
And it wasn’t for the reasons anyone, including his family, might assume. It had nothing to do with accommodating another person into his routine. It was simply…him. What if one day the woman he chose to let into his life decided that she couldn’t deal with his idiosyncrasies anymore? What if his quirks became too much?
Even his own family, who loved him dearly, teased him when a joke on television flew over his head. He could tell they were disappointed when he wasn’t up to going to the pub if he’d had a rough day. And sometimes he felt like he let them down when he didn’t know the right thing to say if they were having trouble—like when his big brother admitted that he and his wife were struggling to get pregnant.
The fuzzy gray was no place for a marriage to thrive.
“I don’t do hypothetical,” he said. “Besides, we both know it wouldn’t work in the real world.”
Angie pulled out the milk and wandered over to where he’d poured the coffee into two identical white mugs. “You’re right. I’m deflecting because I don’t want to leave, and it’s easier to make jokes than to think about reality.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to go,” he said, meaning every word of it.
“That’s sweet,” she said, then turned to him and narrowed her eyes. “You were going to make a crack about steady rent, weren’t you?”
He wasn’t, actually. But it was probably better to let her think that. So he grinned and she swatted him, rolling her eyes and taking her mug back out to the living room. He didn’t want Angie to leave, that much he knew. She made the place brighter. Happier.
Maybe that was why her news made his stomach feel weird.
Regardless, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Because there was no way in hell he’d ever expose himself to the inevitable rejection that would come with being married.
Chapter Five
The following day, Angie had to put on her best and brightest—and fakest—smile. Luckily for her, it was something with which she was very familiar. Wearing a fake smile was kind of like pulling on an itchy sweater when it was cold out. Sure, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever…but it served a purpose.
And that purpose was making the residents of the Patterson’s Bluff Retirement Home feel good. She volunteered three days a week as a “companion” to the elderly residents. This sometimes involved playing cards or board games, watching movies, talking, and making cups of tea. Mostly, her job was to keep people company. A lot of the residents said having young people around made them feel young again themselves. Like her youth was contagious.
It suited Angie. She’d never had grandparents as a kid, so this made up for the relationships she’d never gotten the chance to cultivate in her own life.
The main roads had been cleared late last night, after the storm finally subsided. All the downed trees and other dangerous things had been removed, but there was plenty to keep the emergency workers busy—blocked drains, branches, and other debris littering the residential streets, injured wildlife, and damaged traffic signage. Angie had taken a slight detour on her bike, avoiding the paths covered in gumnuts and likely to send her A over T if she hit one with her front tire.
But the weather was pleasant. Cooler than it had been in days, with a slight breeze that carried the salty tang of the ocean right to her nostrils. She peddled at a leisurely pace, taking in all her favorite sights of the town. The quaint little pub that sat on the corner of the main strip, the ice-cream store with its old-fashioned blue-and-white-striped awning. Then there was the “yellow house,” a unique two-story beauty that was painted the prettiest shade of buttery yellow, with lacy white fretwork to match. It reminded her of a cake, like it was too sweet and too perfect to be real.
She turned off the main road and peddled up the final hill of her journey, waving to Mr. Singh, the retired chemistry professor. Next door were the Clarks and their five rascal boys. And next to them was the sweet Jane and Tom and their baby, Michelle. The big house on the next corner belonged to the “mayor” and his wife. Glen Powell was actually the former mayor of the Shire of Mornington Peninsula but still acted like he ran the place.
As Angie pulled into the retirement home, her heart sank. She knew so many people in this town, knew all the quirks and politics, knew the relationships that ran deeper than the sand at the bottom of the ocean. In only six months, she’d been welcomed with open arms and made to feel like one of them. And now she’d have to announce she was moving on. It would be like ripping out the stitches on her heart, making her feel the pain of all the old wounds she’d hoped might have healed properly this time.
Maybe it was smarter to rip off the Band-Aid in one fell swoop? She could keep on peddling. Head straight back to pack her bags and call a taxi to the airport? She could get a flight to LAX from Melbourne and avoid two months of dragging out the inevitable. Two months of pain and denial.
“Hey, Angie.”
A feminine voice made her turn around. It was Nadesha Chetty, one of the managers for the retirement home and the person who’d helped sign Angie up for volunteer work when she’d first arrived in Patterson’s Bluff. She was also one of the only people who knew about Angie’s past, on account of her doing Angie’s reference checks. And, unlike a lot of people she’d met in her time, Nadesha had actually kept Angie’s secret safe.
