His jeans were low and loose across his hips, faded and well-worn, so unlike his shiny Mercedes. His tee shirt was gray and nondescript, but the torn collar spoke of a man who wasn’t afraid to get dirty and do hard work. His light brown hair was short and spiky, as if he’d spent the last hour running his hand through it in aggravation. And his body…Astrid couldn’t keep herself from noticing his lean torso, his well-muscled arms, and the sculpted chest that the tee shirt didn’t hide.
He was all male, all rugged, and affecting her in ways that she hadn’t allowed in years. She was so used to being in complete control of her response to men, to keeping them distant, but the way he looked at her…
“Will you be at Wright’s later?” he asked, his gaze intent on her. “When I stop by?”
She cleared her throat and quickly shook her head. “No, I’ll be working.” It was a lie, actually. She couldn’t work another moment. Not today. She’d worked the last twenty-one hours without stopping, all the way through the night, and she was exhausted beyond words. The marathon attempt to jumpstart her creativity had resulted only in more failure, and she was terrified that she’d never find her way out of the spiral that had started six months ago.
He raised his brows. “What do you do?”
“I’m an artist. I make jewelry. Not with precious stones. It’s more inspirational and personal.” She said it almost defensively, knowing that some Mercedes-driving hotshot from New York would disdain that kind of answer.
But he smiled, a knowing, understanding smile of satisfaction, as if he loved her response. “That fits you.”
Warmth swelled inside her at his reaction, and she immediately took another step back. “It fits me? You don’t even know me.”
His gaze flickered to the scarf in her hair, then traveled over her earrings and her outfit, making blood rush to her skin. “No, I don’t.” He met her gaze. “I still think it fits you.”
She pressed her lips together, shocked by how good it felt to have this stranger say that. It was as if he saw the sides of her she showed to no one. Dear God, what was going on with her? Why was she responding to him like this? She had to get out of there and get her composure back. Find her space. Reclaim the persona she’d been clinging to so desperately the last two years. “So, if you’re all set, then I’m going to head out—”
“Can I get your number?” Jason touched her arm, the contact sending sparks all the way through her. He studied her with those deep brown eyes, so rich that she felt like she could get lost in them for days. “In case I have any questions about the shop? Or is Harlan coming back soon?” He left the question hovering out there.
She could tell him Harlan was coming back at the end of the week, that he needed to wait until then, but before she could stop herself, her phone number tumbled off her lips.
Jason immediately pulled out his phone and typed it in, and she couldn’t stop her heart from pounding. When was the last time she’d given her phone number to a man? She never did. She always kept control. Yes, yes, yes, this was about the store, not a date, but it felt different.
It was different.
Jason was a man, pure and elemental in his maleness, and she was noticing it on every level of her being.
“Thanks.” Jason shoved his phone into his pocket and studied her again, and this time the shadows in his eyes were so evident that she felt her own throat tighten and a deep ache filled her heart, a pain that she hadn’t let herself feel for so long.
Damn him. She never cried anymore. She couldn’t afford to. “I have to go.” Then, in a move that was so uncharacteristic of what the entire town would expect of her, Astrid fled.
Chapter Two
“Clare?” Astrid hurried inside Wright and Son, the general store that she’d just told Jason he needed to visit. The store was relatively quiet, but it was only the afternoon lull before the pre-dinnertime rush hit. It would be heating up shortly, as people swung by to pick up takeout or groceries for dinner, or beer for the town softball game later in the evening.
But right now, the wooden tables were empty and the only occupant was Ophelia Wright, the wife of the former owner, Norm Wright, who had been the town’s keystone for so many years. Ophelia was humming cheerfully behind her deli counter, her new iPod headphones looking so incongruous with her lavender-tinted gray hair and the wrinkles on her face.
Astrid knew she didn’t have long until Jason arrived, but she was so freaked out by her reaction to him that she had to talk to Clare. She’d been in town for almost two years now, but Clare was one of only two people who she felt close enough with to admit she was falling apart.
