I swallowed deeply and shook my head. Once again, I understood precisely where Rosalie was coming from. I’d grown up wealthy, but I’d never fit in with the popular crowd the way Colton had. At first, it was because I’d been too scrawny and pimply. But in college, I’d filled out and my skin had cleared up. When Margaux—beautiful, sophisticated Margaux—came along and wanted me of all people, I’d quickly fallen under her spell. “You’re forgetting I once asked a social-climbing viper to marry me, knowing full well that’s exactly who she was. Trust me when I say I am in no position to judge.”
She nudged my shoulder back playfully. “Lemme guess—she was absolutely gorgeous.”
I leaned away and stared down at the woman sitting next to me. She looked a mess. Her cheeks were blotchy from the cold and wine, her leggings had a hole in the knee, and I was pretty sure that red splotch on her flannel was a dollop of ketchup. And despite all that, she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. “I can safely say that I’ve seen better,” I said, my voice coming out low and scratchy.
Rosalie’s eyes flashed and her cheeks turned pink. Her tongue darted out to lick a nervous path over her bottom lip. “So, the wine’s gone,” she said, picking up the empty bottle and pushing to her feet. “I’m gonna head inside for some food. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Care to join us?” Her gaze darted away.
I wanted to go inside with her. I really did. But I was coming dangerously close to developing feelings for a woman I shouldn’t be. Tonight had been one of the best damn nights I’d had in so, so long. I enjoyed her company far too much, and I couldn’t figure out if that was my loneliness or my libido talking. If I was simply looking for a friend that was one thing, but if I wanted a friend with benefits, Rosalie wasn’t the woman for that. She wasn’t someone you fucked around with.
So instead of taking her up on the offer, I shook my head slowly. “No, thank you. I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge that are going to turn into some sort of science experiment if I don’t eat them tonight.”
“Oh. Okay. Well … anytime you’re hungry, our door is always open.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer.”
We stood facing one another for a few long seconds. Eventually, she smiled and gestured over her shoulder with the thumb of her free hand. “So, umm … I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” I said with a definitive nod. “Of course.”
I watched her walk back into her house, a little unsteady on her feet, before I made my own way home, my thoughts swirling the entire time.
7
Rosalie
I set my palm to my belly to try and settle the queasy feeling I’d woken up with. I would have been fine if I’d stuck to drinking only the one bottle of wine I’d shared with Preston. Unfortunately, when I’d gone inside, Mom had asked if there was any update on my divorce. Immediately, I’d reached for the bottle of chianti waiting on the table to go with the spaghetti and meatballs she was cooking for dinner. By the time I’d climbed up to bed a couple of hours later, my head was pounding. Thankfully, I’d made it through the night without having to rush downstairs to pray to the porcelain gods, but when I’d woken up this morning, I’d felt like shit.
The kind of terrible that only really good coffee could fix.
Grabbing my purse from the passenger seat of my Volvo, I slid out into the crisp autumn afternoon, the sound of the Winooski rushing past in the distance. Birds chirped in the trees along the banks of the river as a man with glinting copper hair chased after a laughing little girl. “Gotcha,” he cried, hefting her into his arms and blowing a raspberry on her pudgy little cheek. She squealed and threw her arms around his neck.
I smiled at the sweet scene and walked inside the Busy Bean. A bell chimed overhead, welcoming me into the warm, adorably funky coffee shop. Sun streamed in through its leaded glass windows, casting wavy shadows on its wide pine floorboards and antique tables and chairs that were upholstered in a mixture of strong dark colors and delightful animal prints.
I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Preston that Colebury was vastly different from when I’d grown up here. Between the Busy Bean, The Gin Mill, and Speakeasy, the Rossi family had apparently invested a ton of money into turning this little slice of Vermont into the quaint, thriving place it was today.
And it wasn’t just the Rossis, either. During a quick stopover visit on my way to New York a couple of years ago, I’d driven past a handful of busy shops where vacant storefronts or empty lots had once stood. When I’d asked my mom about it later that evening, she’d simply smiled and told me that Colebury had always been beautiful in her eyes.
Of course, Blake had hated coming here, calling it a backwoods dot on the map of a backwoods state. But then, I hadn’t said or done much to convince him otherwise. I’d quickly learned that the long stretches of silence that followed our arguments were hardly worth the effort. In the end, it was easier to visit without him, or—I was ashamed to admit—not at all.
I inhaled the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee, kicking myself for not leaving him sooner. How much time had I lost with my mom because I’d been too afraid of the fallout? Even one day was too many.
