Room to Breathe

by Liz Talley

  “About a month. Probably the second week of November if everything arrives on time. It’s going to be dusty and messy until then, but in the end, you’ll have a gorgeous place.”

  “Perfect. I need buyers, and Shelly promises it has a better chance at selling with these changes. I hope I can recoup the money invested.” When Daphne had decided to move into town, she’d offered the house to Ellery and her fiancé, Josh, but her daughter hadn’t wanted to live in the country. With her career in fashion up in the air after a missed internship, and Josh potentially going elsewhere for residency, it didn’t make sense to hold on to the family property. Time for someone else to make a home in the farmhouse.

  “You’ll recoup and then some, but I can’t believe you’re selling this place,” Clay said, looking around at the bucolic pasture with the old barn that she still needed to clean out. “We had some good times out here.”

  “Yeah, well, Ellery’s not too happy about me moving, but she doesn’t want the house, so . . .” Daphne wiped a hand across her brow. They needed a cold front soon. October in north Louisiana often felt like coming out at the wrong end of Saint Peter’s gate.

  Clay chuckled. “You mean Ellery’s not getting her way?”

  Daphne snorted. “Shocking, right? I don’t want to live out here by myself any longer. Time for a new start for me and Jonas.”

  Hearing his name, the old hound rose from the shade of the oak tree and ambled over. He pressed himself against Daphne’s leg, sat down, and issued a big sigh.

  Both she and Clay smiled at the older dog. Jonas, named for Ellery’s favorite boy group when she was younger, would soon be settling his old bones at the new small patio home being built in Bordeaux Village. Daphne was excited about this next step in her life. With clean lines and a gorgeous cobbled courtyard, her new place would be the blank slate she needed to launch a new Daphne. No longer was she merely Ellery’s mom or Rex’s wife. She was a successful artist and author. Every time she remembered that, she wanted to pinch herself. It was almost like a do-over for her life.

  “A new start’s always good. Still, this place is just what I want when I get ready to settle down,” Clay said, longing lacing his words.

  “You’re too young to settle down,” Daphne said, glancing at him. His shirt still hung open, and the sunglasses he’d pulled on when they’d walked away from the house kept her from seeing his emotions. He looked exactly like what he was—a guy with the world in his hand.

  “Not that young. I’m twenty-five, and I’ve played pretty hard for the past few years. Kind of tired of that life.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Even Ellery’s getting married.”

  “But not yet,” Daphne said, thankful her daughter hadn’t insisted on a wedding within the year. With Ellery’s fiancé in med school and her own career on hold, the last thing her daughter needed was the hassle of planning a wedding. Once Ellery got a satisfactory job and Josh got through at least his second year of medical school, they could look at planning a wedding.

  “Yeah, but I’m tired of the life I’m leading. It gets old, and I’m ready to find someone who wants to stay home and not party,” Clay said, hooking a thumb in his waistband, which, of course, drew her attention to the lighter skin revealed at his waist.

  She pulled her gaze away and vowed to complete the dating profile she’d started on MadeForMe.com but never finished. No more looking at Clay Caldwell like he was . . . a man. He used to swipe beer from her fridge and play badminton in the side yard, for heaven’s sake. He was a kid. Okay, not technically. But a kid.

  “Well, I need to run some errands. I can put Jonas in the laundry room if you want,” she said, smoothing her damp hands against her shorts. She had planned on tackling a new proposal for the holiday series but had gotten distracted by boxing up the kitchen. Updated tile and kitchen counters would go in once Clay finished with the bathroom and closet. So much to do to get ready to turn the house over . . . but she needed to drop off her father’s new medication, then pop in to her ex-husband’s heating and AC–repair company to leave him a few tax files he’d orphaned in the hall closet and called about.

  “Nah, leave him outside. That’s what you want, right, boy?” Clay gave Jonas a scratch behind his ears. The dog immediately flopped over and offered his belly to be scratched. Clay squatted and obliged.