No one else was allowed to know that Astrid Monroe ever fell apart.
“Clare’s in the addition.” Griffin Friese, the new owner of Wright’s and Clare’s fiancé, walked in from the back room, carrying a massive cardboard box. Astrid grinned at the sight of his platinum watch. The man might have walked away from a tremendous income in New York for Clare, but he still kept wearing that ridiculously overstated watch. Men and their watches. It was almost as bad as men and their cars. “She’s picking paint colors for the walls of her shop,” he said.
“Paint colors? Without me?” Astrid frowned as she hurried past Griffin. “Emma was going to come by later, and we were all going to do it together.” Emma Larson was the only other person in Birch Crossing who Astrid felt moderately comfortable with, probably because Emma seemed to be carrying even more demons than Astrid was. She’d met Emma through Clare, and although she wasn’t as close to Emma as she was with Clare, Emma was tentatively becoming another friend Astrid was almost willing to trust. Clare had become the best friend Astrid had never had as a child, which was why she was so desperate to talk to her now.
Before Clare had abandoned her legal career, she and Astrid had shared office space, and had spent as much time chatting as they’d spent working. Once Clare had shut down her shop, however, Astrid hadn’t been able to afford the rent, since she’d been paying Clare as subtenant for only the tiny corner of the space that she used for her jewelry making. Now that they weren’t working together, quality time had been seriously diminished, and Astrid had been reduced to trying to recapture her creativity while breathing the gasoline fumes at her apartment.
Who knew? Maybe they’d help her.
Astrid ducked under the plastic tarp protecting the main store from the construction. Clare was standing beside her daughter Katie and Griffin’s daughter Brooke. The three of them were studying six different paint splotches on the wall, engaged in a spirited discussion about what colors would be most appropriate for the cupcake store that Clare was opening adjacent to Wright’s.
Having finally quit the lawyer job that was draining her soul, Clare had ditched her slacks and blouses, and she was now wearing a pair of paint-splattered jeans, a tank top and a ponytail. She looked casual and happy, and a twinge of envy went through Astrid at the glow on Clare’s face. What did it feel like to be that happy?
“Hey, girls.” Astrid stepped over a stack of two-by-fours and a power saw sitting on the new wood floors. “What’s up?”
Clare grinned at her, but the two teens didn’t even bother to stop their debate about pale blue versus sea-foam green. “Hey, Astrid. Hope you don’t mind, but the girls were really excited to get going on the paint colors.”
“No, that’s fine.” Astrid lifted her chin, trying not to mind that Clare had been spending so much time with her new family. It used to be Clare and Astrid together, along with Emma when she had time, or with Katie showing up when she wasn’t in school. But with the teens just out on summer vacation and the whole new family thing starting to develop with Clare, Griffin and their girls, Astrid was beginning to feel like there wasn’t so much room for her. “Are you picking the paint colors for our mural?” As creative as Astrid was…or used to be… Emma was the one with the true gift of art, able to create the most beautiful paintings of Maine. Combining their divergent but compatible artistic talents, Astrid
and Emma had been working together on the designs for the mural and they’d been planning to unveil their creation to Clare tonight.
Clare shook her head. “We were thinking that a mural might be too busy. I think we’re going to go with basic colors for now.”
“Oh.” Astrid’s chest tightened as she thought of the reams of paper pinned up on her apartment walls with her ideas for the mural. “Do you want me to show you the designs anyway? You might change your mind. I could run home and grab them. Or tonight?”
Clare’s eyes sparkled, and she pulled Astrid away from the girls. “I can’t tonight,” she whispered. “Griffin and I are having a date night.”
Astrid raised her brows. “Isn’t every night a date night with you two?”
Clare laughed. “Yes, true, but we’re going to a show in Portland, and he booked us the presidential suite at The Bungalow.”
Astrid blinked. “That new luxury hotel that is by invitation only at this point?”