As I stepped to the counter to place my order, a gorgeous woman I recognized as Zara Rossi smiled warmly at me, and I pushed all thoughts of my narcissistic ex to the back of my head. “Hi, what can I get you?” she asked.
I scanned the menu for inspiration. It was probably best to order something without milk, since my stomach kept threatening to rebel against me. Other than that, everything sounded good. Better than good, if you considered the fresh baked pastry options … which I’d have to come back for when I could give them their proper due. I decided to let Zara choose for me. It was safe to assume that no one knew the menu better than she did.
I nudged my oversized sunglasses down the bridge of my nose to reveal my tired, bloodshot eyes. “I drank a lot of red wine last night. What do you have that’ll make me feel like a normal human being again?”
She chuckled. “Been there, done that. How about a piping hot cup of our Dark Horse breakfast blend? The beans are locally roasted by two brothers out in Montpelier.”
“That sounds perfect. Can I also get a small cappuccino to go?” I was on a mission to get my mom to ditch the big red can she picked up at the grocery store every couple of weeks. The best part of waking up, my ass.
“Sure.” Zara slid two white paper cups emblazoned with the coffee shop’s logo from their tall stacks on the counter. “What’s the name?”
“Rosalie,” I answered off-handedly as I rummaged through my purse for the ten-dollar bill I’d dropped into the side pocket when I’d filled up my gas tank a couple of days ago.
“Rosalie Mitchell?” My head popped up to find her peering curiously at me as she wrote my name on the cup in black sharpie.
I nodded sheepishly, conscious of how I looked. While Zara and I had gone to school together, we hadn’t been close. Frankly, I was surprised she’d remembered my name at all. “In the flesh.”
“Wow,” she said, setting the first cup down on the counter and picking up the other one to write my name on it as well. “Last I heard, you were living out in San Francisco, married to some big shot in the art world and running your own gallery.”
“I moved back to Colebury just last week.” I lifted my left hand to show off my bare ring finger, the skin where my wedding band had once sat rubbed smooth and shiny and looking slightly indented.
“Ah.” She winced slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t a particularly good marriage. I’m happy to have finally mustered the courage to leave, but maybe a little bit less happy to be a thirty-two-year-old single woman living in her mom’s attic.” Perhaps that had been too honest, I realized when an awkward silence fell between us.
“Thanks,” I said, reaching out to accept the strong black coffee she was passing my way, “This place is amazing, by the way.” I lifted the
cup to my mouth and took a small sip. “And so much better than my mom’s Folgers.”
“As good as what you used to get in San Francisco?” She lifted a dark eyebrow as I went in for a second taste, letting the flavors roll over my tongue.
“Well, I wouldn’t kick it out of bed, is all I’m saying.” As the words left my lips, I screwed my face up in embarrassment while Zara belted out a loud laugh. “Oh my god. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re single and ready to mingle.” She smirked.
“Oh, goodness. No,” I objected even as my handsome neighbor’s face flickered in my brain.
Sitting out on the porch with Preston had been … nice. Better than nice, actually. During the hour we’d spent passing a bottle of wine back and forth between us, I’d shared more with him than I’d shared with anyone outside of my mom and my therapist in a long time. I found it difficult to open up to people, so the fact that I hadn’t shied away from telling Preston just how powerless I felt when it came to Blake surprised me.
Even now, I couldn’t believe I’d been so forthcoming. Maybe it was because the two men had never met—and wouldn’t ever meet—that I’d been freer with my words than I typically would have been. Talking with Preston, I didn’t have to worry about something I said getting back to my ex. Not that I didn’t stand by everything I’d told him, but I’d learned a long time ago that you couldn’t always trust people who said they were your friends. And since Blake was a master manipulator, he’d always found a way to turn even the most harmless off-hand comment against me.
I might not know Preston all that well yet, but I could tell that he was nothing like my husband. For starters, Blake didn’t have an honest bone in his body, while Preston had been nothing but honest about the situation with his former fiancée and brother and how difficult it made spending time with his family.
That said, liking the man was a far cry from wanting to invite him into my bed.
“I’m not quite ready for that yet,” I told Zara.
“It’s okay. I’m just messing with you.” She smiled and passed the cappuccino my way. “Enjoy your coffee, and don’t be a stranger.”
“I will. Thanks.” I lifted one of my cups in farewell and headed back out to my car. I was still smiling when I pulled up in front of my house ten minutes later.
“I’m home,” I called out, setting the two coffees down on the small console table located just inside the door of the side entry near the kitchen. I tossed my keys into a large, decorative bowl that sat on top of it and shrugged out of my puffer vest, hanging both it and my purse on the shaker pegs that spanned the entire width of the wall. Hearing voices, I picked up the two coffees and made my way to the front of the house.