“Crazy weather, huh?” Nadesha was dressed in her uniform—black pants and a pale-blue shirt with a name badge pinned to her chest. Her black curly hair sat in a fluffy cloud around her shoulders, a
nd her lips were decorated with her signature poppy red. Like always, she wore a gold chain around her neck with a small ruby pendant that matched her lipstick perfectly. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to get out of my street this morning.”
So much for riding away and packing her bags. No way she could flake out on her shift now. “I thought Australia was beautiful one day, perfect the next.”
They walked into the building together, and Angie gave a wave before heading into the home’s communal living space. There were several common areas dotted around the property, including a quiet library and a room that had big comfy couches and a huge TV. But the main area was where Angie found herself during her volunteer hours. Maybe being around the sweet people who lived here would help lift her mood. Even though they were all grateful for her presence, most had no idea how they positively impacted her.
As soon as she walked into the room, Angie was waved over to where three women sat around a small square table littered with cards.
“We need a moderator,” said Meredith, a seventy-six-year-old woman who never left her room without her two trademarks: a pair of chunky earrings and a cloud of Chanel No.5 wafting around her. “Betty is cheating again.”
“I am not!” Betty pressed a palm to her chest and gave a dramatic gasp. “The fact you even think I would cheat is an outrage.”
Angie looked to the remaining player. Jean never missed a trick, and she cleaned unsuspecting poker players out more often than not with her gentle voice and unassuming smile. “The silent assassin,” Angie jokingly called her.
“Jean? What’s going on?”
The older woman shrugged. She was bundled up in a fluffy blue cardigan and wore a pair of glasses with a chain connected around the back of her head. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You always take her side,” Meredith said, shaking her head. “I swear I’m going to stop playing with you two one day.”
“She says that”—Betty winked at Angie—“but she’s still here every week.”
Meredith huffed but motioned for Angie to take a seat. “Deal you in?”
Angie nodded. “Sure.”
“So tell us about the meeting,” Betty said as she shuffled the cards. “How did it go?”
The town planning meeting felt like a lifetime ago, but it had only been last Friday. Angie cringed at the memory. She’d gone with grand plans about how she could help improve Patterson’s Bluff, thinking that as someone the town had embraced, she would have a voice in that forum. Unfortunately, Glen Powell had been quite “appalled” at some of her ideas for the changes they should make in the retirement home, thinking that allocating their annual development budget to learning opportunities for the elderly was a “misuse” of funds.
“It was…not great.” She sagged back against the seat as Betty flicked the cards across the table like a proper casino dealer. “Mr. Powell shut me down.”
“That old fogey,” Jean said with a grunt. “Needs to pull the stick out of his backside, he does.”
Angie couldn’t help but laugh. “Agreed. I get the impression he thinks I’m some upstart coming in here with my grand plans, trying to make his life difficult.”
“Well, I was a big fan of Grannies on Poles,” Meredith said, fluffing her hair. “Why should you young ones have all the fun? Water aerobics is fine, but I want to try something new. I hear Zumba is good.”
“I don’t understand why Glen Bloody Powell gets to determine what goes on here,” Betty chimed in. “He’s not mayor anymore, even if he thinks he owns the damn place.”
Angie looked at her cards and tried not to remember Jace’s smile at the pooh-poohed idea. Or the fact that the hail had let up only thirty minutes later, and she hadn’t been able to think of a good-enough reason to delay going back to her place. Unfortunately.
She focused on her cards. They played Texas Hold’em, and it was not her forte. And her cards were less than ideal. But Angie had decided long ago that she wasn’t a quitter—not even when she had been dealt a shitty hand.
Weren’t you about to run back home and pack your bags so you could slink off to LA without saying goodbye? That is the very definition of quitting when life deals you a shitty hand.
Ugh. Stupid logical brain.
“It wasn’t just the pole-exercise thing that got knocked down, either. Glen also hated the idea for the yoga and meditation class—hippie mumbo-jumbo, he said. Oh, and apparently the community vegetable garden is a lawsuit waiting to happen because people might poison one another with pesticides.” Angie rolled her eyes. “I didn’t even get through all my ideas.”
“I’d like to poison him with pesticides,” Betty grumbled as she tossed some of her chips into the center. “Raise, by the way. I’ve got some lovely cards here.”