“Yes!” Clare giggled. “I’m so excited. I haven’t been to the theatre in so long. The girls are going to Griffin’s ex’s for the night, so it’s just us.” She leaned forward, her face glowing. “This is the first time since Katie was born that I’ve gone off on vacation without her. I feel a little guilty, but I’m really excited. I know it’s only two nights, but still!”
Astrid smiled and threw her arm around her friend’s shoulder, her spirits restored by Clare’s confession. Even though Clare had this new life, she still had the same vulnerability she always did. She was still Clare, and Astrid still had a place in her life. “Don’t feel guilty. Every mom deserves a night off once every fifteen years. You deserve it.”
Clare grinned. “Thanks, Astrid.” She poked Astrid in the side. “When are you going to stop beating the men off with a club and let one into your life? The right one’s not such a bad thing, you know.”
Astrid stiffened, immediately thinking of Jason.
Clare stared at her. “Oh my God, what happened? Who is it? Astrid!”
Astrid grimaced. “I’m freaking out,” she admitted. “You know that guy who bought—”
“What guy?” The tarp was thrust aside and in strutted Eppie Orlowe, the town’s gossip and self-appointed savior of all females she deemed in need of her services. Today she was wearing a violet and fuchsia flowered sundress and a straw hat with a stuffed loon on the left brim. “Are you dating someone, Astrid? How could you keep this from me?”
Astrid grinned as Eppie thrust her way into the conversation. Clare had always been aggravated by Eppie’s interference in her life, but honestly, Astrid loved that Eppie seemed to have turned her attentions onto Astrid. It felt good. Not that she was going to tell Eppie that Jason had unsettled her. It would take about two seconds for Eppie to march over to Jason’s store, announce he’d upset Astrid, and demand a life-résumé to find out whether he was worthy. She would never let Eppie interfere in her life, but on some levels, it felt good to know Eppie had locked onto her. “No man, Eppie. Sorry to disappoint you.”
Eppie peered at Astrid, and her eyes narrowed. “Have you created any new jewelry designs this week?”
Astrid stiffened at the intrusive question. “What?” How did Eppie know that she’d lost her creativity? When she’d first moved here, she’d poured her broken soul into her jewelry, creating so many new designs that almost every piece of jewelry she made had been one of a kind.
But it had been harder and harder lately, and she hadn’t crafted a new design in months. She could barely manage to spin the ones she’d already created, let alone think of something new. It was as if the fire that drove her creativity had sputtered out, and her profits were beginning to show the effect of it.
Given that money wasn’t exactly flowing in the first place, it was starting to scare Astrid, which had crashed her creativity to the final standstill she hadn’t been able to recover from. Hence last night’s creativity marathon.
“Jewelry. You know that thing you do that supports you?” Eppie shook her head, and made a tsking sound. “You haven’t designed anything new, have you?”
Astrid shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Clare, who was frowning at her. “I’m fine—”
“Bullshit,” Eppie said. “You’re crashing and burning, Astrid, and you’re too damn fool stubborn to admit it.”
Astrid pulled her shoulders back. “I’m not crashing and burning—”
“No? Have you even thought about your plans yet for moving?”
“Moving?” A cold chill rippled through Astrid. “Moving where?” She and her mother had moved seventeen times by the time Astrid celebrated her sixteenth birthday at the drive-thru of McDonald’s with their entire life packed in the back of yet another run-down jalopy, en route to their next “fresh start.” The past two years in Birch Crossing had been the longest Astrid had ever stayed in one place. Even though she still felt like she didn’t quite fit, she liked the fact she’d been in the same place long enough for her orchid to go through a full cycle of blooming, instead of having to throw it in the trash on her way out the door to a new life. She knew she didn’t quite belong here, but she wasn’t ready to move on yet.
“Mom, I think we should go with yellow and green stripes,” Katie said, drawing Clare’s attention back to the decor.
“Stripes?” Astrid shook her head. “The lines in here are all wrong for stripes. That will be too many geometric shapes—”
“Oh, silly me,” Eppie said, tapping Astrid’s arm. “I forgot to give it to you, didn’t I?”
