The Perfect One: A Second Chance Romance

by Scarlet West

  The Perfect One

  Scarlet West

  Copyright © 2019 by Scarlet West

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  Nolan

  I slammed the door to my truck, my frustration riding me hard like a drill sergeant rides a regiment of new recruits. I took a moment to catch my breath before starting up the gravel walk to my childhood home. Ignoring the peeling paint and the loud creak of the wooden porch as I stepped across it, I hit the front door several times with my fist.

  It took several more knocks and close to five minutes before the door creaked open. An old man with a shock of gray hair and patchy stubble stared at me with bleary eyes.

  “Dad,” I said with a nod. “I’m home.”

  My father looked me over from head to toe, still not opening the door fully. Not for the first time, I wondered if my dad would let me in. If not, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. This was my last option, one I’d hoped to avoid.

  If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. That was just one of her many sayings. Mom had an aphorism for every occasion, at least she had, until cancer had left her speechless.

  My father’s eye lingered on the heavy duffle in my hand. He stared at it, blinking, for a full minute before he stepped back to open the door. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and entered.

  My childhood home was mostly unchanged, except for the ancient layer of filth that had come to live there after I made my exit a decade ago. The smell was heavy, like it had its own weight, and not for the first time, I regretted everything that brought me back home.

  It had seemed like a good idea, retiring from the service and joining the private security firm my fiancée’s father owned. Former fiancée, I reminded myself. I shook my head, trying to block out the memory of Jessica’s confession.

  My entire future, our future, the one we’d planned on every leave I’d gotten in the two years we’d been together, gone with a whispered “I’m sorry.”

  Maybe I was being stubborn. Maybe I should have given her a chance to better explain. Maybe counseling could have helped. But even now, my muscles tightened with tension just thinking about what happened.

  I had nothing left. No fiancée. No home. And no savings, since that had gone to pay for the fiancée and the home while I was on active duty. Not to mention the two carat diamond engagement ring that Jessica hadn’t bothered to return.

  “You’re back.”

  My father’s gravel voice called me back to the present. I nodded again, unsure how to explain my presence. Not that I wanted to explain. The wound was still too raw to show it off, especially to a hostile audience. “Retired,” I said.

  My father settled back into the couch and tightened his robe. I remained standing, not wanting to touch any of the surfaces for fear of coming in contact with a decade’s worth of dirt. My old man picked up his dirty glass and looked at me. “So?”

  “I need a place to stay,” I replied. “Just for long enough to get on my feet.”

  My dad stated the obvious. “You ain’t been home in ten years.”

  “I was in the service, Dad.”

  My father nodded, then drained the glass of clear liquid he was holding. My money was on vodka, but I supposed it could be gin. Dad had never seemed that partial.

  “Not much seems to have changed,” I said, when I couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Being back put me on edge, worse than an infiltration of enemy forces. Looking around, I noticed the dirty dishes and piles of trash, and underneath it, the same furnishings and layout from my youth.

  Nothing had changed in the ten years I’d been gone. No, I corrected myself. Nothing’s changed since Mom died. Dad crawled into the bottle and hasn’t come up for air since.

  My mother’s death and my father’s failure to cope had been one of the main reasons I’d enlisted as soon as I turned eighteen. I couldn’t take the crushing weight of hopelessness in this house anymore, so I’d left.

  But for all that time, ten whole years, the hopelessness had been waiting for me to come back. It had worked its way into every nook and cranny, like the filth and dust. There was no way I would come out of this uncontaminated.

  It doesn’t matter. Hopelessness was an old friend since my failed engagement. Not even my father’s deteriorated state could make me feel worse than I already did.

  “Can I stay?” I asked at last. “Just for a few weeks?”

  His head leaning against the back of the couch, my father let out a long sigh. “Don’t care,” he said finally, then turned to refill his empty glass. It was vodka, I realized as I caught sight of the cheap plastic bottle.

  Without a word, I walked up the narrow carpeted stairs to the second floor. My old room was on the left. Opening the closed door, I let out a breath of relief. The room was as I’d left it, which meant it was more or less clean, minus ten years’ worth of dust and cobwebs. The bed was stripped, my possessions neatly boxed up.

  Eighteen-year-old Nolan hadn’t expected to come back here either, and I hadn’t missed whatever junk I’d packed in those boxes. After opening the window to let some fresh air in, I set my duffle down on the bed and started to unpack. It didn’t take long.

  Digging my old sleeping bag out of the closet, I unrolled it on the bed and laid down. The light from the window was starting to fade, but I didn’t bother turning on the small lamp next to his bed. I just stared at the ceiling, watching as headlights from the street bathed the room in light and shadow. `

  Then it started. The panic working its way up from deep inside. My chest tightened, my breathing coming in rough pants. I’d experienced it in battle, from time to time, when the stakes were high. But in those instances the panic had been warranted, since I wasn’t sure if these breathes were my last before the enemy filled me with holes.

