Forever Starts Now

by London, Stefanie

  “What the heck am I supposed to do with these?” she muttered to herself. She couldn’t take them out the back, because it would be no good getting flower stuff near the food. And there wasn’t a welcome desk or anything in the diner, because that wasn’t their style.

  Monroe walked back to the squished little booth that Ethan liked to sit at. It was free, for the moment. She plonked the flowers down and scrubbed a hand over her face, looking at the arrangement like it was an alien that had invaded her diner.

  The last time she’d had fresh flowers in her house was the day after her wedding, because she’d kept her bridal bouquet and stuck it into a glass with water.

  “It was all downhill after that,” she said to herself.

  Hard as it was, she knew it was a good thing. Monroe had gone through bad times and had the emotional scars to prove it, which meant the chances of her developing any feelings for her fake boyfriend were nil. Less than nil, even.

  But that didn’t stop her immediately thinking about what she was going to wear to dinner that night.

  …

  “You know how in those cheesy romantic comedy movies there’s that montage of the girl getting ready for her hot date, and the pile of clothes keeps growing and growing?” Monroe planted her hands on her hips. “If I’ve been a bad person and I go to hell, that’s what it’s going to be. I’ll have to die over and over under an avalanche of Forever 21.”

  Loren gasped, her eyes narrowing at Monroe, and she pressed a palm to her chest. “I do not shop at Forever 21.”

  “That’s what you took from what I said?” She rolled her eyes.

  “I can easily look past your melodrama, since, you know, I’ve been related to you for more than five minutes.” Loren sniffed. “Classic Monroe.”

  “Whatever.” She sighed and looked at herself in the full-length mirror of her sister’s bedroom. “None of this looks good.”

  As soon as she knew that she would be eating at Deluca’s, it was clear that nothing in Monroe’s boring-ass wardrobe would do. So she contacted the rent-a-closet, aka Loren. Only her big sister seemed determined to put her in an outfit that made her look like Barbie’s club rat BFF.

  “What’s wrong with a little black dress?”

  Monroe raised an eyebrow and gestured to the dress Loren had forced her to try on. It was sparkly, had half a dozen spaghetti-thin crisscross straps at the back that would be likely to guillotine your head straight off if you put it on wrong, and had an unattractive gape at the front, which was where Monroe was pretty sure one’s boobs were supposed to go.

  You know, if she had any boobs with which to fill the dress.

  “I’m not wearing this,” Monroe said. “Maybe I’ll just wear jeans and a nice top.”

  “You are not wearing jeans to Deluca’s. In fact, I’m pretty sure they have a ‘no denim’ policy, anyway.” Loren let out a long sigh. At that moment, Jesse, who was three and had been playing happily in the corner with her stuffed elephant and one of Loren’s glitzy scarves, waddled over, something clutched in her chubby toddler fist.

  “Red.” She thrust the silky piece of clothing toward Monroe.

  “Pretty sure redheads aren’t supposed to wear red.” Monroe crouched down and nuzzled her face against the little girl’s chest, causing her to squeal and laugh. “But I think that would look fabulous on you, pretty girl. You’re gorgeous just like your mama.”

  “Oh stop it, Roe.” Loren riffled through her closet again, the clinking sound of metal hangers now burned into Monroe’s brain. “You’re beautiful in your own unique way.”

  “I don’t need to be beautiful,” she replied with a shrug. “If everyone were beautiful then the word wouldn’t mean anything, would it?”

  Monroe was happy being resilient and reliable, rather than beautiful. She knew she didn’t tick society’s boxes, what with her lack of curves and her wild hair and her overtly freckled skin. Oh, and her firetruck red blush. The Irish blood ran strong in her, and she’d inherited the stubbornness, too.

  Loren walked over, her face stormy. She knew her big sister got annoyed when she said things like that. “Monroe Patricia Roberts, you will stop this ridiculousness right now. You are beautiful. I think it, Taylor thinks it, and Mr. Hemsworth certainly seems to think so.”

  “Don’t call him that.” Monroe laughed. “The poor guy’s got a complex.”

  “All I’m saying is, you told me once after the divorce that Brendan cheating on you made you feel ugly and worthless, and what did I say?”

  “That beauty is in the eye of the beholder and just because he didn’t see it doesn’t mean I’m ugly.” Monroe repeated the words, even though she hated saying them. “I just…I’m not good at this girlie stuff, you know?”

  She thought back to a time when she was good at it—before her marriage and in the early days, and while she was on Sugar Coated. Looking back at those photos was like looking at a stranger. It seemed like when she’d found out about the affair, all those bits of her evaporated into smoke. She’d forgotten how to be that vivacious, stylish, outgoing woman.

  “We all have our strengths.” Loren went back to picking through her closet until she found something else. “What about this? Maybe it won’t make you feel so exposed.”

  The dress she held up was stunning and modest, yet elegant. It had a simple shallow V neckline and a hem that would float around her knees, with long, sheer sleeves and a tie that would help her fake a waist. The color was a muted sage green, with a subtle pattern of leaves printed onto the fabric only a shade or two darker.

  “That’s perfect.” Monroe blinked. “Why didn’t you show me this first?”

