by Olivia Hayle
I might feel like I have a ball of nerves in my stomach, but life doesn’t stop. You get up, you have a shower, you do your hair, and then you try not to think about it. Not about the fact that you’re the talk of the town, and you definitely don’t think about how you’re on the outs with the man who might very possibly be the love of your life. Ignoring your problems is a foolproof strategy.
When has that ever gone wrong?
I head down to the bakery on Monday morning with my hair in an elaborate bun and a bright smile on my face. But despite my best efforts, my charade doesn’t fool my family. My aunt slips an arm around my waist half-way through the morning preparations. “Sweetie, how do you feel? Still ill?”
I shake my head. I had to fake a stomach ache yesterday to explain why I ran away from the fountain unveiling. There was no way I could tell her about the things Gavin had said. I would sink through the floor with shame.
“I feel much better, thanks.”
“Just let me know if you want to go upstairs and lie down for a bit.”
“I will.”
She turns up the radio and start singing along loudly, and slightly out of tune, to an old eighties song. She bumps my hip when she passes me by. It’s obvious she’s trying to get me to feel better, and I can’t help but laugh at her exaggerated dance moves.
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“Nope. Come on, you have to sing too.”
“Have to?”
“Yes. It’s a new policy, I just implemented it. It’s across the board, you know. Applicable for all employees.”
“I’m your only employee.”
“Exactly.”
She grabs a spatula and uses it as a microphone, singing along to “It's Raining Men” with such zeal that I have to give up. I grab another spatula and join her in the chorus. When the song ends we’re sweaty and smiling, and I have to admit that I feel much better.
I flip the sign on the front door from closed to open with steadier hands. There will undoubtedly be more comments, but I should be strong enough to handle them.
We’re adults, I think. Oliver and I are allowed to do whatever we want.
The thought of him brings pain to my chest. He'd looked so aloof in his office on Saturday, miles and miles away. He didn’t seem to think what I said was a big deal at all. Maybe he didn’t really see us as being in a relationship, anyway.
Old Mr. Ronson is the first customer of the day. His cardigan is properly buttoned all the way down the front, his light chinos perfectly pressed.
“Good morning, dear.”
“Good morning! The usual?”
“Yes, please. The bagels with extra—“
“Sesame seeds.” I shoot him a smile. “I remember.”
He laughs as he hands me the change. “You’ve got a good memory.”
Nothing in his manner has changed, and it doesn’t seem like he considers me the whore of Babylon. I take a deep breath after he leaves, my hands braced the counter. I can do this. All that matters is that I know my worth.
Gavin’s words are hard to dismiss, but I have to try.
One after one, people filter into the bakery. I look up in anticipation every time the little bell jingles. I don’t know what I’m hoping for more—that it’s not one of the gossiping women from yesterday, or that it’s Oliver.
I don’t know what to do if it’s the former, and I have no idea what to say if it’s the latter. I was the one who asked for time and space. He’s an honorable man—he’ll respect it, I know he will, even if I’m not sure that’s what I want anymore.
I’m sneaking a sip from my coffee cup when the bell jingles again. Mrs. Masters steps into the bakery. She’s unusually late this morning, but she looks just as put together as always.
I smile at her. “Good morning. Nice weather we have today.”
“Yes, quite.” She narrows her eyes at me, examining me from top to toe, and I can just imagine what she’s thinking. I’m sure I’m breaking health code violations left and right in her eyes.
“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Lucy.”
What? “Thank you.”
She orders her usual loaf and a slice of rye bread, and I package it for her like I've done every morning since I got here. Her arrival is like clockwork, as reliable as her constant air of disapproval. What made her late today? I'm as curious as the gossiping ladies at Ricky's.
She fixes me with a piercing gaze. “People talk,” she says. “They will always talk. Don’t let them win, girl.”
I blink in surprise. To my utter mortification, emotion wells up in my throat and makes it hard to speak. This was the last thing I expected. “Thank you,” I say.
She nods and leaves, setting off in her usual brisk pace down Main Street. Wow. Now I’ve seen everything. Mrs. Masters—the Mrs. Masters—is on my side. So is my aunt, who made it clear yesterday that it doesn't matter what people think. Mandy’s on my side. My uncle, too.
I don't need the approval of the whole town. I just need the approval of the people around me. Who is Gavin to talk, anyhow? No one invited him to the conversation.
I package a few bags of chocolate chip cookies and nod to myself. He was decidedly not invited, and I shouldn’t take his comments too seriously. He is an asshole.
Oliver clearly cares for me more than just someone he has easy access to. So what if some of the prissy ladies in this town think something untoward is going on? I'll prove them wrong.
I just need to ride out this storm. I could run, but what would be the point? I already fled from Dallas. I couldn’t flee Claremont, too.
Uncle Phil comes back from his morning rounds with a cheery smile and a wave. He kisses Claire on the cheek and hangs his cap on the hook by the door.
"Did everything go alright?" Claire asks, like she does every day.
“Sure did,” he responds—same as always. “Although I did hear some gossip.”
Oh no.
“Really?”
“Yes, and for once, I’m the one with information. Are you listening too, Luce?”