  But now, safe in my childhood bed, there should be no reason for one of these attacks. My breath sawing out of me, I sat up, closing my eyes and trying to calm down. When I opened my eyes, they fastened on the picture on the wall above my desk. It was of my mother, her arms around my ten-year-old self. The smile on her face bordered on angelic. The panic overtook me.

  Without remembering how I ended up there, I was in my old truck and backing down the driveway. My breath was still coming fast and heavy, but I felt a modicum of control returning. Piloting the truck towards downtown, I repeated the mantra I’d learned from a therapist who’d visited the base during my second tour in that foreign desert.

  It’s only a moment. It’s only a moment. It’s only a moment.

  The words echoed around my brain until they were bleached of meaning. Just a string of sounds that circled and circled, until I realized that my breathing was evening out. I saw a familiar sign and turned into the parking lot, sliding into a parking spot and turning off the motor.

  I sat for a second before opening the door and climbing out of the truck. I wasn’t sure of my decision, not by a long shot. But I couldn’t go back home, not yet, so I squared my shoulders and pushed through the door.

&nbs
p; 2

  Molly

  We were just putting the finishing touches on the Chamber of Commerce’s order of 20 dozen assorted cookies when I glanced at the time. “Damn. I was supposed to make the drop-off at Sonny’s over an hour ago.”

  Carmen wiped her hands on her apron. “It’s not like it matters. It’s Tuesday night. I doubt they’re going to have a full house. And besides, they’re two months behind on their payments.”

  I frowned. Carmen had a point. Still, I liked to live up to my promises, even if others didn’t. “I’ll just take them over now.”

  Carmen clicked her tongue at me, a sound that reminded me of the hens at the farm where we bought our eggs. “You work too much. You should be settling down, having a family.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t say Hatfield is bursting with eligible bachelors.”

  “My cousin Hector is single. I could introduce you.”

  “You already did,” I reminded her. Hector was two years younger than me, had a tattoo of the Virgin Mary on his chest and a paunch that belied his taste for beer.

  “Well,” she said, waving her hand at me. “I could invite you both over for dinner.”

  “As much as I love your cooking, I don’t think we’re a good fit.”

  Carmen clicked her tongue again, then began stacking the cookies in their boxes. I knew the conversation wasn’t over. I headed to the racks and started to gather up the boxes that held the order for Sonny’s Tap. “This won’t take long. If you’re willing to lock up the shop, I’ll head home after the delivery.”

  “Can do,” she said, giving me a grin. “See you in the morning.”

  I hustled out to the car, sliding the large boxes in my trunk. The tavern wasn’t far, and I drove the short distance mostly by muscle memory, my thoughts back on what Carmen had said.

  I didn’t mind working hard. Building my business from the ground up after culinary school had been a herculean task, and I didn’t have time for relationships or dating during those first few years. Now that half the town ordered my baked goods, I was finally in a position to rest on my laurels and find someone to share my hypothetical off-hours with.

  But Hatfield was small, and I pretty much knew everyone in my age bracket in town. Most of the guys were already in long term relationships, and the slim pickings that remained weren’t exactly keepers.

  Not like Nolan, my brain whispered. I rolled my eyes. It had been a decade since I’d seen Nolan Hendricks, and I still couldn’t get him out of my mind. He’d been my brother’s best friend when we were kids, and ever since I’d met him, I’d been head over heels for Nolan.

  Unfortunately, he was fifteen when I was twelve, and he had less than no interest in his best friend’s annoying little sister. That didn’t stop me from lusting after him for years. When I was fourteen, I’d spent all weekend making him a Valentine’s Day card, which I hadn’t had the guts to give him but had stuck in his mailbox instead.

  Then, when I was fifteen, I’d asked him to the prom. Sure, it was his senior prom, but I figured it was my last chance to make him see how awesome I was before he enlisted. His ‘no’ had been polite, his tone respectful.

  Not at all like my brother’s. He’d teased me about that damn prom invite ever since. But I didn’t regret it. If he’d been willing and I didn’t ask, I never would have forgiven myself for missing that opportunity.

  Nolan Hendricks was God’s perfect vision for a male, and the sad truth was, no one had measured up since. Which was probably why I was still single after a decade.

  “Carmen is right,” I told myself. “I should find someone to date, or before I know it, I’ll be spinster who spends the weekend crocheting with her cats.”

  Even as I said the words, I knew I wouldn’t make any moves. Nolan still had a stranglehold on my heart, and I wasn’t willing to settle for less than perfect. Oh well, I figured. At least I’ve got the bakery. My cupcakes are my children, and the whole town loves them.