  “Now you’ve done it. He’ll have you giving him belly rubs every day,” Daphne said, brushing a hand through hair that had frizzed with the heat of the day.

  Clay looked up at her, his mouth curling into a lazy grin. “I’m good at scratching an itch.”

  She didn’t think he was talking about Jonas.

  Holy hell.

  “Uh, I better get going,” she said, pressing her hands against her shorts again. She knew she looked rattled. Hell, she was rattled. Not because Clay Caldwell had pretty much started flirting with her, but because she had a sudden inclination to roll over.

  And that was unacceptable. And stupid. And dangerous.

  All things Daphne Witt had never been.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dear Miss O’Hara,

  I love the way you described the sun setting on Caddo Lake. Guess that’s what authors do, huh? I’ve always thought it was like God finger painted an ending to the day. Soothes me. You say you have a place on the lake? Must be nice to get away for a few days when you want. I’m sure it’s easier to write your stories when you feel at peace. We have a small lake on the vineyard property that I sometimes visit to fish or just connect with myself. You know we have a house that people can rent. Of course, I prefer the bed and breakfast since french roast coffee is steps away, but we rent that house out fairly often. If you ever want to plan a writer’s retreat, it’s a good option. We host lots of writers. They like the quiet and the wine. Ha. I’m not giving up on getting you to come speak. As the only male chairperson for PTSA, I’ve promised to deliver big on Book Week. You’re my ace in the hole . . . if you’d just say yes to me.

  Don’t make me tell the world Dixie Doodle is really a hound named Jonas.

  Best,

  Evan

  Ellery Witt stared at the blinking cursor and wondered if she should confess her crime.

  Which technically wasn’t a crime. Just a deception.

  After all, pretending to be her mother was expected of her as Daphne’s assistant. She pretended to be her mother on social media, on blog posts, even on one phone interview when her mother had a killer migraine and couldn’t reschedule. Being Dee Dee O’Hara, the creator (and owner) of Dixie Doodle a Southern Belle Poodle was ironically something Ellery was good at.

  That’s what a degree in fashion design got a girl—pretending to be someone else. And working on the floor of Selber’s department store for minimum wage.

  And that’s what rubbed her ego until it was a tender blister. She’d done everything she was supposed to do in college. Yeah, she did the sorority thing, even becoming Rush Chair, but she’d skipped going to keggers in order to get her design projects perfect down to the last itty-bitty detail. She’d participated in every showcase, gone the extra mile, sat on committees she didn’t want to all so she could get a leg up. And . . . nothing.

  She could admit that putting all her eggs in one basket had been a mistake. She hadn’t pursued internships with any other companies like she should have because she had been so certain J.J. Krause would hire her. When she’d Skyped in for her interview with the design company, she’d been shocked to find that Jaclyn Joy Krause herself was conducting the interview. Ellery’d had a sizzling, connective energy with the up-and-coming darling of the fashion world—they’d even finished each other’s sentences. J.J. had all but told her she’d be flying Ellery to Milan for the next show as her intern. But then J.J. had gone with a total poser famous for his epic cocktail parties and snarky blog posts. The guy had visited Italy a few times, and suddenly he had his thumb on the pulse of European fashion? Please. The dude was from Minnesota. Ellery had been crushed when J.J.’s assistan
t had called to get her address so they could send her a conciliatory last-season clutch.

  All her hard work hadn’t amounted to beans. She should have gone to the parties and written dumb Snapchat stories about ugly shoes. Maybe then she’d be working for a designer instead of selling ladies daywear on the floor of the local department store and being her mother’s minion.

  And she wouldn’t be so scared that everything she wanted would never be hers. Because that was what she felt—frightened that she couldn’t do what she’d always said she would do. Everyone expected her to succeed, to be the best, to wear the right clothes, marry the right man, and have the fabulous career.

  Or maybe that’s what she expected from herself.

  “Hey, have you seen my clinic jacket?” Josh said, riffling through the laundry basket sitting on the love seat. “I need it tomorrow.”

