An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three)

by Schurig, Rachel

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  An (Almost) Perfect

  Love Story

  Rachel Schurig

  Copyright 2013 Rachel Schurig

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For Jessica, Amanda, Hannah, and Katy;

  my sisters and my dear friends.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am so lucky to have such an amazing support group of friends and family. I am very thankful to everyone who encourages, inspires, and supports me.

  Thank you to my editor, Shelley Holloway, for all your help, support, and advice.

  Book cover design by Scarlett Rugers Design 2012

  www.scarlettrugers.com

  Chapter One

  It was six o’clock on a Wednesday night, and I was late to meet my mother.

  Well, not exactly late, not yet, but I would be, seeing as how I was still in the car and she was probably just now sitting down in the restaurant.

  Had my boyfriend, Chris, been there in the car with me, fighting rush hour traffic, he would have told me to calm down, that being five minutes late wasn’t the end of the world.

  But he hadn’t grown up with my mom.

  “Come on,” I muttered, tapping my hands against the steering wheel impatiently. “Come on.”

  Finally the truck in front of me made his left-hand turn, and I was able to get through the intersection. The restaurant was on my left, just down the block. I let out a sigh of relief. Now to just find parking.

  It was my own stupid fault, thinking I could get into downtown Royal Oak quickly at this time of day. I should have realized there would be traffic. The downtown area of my adopted city was quaint and bustling, but it was also small and developed more than fifty years ago. As the area had grown in popularity, certain factors made it difficult to get around—few dedicated left turn lanes, not enough traffic lights, lots of pedestrian traffic, and never, never enough places to park.

  I got lucky and managed to squeeze my little Ford Focus into a parallel spot on the street just as my dashboard clock turned over to 6:05. If I hurried, I’d be less than ten minutes late.

  My mother, of course, was already seated when I rushed into the dining room at Bastone. She caught sight of me from across the room and raised a hand in greeting. I smiled, telling myself it was silly to feel nervous, and made my way to her table.

  “Ashley, dear, you look lovely,” she said, standing to kiss my cheek.

  “Thanks, Mom. So do you.”

  I was not just being polite. My mother, as ever, was simply beautiful. She was tall, slim, and blonde—all the things I was not. She could have easily passed for my older sister. She kept her hair in a sleek bob; her make-up was impeccable but understated, and her skin was better than that of most of the twenty-five year olds I knew.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said as I pulled off my coat.

  She waved my apology away as she retook her seat. “Don’t worry about it, dear, I imagine you had to rush a bit to get ready after work.” Her eyes flicked down my outfit in that familiar way of hers before she glanced quickly at her watch. “But I suppose it is a good thing we didn’t arrange to meet down in my neck of the woods, or who knows how long I’d be waiting.”

  She winked at me to show she was joking, but I couldn’t help the slight swoop of my stomach as I sat down. Again, I reminded myself that it was silly to feel that way. Just relax, Ash, I told myself. She’s not mad at you.

  A waitress appeared at my side to take our drink orders. “I’ll have water, for now,” my mom said. “But we’d like to see a wine list for dinner.”

  Once the waitress was gone, my mother returned her attention to me. “So. How was your day? How was school?”

  “It was good,” I told her. “The kids are a little hyper, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  She smiled fondly at me. “That was one thing I never had to worry about with you. You were always such a quiet, sweet little girl.” She winked at me again. “Unlike some of my other daughters.”

  I laughed. “I think hyper probably describes Allison and Amy pretty accurately.”

  The waitress brought our waters, and my mother gave her a warm smile. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said. “We’ve been so busy chatting, we haven’t even looked at the menu. Would you give us another minute?”

  “Of course.” The waitress returned her smile and left the table. Not for the first time, I found myself impressed with my mother. She had a way of drawing people in, of making them feel like they were the most important person in the room. Even a simple interaction with a waiter at a restaurant could seem charming—the woman had presence.

  “Let’s see, what looks good?” my mom murmured, peering down at her menu. She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling, and leaned in conspiratorially. I found myself subconsciously mirroring her. “I see a lobster mac and cheese that would probably wipe out my calorie allotment for the week. But doesn’t it just sound divine?”

  I nodded, thinking to myself that it wasn’t just strangers who felt drawn to my mother. She raised her eyebrows. “What do you think, should we be terrible and go for it?”

  “Let’s.”

  She nodded, smiling, as she folded up her menu. “Maybe we’ll be really bad and order dessert as well.”

  After the waitress came back to take our order, my mother relaxed into her chair, looking around the room. “This is a nice restaurant, Ashley. I like the atmosphere. I’m glad you suggested it.”