  Trying not to dwell on how pathetic that sounded, I pulled into the back parking lot of Sonny’s Tap.

  3

  Nolan

  The tavern was quiet, just a handful of regulars that I recognized only because I’d seen them before, a decade ago. The same worn faces, only older and sadder now. My father had frequented the tavern after my mother’s death, and I’d come to drag him home more nights than I liked to remember back in high school.

  I’d been too young to drink here back then, but that wasn’t the case now. Heading up to the bar, I sat on a stool and waited for the bartender to turn around. When he did, I got a small shock.

  “Nolan Hendricks? Is that your ugly face?”

  The bartender’s smile was just as wide as I remembered. Unable to help myself, I smiled back. “Jackson Thompson. I’m surprised they let you work here, or even let you in here. Does your boss know that it was you who lit the grease dumpster on fire after Homecoming?”

  Jackson laughed, then held a finger up to his lips. “She doesn’t, so maybe don’t mention it if you see her hanging around.”

  I shook his head in wonder. Jackson had been one of my best friends in high school. As a boy, he’d been the town’s resident practical joker. He’d planned to go to Hollywood and become a stand-up comedian. I guess everyone’s plans change, I thought as I reached across the bar to shake Jackson’s hand.

  “I wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again,” Jackson said, pouring a beer from the tap and sliding it across the bar to me. “You ain’t been back in, what…?”

  “Ten years,” I said, then took a drink.

  “Where have you been all that time, stranger?”

  I shrugged. “You knew I enlisted.” Jackson nodded, wiping up a small spill. “Well, I stayed in the service, did a few tours overseas.”

  “That must have been something,” Jackson said. “Much different than just sticking around Hatfield.”

  I nodded. “The desert is about as far from Hatfield as you could get.”

  “Thought so. What brings you back here? Belated homesickness?”

  “No,” I said, barking out a laugh that was rough enough to earn a concerned look from my old friend. “I had alternate plans but they fell through.”

  Jackson fixed me with a look. “Care to share?”

  I hadn’t told anyone yet about the break-up. It was still too raw, and the thought of telling sent a familiar tightness to my chest. A panic attack. Reminding myself that it was only a moment, and that this was my best friend in the world, I decided to confess everything.

  Jackson listened as I revealed my broken relationship, and the job I’d lost before it ever began with my ex-fiancée’s father’s company. He slapped me on the shoulder and offered me his commiseration. “Where are you staying?”

  “At home,” I said, after another drink.

  Jackson’s mouth tightened. He continued cleaning the bar quietly, although the spill was already gone. “How’s your dad?”

  “Same as before,” I said.

  Jackson dropped the wet towel and looked at me. “I’m real sorry about that, Nolan.” His expression was serious. “I know he took your mom’s passing rough. I’d hoped he’d cleaned up, after I stopped seeing him around here.”

  “He probably couldn’t afford civilized drinks anymore.” I drained the rest of my beer, sliding a five dollar bill out of my wallet and putting it on the bar.

  “Your money’s no good here,” Jackson said, his wide smile back. “At least, not tonight. Consider this your ‘Welcome Home’ party.”

  I smiled and thanked him, even though being home again still rankled. It was nice seeing Jackson, as I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed my boyhood friend. But I still wasn’t planning on sticking around Hatfield, not in the long term. I just needed to bank some money, then I’d find another town, a better one, to put down roots.

  Not a town where the ghosts of my past were waiting around every corner.

  The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open, and I turned to see
who was entering the tavern. I thought it might be one of the ghosts, but I was wrong.

  It was an angel, descended to Earth, to steal the breath out of my body.

  She was gorgeous, her long auburn hair falling around her delicate face in waves. Green eyes stood out against pale skin, and plump lips turned up at the corners in a soft smile. She was petite, but with gentle curves that made me ache inside.

  And then I heard Jackson greet her.

  “Hey sis, it’s about time you showed up.”

  Sis? This angel was little Molly Thompson, Jackson’s younger sister?

  I guess some things do change after ten years. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she approached. When we were younger, she’d been a mousy little thing, with carrot-orange hair she wore in two little girl braids. She was nothing like the bombshell coming towards me now.

  She opened her perfect mouth to speak. “If someone had unlocked the back door like he promised, I would have been in sooner.”

  Jackson shrugged, his grin sheepish. “Sorry, sis. Forgot.”

  “Which is why you’re going to carry in the boxes from my trunk,” she said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder.

  4

  Molly

  I almost missed a step when I saw who was seated at the bar in front of my brother. Nolan Hendricks was back in Hatfield, and nobody told me. As president of the Nolan Hendricks fan club since I was twelve years old, I couldn’t help but feel as if I’d failed in my duties.

  Still, I couldn’t let on how much seeing him again affected me. I stood in place, my car keys dangling from my finger as I waited for Jackson.