  “Haven’t seen it,” Ellery said, covertly watching him but pretending she was engrossed in her mother’s email. Her fiancé had come home late, and the dinner she’d fixed to celebrate their eighteen-month anniversary had congealed into something inedible.

  “Damn, effing Forester wants us to wear them tomorrow. He does this crap, making us jump through his hoops, so he can humiliate someone. Forecast for tomorrow: a wet one for the schmuck who forgets the jacket,” Josh said, not bothering to look her way as he next went for the small coat closet.

  Ellery had tried to punish him with her silence, but he hadn’t even noticed. She and Josh had gotten engaged at the end of the summer when they’d gone with her father and his girlfriend, Cindy, to Seaside, Florida. The marriage proposal had been expected and perfect—a sunset, a table set with champagne, and waves crashing in the distance. The engagement ring was almost ridiculously too big, and Josh had dropped to a knee even though she knew he hated getting his pants sandy. They’d moved into the adorable town house in August, and Ellery had carefully constructed a tasteful, fun vibe for the place. Clean lines, whimsy, and comfortable furniture they could use once they bought a house. Everything should be gravy.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Because Josh had spent every waking moment of the last month and a half either studying with his study group or studying by himself. He ate breakfast while tapping on his computer and came to bed long after she’d turned off her bedside table lamp. They’d had sex once since medical school had started. And it hadn’t been great. More like an afterthought.

  “Maybe you left it in your car?” she asked, tapping the icon that would close the email from Evan McCallum.

  “Nah, I already checked there,” he said, going into the kitchen and opening the fridge to take out the bottle of wine she’d been saving to celebrate their eighteen-month anniversary. It didn’t escape her that he was uncorking a bottle from Evan’s winery they’d purchased at the farmers’ market.

  Evan McCallum had emailed her mother months ago, asking if she would be the guest author for his daughter’s school’s Book Week in the spring. He’d written a clever email to Dixie Doodle, inviting the flighty poodle to attend and bring her owner if she must. Ironically, Evan’s email had landed in her mother’s overflowing in-box the day Ellery had learned J.J. Krause had given her position to Frankie Rizzo. And really, who even made up a name that bad? And wore fedoras and wing tips with rolled-up jeans. Can you say Trying too damned hard?

  So the email had felt prophetic.

  She’d written Evan back as her mother, apologizing for being months late in answering and then explaining she couldn’t commit to the spring date until she heard from her publisher and the network. Ellery had been clever herself, writing as the poodle, which had amused Evan. Right after she emailed him, she’d looked him up on Facebook. She wasn’t even sure why. Maybe because he lived fairly close. Or maybe because she’d been searching for something to distract her. Evan didn’t have a personal page, but his vineyard had one. There were pictures of a handsome man with a too-engaging smile wearing a cowboy hat and directing workers harvesting the vines. In one picture an adorable redheaded little girl clung to his leg. She looked at that picture four times that night. He seemed so . . . intriguing.

  Then she’d seen his wine at the farmers’ market, and it felt like the universe was telling her something. What that was, she had no clue. But since then, they’d been exchanging emails almost daily, and she’d found herself telling Evan things she’d never told anyone else. Like about her nightmares, her fear of failure, and how frustrating rejection had been. She’d even mentioned the problems her “daughter” was having with her career and engagement. She wasn’t sure why she did this. He was a stranger, but somehow it felt safe, as if he weren’t real. Like the harmless fan mail she’d sent weekly to the Jonas Brothers when she was twelve. The boy group had been nebulous, too far away to be relevant in her life.

  Of course, the problem was Evan lived only a few hours away . . . and thought Ellery was her mother. Not to mention she’d been bordering on flirtation in her emails. Oh, and, yeah, she was engaged to another man.