  “I like playing dress-up.” Loren grinned. “And I wanted to see you in that dress.”

  Monroe laughed and looked down at herself. “This is truly awful and I’m going to need your help getting out of it.”

  “Will you let me do your makeup?” Loren asked.

  Monroe groaned. “That’s what this is? A trap!”

  “Hey, it’s not often you come to me for help. A big sister has to take what she can get.” Loren bent down to scoop up Jesse, who was trying to get into Loren’s shoe stash. “So, what do you say? Makeup and hair?”

  “Now you’re adding things on,” Monroe grumbled.

  “We’ll keep it subtle, I promise.”

  “Fine. But if you come near me with an eyelash curler I will defend myself. And if you send me out looking like a Bratz doll I will never forgive you.”

  “You have my word.” Loren blew a raspberry on Jesse’s cheek. “We’re going to give Auntie Monroe a makeover, isn’t that fun! Come on, baby girl, let’s get everything set up.”

  Monroe watched her glamorous older sister walk away, a mixture of excitement and nerves rattling around in her brain. The old demons were there, sleeping. But only just—it wouldn’t take much to wake them up fully and for Monroe to turn on her heel and hide out back home.

  Going on dates wasn’t her thing. Knowing that a whole town’s worth of people would probably be scratching their heads and asking “why her?” made it even worse. The glow of satisfaction she’d experienced earlier had already faded a bit, because this was all for nothing. Lying to her sisters made her feel like crap, but right now she was in survival mode.

  And maybe a little bit of revenge mode, where Brendan was concerned.

  The lawyer’s letter was still sitting on her kitchen bench and they’d called twice, leaving messages both times. Then her ex had texted again, saying that he wouldn’t allow her to ruin his wedding.

  Doesn’t feel great, does it asshole?

  Funny how he didn’t seem to mind ruining their marriage, and now suddenly she was the bad guy. Let him sweat on it a little more.

  It was time for Monroe to have the upper hand.

  Chapter Eight

  Ethan hadn’t broug
ht a suit with him to America, because who needed a suit to skulk around trying to find a dead man? It wasn’t really a necessary clothing choice. But that left him struggling for his date with Monroe, since he’d picked the fanciest place in town and wanted to make a show of it.

  A show big enough that hopefully people would leave him to his business.

  Luckily, Ethan’s bank account was healthy. His previous job had kept him flush and being the kind of guy who liked to analyze things, some light dabbling in the stock market had bolstered that further. He might be living frugally now, but that was only because he didn’t want this wild goose chase to eat into his nest egg too much.

  So it hadn’t been too difficult to get himself something suitable to wear—a pair of dress pants, some proper shoes, a collared shirt.

  He parked out front of the restaurant and took a moment to enjoy the view. Deluca’s was an Italian restaurant situated in an old house on a hill. The windows were strung with fairy lights and a big old tree dominated the front of the property. Inside, a warm glow emanated, and he could see people sitting at tables by the windows, talking and laughing and touching wineglasses together. But it was the view beyond the restaurant that was truly spectacular.

  Forever Falls was on the Atlantic coast, and the ocean view stretched out almost endlessly. It was dark, but the boardwalk below was lit with old-fashioned lamps, and he could see a few brave souls who’d gone for a stroll in spite of the cold. Heavy dark clouds gathered on the distant horizon and there was a sliver of purple light along the edge of the water. A storm was headed for them, and every so often he could see a ripple of lightning way out over the waves.

  There was something magical about it. Something brutal and beautiful and raw, and if it wasn’t for his hands starting to go numb, he could have stayed there for hours.

  In some ways it reminded him of home—not of Melbourne, the cosmopolitan city obsessed with coffee and art where he’d spent the better part of the last fifteen years. But the small town he grew up in. It was on a bluff, with similar ragged and natural views. His childhood had been littered with days at the beach, digging his toes into the sand and trying to convince his mother to come into the water with him.

  He’d loved her so much. Loved her with a force that always felt like it could break him in half. She’d understood him, his needs and his desire and she always knew exactly what to say to lift him up. He’d never had that connection with his father and brother because he had been quieter, more of a thinker. According to the old man he wasn’t “blokey” enough because he wasn’t into getting drunk at the pub or getting grease under his nails or putting up his fists. Thus, he’d always been left out of their little circle of two.

  Now he knew why.

  Shrugging off the memories, he turned and headed toward the restaurant’s front door. Inside, there was a blast of warm air and it made his skin tingle for a second with the shock of temperature change. The hostess smiled warmly and guided him to the seat he’d requested—one right by the fire.

  He was early, because it was important to never be late for a date. But he’d barely shrugged out of his coat when Monroe walked in.

  Holy…

  Ethan blinked. Was this the same woman who’d handwritten a “keep out” sign for her diner? The same woman who let her cactus prickles show without remorse? Surely not.

  Monroe hovered in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room until they rested on him. It was like being hit with a bolt of lightning. She wore a green dress that had a timeless quality to it—flowing skirt, loose sleeves that tapered at the wrist, modest neckline that somehow looked sexier than if she’d worn something plunging. Her ginger curls were smoothed, though not completely tamed, and pinned above one ear so they fell neatly around her shoulders. She even had on a pair of high heels.