I look up from the folder with orders, my stomach in a knot of nerves. I know what he’s going to say. Please don’t let it be too crude. “I’m listening.”
“So, apparently, there was a fight last night at the Red Flag.”
Claire sighs. “Those Timothy boys again? They really shouldn’t let them—“
Phil shakes his head. “Nope. And calling it a fight is a bit generous, perhaps. But Oliver Morris hit Gavin Whittaker. Punched him right in the face, right there in the bar.”
“What?”
“Yes. Apparently, there’s some… well.” He scratches his head and shoots me a sheepish look. “Maybe you know more about that than me. But the argument seemed to be about you, Luce.”
“About me?”
“Yes, but don’t worry,” he hurries, seeing the expression on my face. “Everyone knows that those two have had it out for one another since childhood. Well, Gavin has, at any rate.”
I’m struck dumb. Oliver punched Gavin. He’s been wanting to for a long time, yes, but at the moment… There’s only one reason for that. He knows about the rumors, then. He properly knows.
My aunt sees my expression, and in a second, she’s by my side.
“Phil, honey, can you watch the shop for a few minutes?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Anything you need.”
Claire pulls me up on the stairs and into my studio. The second she closes the door behind us, I’m pacing across the floor.
"Why would he do that? Why wouldn't he come to talk to me first?"
Claire sits down on my couch. “What did you say to him earlier?”
"I asked him for space. Ugh, I'm such an idiot. I feel like I've mishandled this from start to finish. But why doesn't he talk to me? He said he didn’t care that people knew, and now it seems like he does.”
My aunt holds up a hand. “Luce, sweetheart, come sit here.”
I force mys
elf to still and sink down on the couch beside her. I cross my legs dramatically, my heart beating wildly. He hit Gavin.
“Oliver is a great guy. Truly, he’s a great man. That doesn’t mean he’s infallible.”
“Damn near close, those,” I murmur and bury my head in my hands. “Do you know what people are saying around town?”
Her eyes darken. “I can imagine. I can also imagine that whatever Gavin did to deserve Oliver’s anger would likely make me furious. Oliver isn’t the type to lose control, sweetheart. I’m sure Gavin deserved it.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m not sure Claremont is ready for a massage therapist.”
“Oh, Luce, of course it is. And if it isn’t, you’ll make it ready. Haven’t a ton of people from town already booked sessions?”
“Yes.”
“And your yoga classes are almost full.”
“Yes, you’re right. It’s just the talk that—“
Her arm around my shoulders is firm. “People here might be judgmental, but they’re also the first to admit when they’re wrong about something. Stay here long enough, and you’ll see that. People here would take a bullet for each other, and they will for you too.”
“But—“
“Do you like it here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like Oliver?”
“Yes. I think he likes me too, but we’ve never properly said it.”
Claire laughs. “My dear, with men, it’s more about their actions than their words. What, do you think Phil was always this open and cheery? I had to drag it out of him.”
“Really?”
“Really. Oliver might not have said it… but has he shown it?”
I think of the many times he bought us food from Ricky’s because he couldn’t cook. His arm around me on the porch as the sun set across the meadow. The dedication he’d put in to getting the spa started, listening to all my suggestions and even making a few of his own. Soft kisses and strong arms wrapped around my waist after my shifts. His deep voice, sending shivers down my spine, whispering to me late at night.
“Yes,” I murmur. “He’s shown it.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
I grab my bag. “Is it okay if I take my break now?”
“Honey, take the day. Go get him.”
I don’t think I’ve ever biked faster in my life.
The way up to Morris Ranch is familiar to me now as the back of my hand, but it feels entirely new this time. I turn right on the winding road up to Morris Ranch, past large cornfields, the dust spraying from my tires as I pedal.
Large potted plants have been placed by the sign. Huge hydrangeas, flowering in varying shades of pink. Wedding season is well and truly upon us.
I swing a leg over my bike and slid to a stop outside the farmhouse. More hydrangeas have been placed on every step and the gold sign for Reception has been polished to perfection. Despite having been here nearly every day for the past two months, it’s like I’m seeing all of it with new eyes. I don’t want to leave this place—I want to help build it. I want the life I’ve created here.
Some storms are worth weathering.
I kick down the bike stand and leave it unlocked. Oliver should be in his office. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, alternating between nerves and adrenaline.
Mandy smiles when she sees me. “You look determined.”
“I am. Do you know where Oliver is?”
“Ah, so you’re that kind of determined. He’s helping Sarah, I think, out on the ranch.” She frowns. “They’ve been in and out all day, actually, preparing for the wedding. I don’t know exactly where he is.”
“Thanks, I’ll look around.”
“Promise you’ll fill me in later?”
“You bet. I’ll bring cookies!”
She grins and shoots me a thumbs-up. Somewhere on the ranch, then. I have no idea what to say when I find him. All I know is that I don’t want to lose him, and that I need to apologize for freaking out like that. So what if people talk?
Oliver’s not in the barn, nor in the eastern row of cabins. I ask Jack and Tim, but they don’t know either. “Have you checked the stables?”