  I felt a warm rush of satisfaction at her simple praise. My mother had excellent taste. Everyone said so. It probably made me happier than it should have for her to compliment one of my choices. Ryan, one of my best friends, said I had “idolization” issues when it came to my mom, but I tried to push those thoughts away.

  “We come here quite a bit,” I told her. “It’s one of Ryan’s favorites.”

  Her face lit up. “How is Ryan? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  “He’s good. Working a lot, of course. You know Ryan.”

  She nodded. “He’s always been quite driven, hasn’t he? But I suppose that’s a good thing, considering his tastes.” She laughed appreciatively. Ryan and my mom had quite a bit in common when it came to tastes. They both liked style and labels. Expensive tastes, you could say.

  “You would have been in
heaven last week, Mom. He got a bonus, so he took me shopping at Somerset.”

  My mother closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. “I think I can see where this is going.” Somerset was a very high-end mall close to my apartment. They had some of the best shopping in the area. “What did he buy?”

  We chatted happily for the rest of our dinner. My mother loved gossip as much as I did, and was eager to hear all about Ryan and my other best friend and roommate, Emily. And about Chris, of course.

  “I think he’s getting serious about you, Ash,” she said, pointing her fork at me. “I really think he is.”

  I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face. “Do you?”

  She nodded. “He treats you well,” she said, ticking each point off on her fingers. “He’s attentive and respectful. And, most importantly, he makes an effort with your parents.” She winked again, and I felt a little thrill at her words. I had to agree with her—Chris and I had been getting more and more serious lately. I was head over heels for him, to be honest.

  “He’s great,” I said, grinning. “He makes me really, really happy.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll be planning for some wedding bells soon,” she teased.

  “Don’t get carried away, Mom,” I warned, but I was still beaming. She knew me well and was very familiar with my love of all things romantic. I’d been imagining my wedding since I was about four.

  “What? Is there something wrong with wanting the best for my daughter?”

  “Maybe we could just hold off on the wedding talk until he actually, you know, proposes.”

  She patted my hand on the table. “It won’t be long, dear. You can bet on it.”

  I laughed. “Well, once you’ve decreed something, it’s bound to happen, I guess. You are the all-powerful Amber Phillips.”

  She laughed, too. “Don’t you forget it.” She took a sip of her wine, her face becoming more serious, almost wistful. “I’ve been dreaming of planning a wedding for one of my girls since you three were in diapers.”

  I squirmed a little in my seat. “Well, hopefully it won’t be too far off, but I’m not pressuring him.”

  She didn’t seem to hear me. “A big, formal wedding. With all our family and friends. Everything you could dream of, just like a fairytale.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes. I had heard her wax poetic about the perfect wedding she would give each of her daughters for years. In fact, I had probably gotten the romance bug from her. I dug my fork into my macaroni. “I don’t need a fairytale, Mom. I just want to be as happy as you and Daddy are.”

  I thought her face darkened for a moment, but it was gone before I could really register the expression, and she was back to her normal, beautiful, sparkling self.

  “Well, I suppose there’s no need to get ahead of ourselves. It will happen when it happens, right?” She looked down at her still half-full plate. “What do you think, Ashley? Have we overdosed on our calories for the day? Or should we just admit defeat and order dessert anyhow?”

  I looked at my plate, much cleaner than hers. For all of her talk of ODing on calories and being bad, she had eaten like she always did—daintily. I, on the other hand, had scarfed down my food.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, wishing I had left more of my food. I had been trying to lose five pounds for the past month.

  “Oh, let’s go for it,” she said. “It’s not everyday I get to have dinner with my lovely daughter.”

  Warmth spread through my chest at her compliment, but it was short lived. “Besides,” she continued, her eyes flicking down over my figure once again. “We can always eat clean for the next few days to make up for it, right?”

  “Right,” I said, trying to keep the color from my cheeks. She’s not implying anything, I told myself. I nearly believed it.

  My mother ordered a truffle chocolate cake thing that looked delicious and started in on some complicated story relating to a scandal in her book club. She was a member in good standing of half a dozen social groups, including her book club, a ladies’ church group, and a town beautification committee. She was very social and liked to stay busy. She seemed happiest when other people were counting on her in some way—which they usually did. It was hard not to when she was so very competent at everything.

  I listened to her gossip, nodding and asking questions when appropriate. I was usually pleased when my mom trusted me enough to share the ins and outs of her daily life with me. I knew she didn’t do so with my sisters, and it made me feel proud that she confided in me.

  But when the waitress brought over our dessert, for some reason, it didn’t taste nearly as good to me as I had expected, and that was in no way the fault of the restaurant. In fact, the dessert was chocolaty and gooey and generally perfect. I just couldn’t help but think I would enjoy it more if the look my mother had given my figure earlier hadn’t been quite so loaded.