  As she walked through the restaurant, heads turned and eyebrows raised. People knew Monroe, it seemed, and they were as shocked as he was.

  “I left my coat at the front, I hope that’s okay,” she said to the hostess as she approached the table.

  “Of course.” The woman smiled and held her arm out to collect Ethan’s coat. “I’ll be back with some water in a moment.”

  Ethan pulled the chair out for Monroe and she sat, fiddling with the skirt portion of her dress so it didn’t get rucked up underneath her. Something told him that either A, the dress wasn’t hers or B, it had been a long time since she’d worn it.

  Since the restaurant had been a house at one point, it had that cozy feeling of intimacy. There were tables scattered across the main area, and more in another room through an open archway. The fire crackled a few feet away, and there was a large bookshelf on one wall, styled with vintage leather books, interesting pieces of glassware, and other trinkets.

  In the center of the table, a small candle flickered inside a glass and a single flower along with a sprig of rosemary sat in a small vase.

  “You look amazing,” he said, taking a seat on the other side of her.

  Monroe made a little sound that told him the prickly woman he knew was definitely still there, even if she looked a little more polished on the outside. “If you’re too good an actor then people will think you really are Chris Hemsworth.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Can’t you take a bloody compliment?”

  “Only if it’s genuine.” She smiled tightly.

  There were no other tables within earshot, since the restaurant was nicely spaced out. So at least they could have an honest conversation, as long as it looked like a romantic dinner from the outside.

  “What’s not genuine about it? You’re a beautiful woman in a beautiful dress, anyone can see that.” Ethan shrugged. He’d never been the kind of guy who was shy about giving a compliment where he felt it was due—and it was always genuine. Monroe looked at him like she was running a scanner over his face.

  Warning, bullshit activator engaged.

  Well, Ethan wasn’t big on playing games. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said. For better or worse.

  “All I’m saying is, you can drop the front if there’s no one around to hear us.” She paused as the hostess returned, bringing a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses. Monroe ordered a glass of white wine and Ethan opted for red. When the woman left, Monroe turned her attention back to Ethan. “So, you picked the fanciest spot in town.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Did you live the high life back in Australia?”

  Hmm. She wanted to know more about him? Ethan had kept his cards pretty close to his chest, peddling the story about long lost love letters belonging to his mother and him being on a mission to get some closure over her death.

  In a way, it was true. He wanted closure, though part of him suspected it would never come. If both his parents were dead, then what did he hope to find exactly? Maybe a relative, although if his father was the ghost he was hunting in Forever Falls, then it sounded like he might not get that, either.

  “I had a well-paying job and a nice place…” He left out the part about the fiancée. “I used to eat out at places like this on the regular.”

  “What did you do for work?”

  “I was an IT Program Manager.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds stuffy.”

  “I liked it. I got to solve problems and create solutions for our clients.” He shrugged. “And it afforded me a lifestyle that suited my needs. Could have done without the office politics, though.”

  Monroe nodded. “As I always say, people are the most difficult part of any job.”

  Maybe he should be inclined to believe her—because a lot of signs had certainly pointed to her being a bit of a misanthrope. But Ethan wasn’t the kind of guy to gloss over the surface of something—or someone—and he saw a big heart hiding under Monroe’s protected exterior.

  He’d also seen the flicker of empathy on her face when he�
��d confessed that he was looking for his father.

  “So tell me, how’d the winner of an international baking competition come to be running a diner?”

  Monroe’s jaw twitched. “How do you know about that?”

  Uhh crap. He didn’t want to throw Big Frank under the bus, but how else could he have found out?

  “Someone mentioned it in passing,” he said, but Monroe’s expression told him she was not buying it. “I Googled you.”

  Her mouth popped open. “Why?”

  “Because I need to know this stuff if we’re going to sell the whole fake relationship thing, right?” He shrugged. “I had a feeling you might be a little cagey, and if we want this thing to work then I need to know about you.”

  “The diner is run by a family friend and I’ve worked there for years. It used to be my after-school job.” Monroe paused as the server came up to the table and delivered their wine. Ethan held his glass toward hers and she touched it to his, making a soft chime. “Eventually I worked my way up to helping with the bookkeeping and training new staff. Then when I decided I didn’t want to go to college, my boss promoted me to manager while I was figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. That’s it.”

  That’s it? Yeah, not likely. Ethan found it interesting how Monroe had been so forthright about her divorce, like she used it as a shield. And yet her career seemed to be something she kept under wraps, that was the thing she protected with silence.

  “And what about the baking competition?” he prodded.

  Monroe sipped her wine and ran her tongue over her lips. Then she reached for a napkin and wiped all the glossy stuff off as if she couldn’t stand the feel of it. “The baking competition was a fluke.”

  “Didn’t look like it to me.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Just how far did your Googling go?”

  All the way through the season of Sugar Coated that Monroe won. He’d binged the damn thing in less than two days, staying up late, mesmerized by her ready smile and cheeky eyes and her quick thinking. She was talented as hell—breezing through the challenges with creativity and adaptability and a boatload of heart.