I haven’t. I push my hair back and walk towards the low, brown building. It’s the last place I haven’t checked, besides the spa.
A child’s voice echoes on the path. “Why can’t we stay, Mommy? Please?”
“We have to go get more of the—Oh! Hi.” Sarah stops dead, Nora on her hip. “Lucy.”
“Hi.” I give her a tentative smile. With her connections around town, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s already heard the rumors about her brother and me. “Have you seen Oliver?”
“Well, erm, no. Yes. He’s not here.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“He’s out, but he’ll be back later?” Her eyes dart from me to the house behind me, and my courage sinks. Ah. Nora looks at her mother with narrowed eyes, her mouth opening in protest. I would bet my yearly salary that Oliver’s here.
“He doesn’t want to see me, does he?” I sigh. “I’m sure you’ve heard, Sarah, and I never meant for this to be turned into some… some stupid rumor. That his reputation should be—“
She shakes her head. "Oh, Luce, reputation schmeputation. I love both of you and want you to be happy. I couldn't give a rat's a—erm, behind about what some people think. They'll come around, or they won't. That's their problem."
“Thank you, Sarah.”
She puts a hand on my arm, her blue eyes soft. They’re the same as Oliver’s, the only feature they share. “I can think of no one I want to see my brother with more. He’s something special, Lucy. I hope you’ll have patience with him.”
“I will, if he promises to be patient with me. He is here, though, isn’t he?”
“He’ll be furious with me, but what the heck. Yes. He’s in the barn.”
“Why will he be furious? He doesn’t want to see me?”
“He had something planned, and I’m ruining it.” She shakes her head with a grin. “Whoops. Go on, head inside. You two need to talk.”
I kiss Nora’s head and thank Sarah, hurrying down the path to the barn. Sarah is on our side, too, apparently. Gavin seems more and more like the outlier.
I pause with a hand on the door. What should I say?
He’s heard about the rumors. They’re embarrassing, humiliating to my very core. I’ll have to tell him that and explain my reaction. I have to tell him that I care for him more than I ever thought I would. And that while it might take some time for me to get comfortable with everyone’s gossiping, I’ll get there.
I hear a voice through the barn door. It’s familiar, rich and deep, speaking in soft tones. Oliver is talking to one of the horses.
“It’ll be alright, boy,” he murmurs. “Shh, you’ll be alright.”
My throat closes up. I’m not an unruly horse, but the reassuring lilt to his voice is enough to soothe me too. He might be the strongest, most selfless man I’ve ever met. Listening to him calm the mare, I know he’ll make a great father. He might not believe it, but he will. The image of a faceless woman in his arms flashes through my mind and irrational jealousy unfurls in my stomach. He deserves happiness, he deserves a family, and he deserves love.
And I deserve that too.
I take a step forward.
27
Oliver
Ginger tosses her head back and lets out a loud whinny. One brown eye swivels towards something in the distance.
It's Lucy.
She’s framed by the barn doors, small in comparison to their height. Her hair is up. She looks… restrained. Hesitant.
Damn.
“Hi. I’ve been looking for you.”
I back away from Ginger’s box stall. Whatever she’s come here to say, I can’t let her say it. Please, dear God, don’t let it be too late.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Really? I just met Sarah, and she made it seem like you
wanted to be left alone.”
“I don’t. Come, let me show you something.” For a long, nerve-wracking moment, I’m not sure if she’ll take my hand, but then she grasps it and gives me a small smile.
“Okay.”
I pull her along, out from the stables and into the bright July sun. She feels right next to me like this—walking together, in full view of any staff or guests that might see us, our hands interwoven. Together.
Lucy shoots me a surprised glance.
“People already know,” I say. “And we have nothing to hide.”
“Do you really feel that way?”
“Yes.” There’s a steel band of nerves across my chest. The idea that she might walk away from this place, away from me… I have to stop it from happening.
Lucy is quiet beside me, but her hand is gripping mine back firmly. It gives me hope, warring with the fear inside.
She stops dead as soon as the spa comes into view.
“You did this?”
“Yes.”
“Oliver…”
The entrance to the spa is transformed. I ordered a gold-plated sign weeks ago and it finally arrived. Spa and Wellness Center. It’s a bit grand, perhaps, but it matches the sign for reception. Sarah put in the same massive pots of hydrangeas that we have by the main house. The bench is newly painted.
I pull her forward. “Come on, look inside.”
The yoga studio has a new coat of paint. I’d left the double-doors to the back open, so there’s a clear view of the picnic table I’d placed in the meadow beyond. There’s a picnic basket there, too.
Lucy doesn’t speak—all she does is stare. I have no idea what she’s thinking.
“It was meant to be a surprise. Sarah was going to whisk you away as soon as your shift ended in the bakery. A few things aren’t quite finished yet.”
She swallows audibly. “But I beat you to it.”
“Yes. You’re one step ahead of me, like usual.”
Lucy comes to a stop again when she sees the glass door in the corner. “No… what’s that? No way.”
Oh yes, baby. “Take a look.”
She opens the door with soft, reverent hands and peers inside. The look on her face makes everything worth it—the splinters, the long hours, Logan’s promises of retribution.