“You always talk such a big game. And I call, because you’re bluffing.” Meredith tossed her chips into the center. Angie matched, and Jean decided to fold. “What kind of ideas was he interested in?”
“A billboard on the Nepean advertising the pub. Says we’re losing too much traffic to people bypassing us and going straight to Sorrento and Portsea.”
“Never mind that he has a share in the pub,” Jean muttered. “Self-serving so-and-so.”
“Anything else come up at the meeting?” Betty asked. “Aside from Glen Powell looking out for number one?”
The rest of it was a blur. At the time, it had all seemed so important, like Angie was trying to ingrain herself in the town. Like she was going to be the kind of resident who worked hard to make their community better. But now it was a jumble in her head, overtaken by her present worries.
Before she had the chance to respond, the poker game was interrupted when a male resident came over. Angie hadn’t seen him before, so maybe he was new. The man was tall and handsome, though he walked with a cane, which made him look older than his strong features and sharp gray eyes would imply.
“Buonasera signorine,” he said. “Who’s winning?”
Meredith looked at Jean with a scowl. “Our resident card shark is winning.”
Jean’s cheeks went bright red and she huffed, waving a hand angrily at her friend. Angie had never seen the woman have such a reaction before—usually she was quiet and reserved. Unruffled. But she would barely meet the gentleman’s eyes.
“I’m Angie. I volunteer here.” She stuck her hand out, and the man clasped it in his, giving her a firm shake.
“Marcus Andretti.” He smiled. “I moved in recently.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Have a good game.” He inclined his head in a single nod and continued on his way toward a group of men who were sitting by the window, overlooking the courtyard.
Angie’s lips curved up into a wicked smile as she turned to Jean. “You have a crush on him!”
“Shh.” Jean slapped her arm. “Silly child. I have nothing of the sort.”
“She does.” Betty put her hand over her mouth and laughed. “And the feeling is mutual.”
“Stop it.” Jean’s cheeks were red as tomatoes. “I’ve told you before, my heart belongs to my Winston. Forever. Wedding vows were not made to be broken, not even by death.”
The table quieted then. Over her six months of volunteering, Angie had gotten to know the rich and vibrant histories of the people who lived here.
“When I met him, I knew we would get married on our very first date,” Jean said. Her eyes were misty, but she sat with her shoulders squared and her back straight. “People these days seem to think it takes years to figure out if you love someone. Phooey! I knew on that first night that Winston was my forever. We were married within a month.”
“One month?” Angie hadn’t known that.
“And I would still be with him now if it wasn’t for…” She swallowed. “When it’s right, you know.”
When it’s right, you know…
“I’m sorry, Jean. We were only teasing,” Betty said softly, reaching over to pat her arm. “I know you loved him very much.”
Meredith nodded and turned her attention back to the cards. “All right, time for the river, ladies.”
The last card was turned over—nine of hearts. Angie officially had nothing…less than nothing. But she didn’t want to fold now, not even at the end. She waited for Betty to place the blind, and then she called. So did Meredith, who crowed in victory.
“Full house!” She slapped her cards down, faceup.
Betty groaned. “Dammit, I thought I had you with two pairs.”
Angie flipped her cards over and Jean chuckled, patting her on the back. “Dear, you were never going to win with that hand. You should have folded from the start.”
Sighing, Angie looked at her cards. Her two of spades and seven of clubs. Nothing cards. Jean was right—she’d never stood a chance. But it was worth trying, right? Wasn’t it always worth trying?
“Next time,” Jean said with a smile. “You’ll learn.”
Chapter Six
Jace hunched over his desk, staring at his latest work-in-progress. The four-panel strip featured his hero, Hermit—a figure with a rounded head and stern expression—clutching his head in disbelief as his thoughts spiraled out of control. At this stage it was all in pencil, and Jace’s desk was littered with versions that didn’t quite convey what he wanted.
In fact, he had a whole page with slightly different versions of Hermit clutching his head. This was an important moment in the Hermit vs. World story, the introduction of a new “big bad” and another challenge for his misanthropic hero to tackle. Jace’s comic had started years ago as nothing more than a doodle in the back of his high school chemistry notebook. It was the only way he’d been able to make it through the class, since his teacher, Mr. Potts, had the kind of voice that could put a professional insomniac to sleep. And so, Hermit vs. World had been born. The character had started out as a high school misfit, like Jace, and had grown up alongside him.
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