Astrid frowned at her. “Give me what?” She glanced over at Clare and the girls, itching to get involved before they went off on some crazy decorating scheme that would be a gross insult to colors everywhere.
“This.” Eppie fished into her oversized cotton purse that had a goat-herding mountain scene embroidered on it, and then handed Astrid a thin, white envelope that had already been torn open. “I haven’t given this to you yet. Of course you don’t know.”
Astrid frowned as she took the envelope. On the outside was her name and address. “What is this? Did you read it?” Some of her amusement at Eppie’s interference faded at the thought of the older lady reading her mail. Interference was one thing. Finding out Astrid’s secrets was not okay.
“It’s from Sam.” Eppie drew her shoulders back and met Astrid’s gaze, blinking her eyes with wide and completely fabricated innocence. “I have no idea how it got opened. It must have caught on my car keys while it was in my purse.”
“Sam? Sam who?” Astrid grimaced when Eppie rolled her eyes at Astrid’s question. As someone who’d lived in Birch Crossing for two years, Astrid was considered an utter failure in the small town because she didn’t know the name and personal life of everyone in town. How could she? She didn’t want to invade other people’s privacy any more than she wanted hers on display.
It was too hard to forget if she saw her past reflected in everyone’s eyes when they looked at her.
“Samuel Melvin White. Your landlord,” Eppie said impatiently.
Astrid’s heart froze. Her landlord had sent her a letter? She’d seen too many of those in her life, taped up on their door when her mother had stopped paying rent to see how long she could go without paying before they got kicked out. “Why do you have it?”
“I stopped by his house to tell him that his roses needed pruning. Have you seen them? Beautiful yellow ones, but quite frankly they could be much nicer. Ever since he started dating that artist and spending all that time at her home in New Hampshire, he’s just not tending to things here the way he should.” Eppie shook her head, clucking her disapproval. “He’s just damned lucky that I’m here to keep an eye on him.”
Her heart pounding, Astrid folded the envelope without opening it. Her hands were shaking. She knew she’d paid her rent on time. She was never even a day late. She made sure of it. Her studio was tiny, and the stench of gasoline from the mechanic’s shop downstairs forced her to sleep with the windows open even d
uring the winter, but it was the only place in the entire town she could afford, and it had been her home for two years. He wasn’t going to evict her, was he? What could it be?
Eppie raised her brows. “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Not right now.” Astrid’s mouth was dry. “I need to help Clare with the mural.” But then she realized that Clare and the two teens were gone. She glanced out the window just in time to see Clare and the girls climb into Clare’s Subaru and pull out of the small parking lot. What? They’d left without even telling her?
“Well, I’ll tell you then.” Eppie patted her arm. “Sam’s decided that he’s madly in love with that artist from New Hampshire, Rosa Stevens, and he’s going to spirit his arthritic old self off there to grow even older with her.” She beamed at Astrid. “Isn’t that sweet? He’s going to keep his cabin on the lake because that’s where they met, but the old coot is finally going to retire! He’s going to give the garage to his son, who is going to tear it down and build a fancy hotel or something. So, you’ve got three weeks to get yourself out of there, and find a new spot.”
Astrid’s lungs constricted, and her head started to pound. “I have to move out? In three weeks?” But that was her home. Her only home. The only one she’d had in her whole life. The one that had been her salvation when she’d thought she was going to die. “I can’t—”
“You sure can.” Eppie nodded cheerfully and patted her arm. “Now, don’t you start getting all mopey, girl. There are millions of homes in this damned country of America. Quite frankly, you deserve more than to live on top of that garage anyway. Use this as a chance to get a fresh start and get a little inspiration into your life.”
A fresh start.
The words jabbed at Astrid’s heart, words she’d heard so many times in her life. They always signified leaving behind a dog or a new friend or a nice teacher. They always meant being thrust into a stark, lonely hotel and sleeping in the car while her mom drove randomly until she saw a man in a diner who caught her eye, and she decided that was the town that would be their next home.
Fairytale Not Required Page 2