  Chapter Two

  Have you ever felt like if you had to wipe one more runny nose, you would just totally freak out?

  I have. Which I guess makes sense, since I am a kindergarten teacher. I went into teaching with the idea that I would be shaping the minds of countless children, preparing them for rich lives full of curiosity and learning. In reality, I spend most of my day tying shoelaces, wiping runny noses, breaking up arguments, and helping those little ones who have not yet mastered the concept of zippers.

  “Settle down, please,” I called out, struggling against the urge to raise my voice. Deep breaths, Ashley, I told myself. It’s not their fault that they’re little. Or that it’s February in Michigan and everyone has a cold.

  “Tony, put that down,” I said sternly, watching as the five year old quickly replaced the stapler on my desk and turned to me, smiling sheepishly. I crossed my arms and shook my head at him. It was the second time that day that I’d had to remind him my desk was off limits. “Go move your name to yellow,” I told him, pointing to the behavior chart across the room. He slumped his little shoulders and trudged off to the chart. Tony was adorable, and he knew it. He also had a hard time following directions of any kind. I would have to have another talk with him.

  “Everyone should be at the carpet by now,” I said. “Last chance to get a stuffed animal or blanket if you want one.”

  I grabbed Christie’s arm as she went hurtling past, heading for the hallway. “Where are you going?”

  “I left my blankie in my backpack,” she said.

  “Sorry, lady,” I told her, steering her toward the toy bin. “You know you’re supposed to bring it to your cubby in the morning if you want it for story time. We can’t all be running out into the hallway everyday. You can pick one of my stuffed animals if you want.”

  Christie sighed dramatically, but obediently walked over to the toy bin. I turned my attention back to Tony, who was sulking near the behavior chart. He had yet to move his name card to the section that would indicate he’d been warned. “Yellow, Tony,” I called. “Now, please.”

  “Miss Ashley,” a little voice said from somewhere near my knees. I looked down to see Amanda, one of my favorite students, tugging at my pencil skirt. “I can’t find my elephant. I can’t listen to story time without my elephant!” Her wide blue eyes looked close to filling with tears, and I felt a pang of guilt for my earlier irritation. It was too easy to forget that my students were so young, many of them away from their homes and parents for the first time.

  I took Amanda’s hand. “I bet your elephant is in your cubby. Let’s go look.”

  Once I had Amanda sorted out, I led her over to the carpet, where most of the class had gathered with their various blankets and stuffed animals, ready for story time. I settled into my rocking chair and breathed deeply. This was my favorite time of the day. The kids were sleepy after lunch and recess, and they all looked so cute cuddled up, listening to me read. This was why I loved my job.

  No sooner had I opened the Frog and Toad are Friends did a little hand waving from the back of the carpet distract me. “Do you need
something, Tony?”

  “I had an accident,” he announced proudly, to the laughs and squeals of his classmates.

  I sighed and set down the book. Story time would have to wait.

  * * *

  “Remind me again why I went into teaching.”

  I looked up from my desk to see Susan, a fifth grade teacher and one of my closest friends at Robert Burns Elementary, leaning against the doorway. She looked exhausted, which was a pretty typical look for teachers at 3:30 p.m. in an elementary school.

  “Because you want to make a difference,” I told her, my voice flat. She laughed. “And because you love it, really.”

  She came over to my desk and plopped onto one of the few adult-size chairs in the room. “I’m not feeling it today,” she told me. “The kids are running around like little monsters, I swear. I had to send Bill Carter down to the office for calling Mindy Parks a douchebag.” I burst out laughing. “Seriously, where does a ten year old even learn something like that?”

  “TV,” I said, grinning at her. “Don’t you know it’s full of garbage these days?” Sometimes I envied Susan, working with the older kids. She certainly got to spend more of her time teaching and less of it making sure her students had gotten the hang of sitting still. But I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep a straight face if I heard a kid say something like that.

  “How were your kids?” she asked, brushing her red hair away from her face. “Tell me they were crazy, too. I’ll be depressed if mine were the only ones acting like hellions.”

  “They’re not hellions,” I told her, laughing again. Susan had a flair for the dramatic, and she tended to be sarcastic. But I had seen her in action as a teacher, and I knew she loved it, regardless of how much she complained. “My kids were a little crazy, but nothing out of the ordinary. It’s winter, they’re cooped up.”

  “Yeah, just wait until next week,” she grumbled. “Valentine’s Day. Kill me now.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Valentine’s Day is fun! The kids have a blast!”