  Ellery looked up at her fiancé, who was pouring the delicious red wine they’d bought on a rare morning when Josh had agreed to skip study group for the farmers’ market. Josh was wholly gorgeous—blond, blue eyed, with a cute swoop of hair that looked preppy and edgy at the same time. When she’d seen him across the room at the frat house, she’d known she’d found the perfect complement to her own style. She’d made her way toward him, skirting a guy gatoring on the fraternity house floor, which had been covered with sticky spilled drinks and God only knew what else. When Josh had turned toward her and rolled eyes that were the exact same shade as hers, she’d known they were meant to be.

  Things had been so good—football tailgates, fraternity formals, ski trips—and then Josh had been accepted to med school in her hometown. The fates had stamped their futures together. Ellery finished up school, applied for the internship, and waited for glory to find her. She’d work in the city—New York City—while Josh completed medical school. Then they would reunite and begin their life together. Josh would be a plastic surgeon, and Ellery would own her own company or work for Neiman Marcus; either way she’d blossom into greatness. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

  Oh, she’d gotten the lemons all right.

  “This is good wine. Where’d you find it?” Josh said, holding the goblet to the light. They’d taken a wine-tasting class this past summer—Josh’s concession to help Ellery feel better about not getting the Krause internship—and he loved to show off what he had learned.

  “Look at the label,” she snapped, feeling annoyed he hadn’t remembered he’d picked out that particular wine.

  “One Tree Estates? Is this what we bought a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah, back when we actually did things together,” she said, closing her computer and setting it on the glass-and-cypress coffee table Josh had bought without her. She’d wanted to protest him picking out a coffee table without her approval, but she couldn’t because the thing was gorgeous and exactly what she’d pick anyway. “I’m going to bed. You coming?”

  He sank onto a barstool. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

  “I’m not mad,” she lied. She’d known med school would be tough on both of them. Just not this tough. She hated feeling the way she did.

  “You sure? Because I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  She nodded. “I’m not.”

  “Good. I’m going to run over to Drew’s. I borrowed his notes for a class. Besides, I think I left my coat in his trunk.”

  “It’s almost eleven o’clock,” she said, standing and smoothing the men’s undershirt tank over her baggy gym shorts. Her bun was falling out, and she wore the glasses that made her look smart. Josh loved when she worked the sexy nerd vibe. Or he used to. Back before they got engaged and he became so consumed with being at the top of his class.

  On one hand, she was enormously pleased at how driven Josh was; on the other, she wished she mattered as much as his career goals. He rarely made time to be wi
th her anymore, unless he counted sitting on the couch typing on his laptop as quality time with her. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d actually looked each other in the eye and had a conversation about something other than what had happened at school that day. Ellery wanted Josh to see her.

  Maybe she was being selfish. Josh was such a good guy, and he loved her. She knew this, but she’d never been so lonely in her entire life, which was strange because she had moved back to Shreveport, a place where her family lived, where she knew people who were happy to meet up for happy hour.

  So what was wrong with her?

  Perhaps if she’d gotten the internship, she wouldn’t have time to be so introspective or discontent. She would have been too busy to miss her man. She’d be Ubering to fashion week locations and meeting designers at intimate parties. New York City and J.J. Krause had betrayed her.

  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  Her mother had told her that all her life, but Ellery hadn’t had to hear it all that often. She’d gotten what she wanted—the cute car, head cheerleader, the “right” sorority, good grades, and the perfect fiancé. Until recently.

  Oh, cry me a river, sister, with your #firstworldproblems. You didn’t get something you wanted. Welcome to life.

  Josh set the goblet on the counter and rose, jogging her from her self-pity.

  “I know it’s late, babe, but this has to be done. You go on to bed. I’ll be back soon. Save me some kisses.” Josh smoothed his hair in the foyer mirror as he picked up his car keys. The man had been studying or whatever he did for hours and still not one hair out of place. At that moment Ellery didn’t feel like a rumpled sex kitten; she just felt rumpled. Maybe she even needed a shower. She quelled the urge to sniff in the direction of her armpit.

  Josh jogged over, gave her a quick peck and a light slap on her butt. “Later, fancy pants.”

  Ellery summoned a smile. “Don’t work too hard. I worry about you, you know.”