“Hey, Rosie.” My mom set her hand on the couch’s rolled arm and pushed to her feet. When she saw the second cup of coffee in my hands, her eyes flicked down to a pot of tea sitting on the table in front of the couch. “Oh, you got me a coffee. No matter. I’ll just drink it later.” She laughed, and sat back down.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway. “I’ll, umm … just go put this in the kitchen.”
“No, no.” She waved me into the room. “Come sit with us.” Us being her, Rose, and Lily, two of her longtime friends from town.
Rose and Lily were sisters, and their rock and mineral shop Crystal Persuasion had been in business for decades. Recently, Rose’s grandson Sam—who’d been a couple of years behind me in school—had moved home to help them run the place now that they were getting older.
“So good to see you again.” I set both cups down near the teapot and grabbed a spot on the empty cushion seat next to my mom. “How are you?”
“Wonderful, dear,” Lily said, leaning forward in her seat to briefly clasp my hand in hers, the bangles on her wrist tinkling. “Your mom was just telling us you’re back for good. Such happy news.”
I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. The truth was, I didn’t know what my plans were. Until the lawyers I’d hired to extricate me from the mess back home—err, in San Francisco—my future was pretty much up in the air. “I’m just taking things one day at a time. We’ll see how it goes.” Out the side of my eye, I caught the disappointed look that flashed across my mom’s face. Well, shit.
“But you are getting divorced?” Rose asked, her tone hopeful.
I nodded definitively. “Thankfully, that’s one part of my life that I do have figured out.”
“That’s fabulous news,” she answered. “That man was an albatross. We’ve been telling Gloria for years that he was holding you back from becoming the woman you were meant to be.”
I chuckled nervously. Back in high school, some of the girls would joke about how Rose and Lily were witches, and if you weren’t nice to Sam, they’d cast a spell on you. Technically speaking, the sisters were Wiccans who believed in doing no harm, but no one who knew Sam had been in a hurry to correct the misconception. Assuming, of course, it was a misconception. I didn’t necessarily believe in magic and hexes, but sometimes their comments could be eerily prescient, seeming less like insights and more like predictions.
“I wouldn’t necessarily say he held me back,” I replied gently, knowing she meant no offense. “I did run my own gallery, after all.”
My mom tutted and brushed the comment aside with a flick of her wrist. “No one is trying to deny your professional success, Rosie, but even you have to admit that you weren’t very happy. And I hate to say it, but maybe the fire was actually a blessing in disguise.”
“In no world is losing one’s livelihood a blessing in disguise,” I snapped, feeling my anger mount. “And for what it’s worth, I was happy.”
But even as the words slipped from my lips, they rang false. I’d been miserable for a couple of years, but I had been happy once. If I hadn’t been, I would never have stayed with Blake as long as I did. It was those early years together that plagued me every time I’d pack my bags to leave. Whenever I’d get close to finally getting up and going, he’d show me flashes of the man he’d once been, and I’d convince myself that things had returned to normal. What I’d failed to understand was that the charming, sweet-talking man I’d married was a persona Blake adopted when it suited him, and the self-centered, egocentric man I lived with on a day-to-day basis was his normal. It had taken too long for me to shake off the memories and find the truth.
“Of course you were,” Lily said kindly. “And you’ll be in a happy, loving relationship again one day soon. Trust me.”
Uh oh, I thought. That sounded suspiciously like a prediction. Much as I relished the idea of no longer bursting into spontaneous tears, I also needed time to get my head on straight and figure my shit out. The last thing I needed was a new relationship.
“Speaking of,” my mom said, her tone deceivingly innocent. “You spent an awfully long time out on the porch last night with Preston.”
I groaned. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s nothing going on between Preston and me. Don’t even let your mind go there. We’re just … friends, I guess. Neighbors.”
Rose and Lily nodded sagely. “He’s very handsome,” Rose commented.
“And so good with his hands,” Lily added with a salacious wink of her silvery blue eye.
“I wouldn’t know,” I said feeling my cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. “And I have no intention of finding out.”
“We’re not saying you have to run out and marry the man, Rosie.” Mom lifted her porcelain cup to her mouth. “But I’ve always thought the key to getting over one man is to get under a new one.” She smirked and took a drink of her tea while I gawped like a fish.
8
Preston
My workout left me in serious need of sustenance, so I trundled down the stairs in search of something to stave off utter starvation. I turned left toward the kitchen at the bottom step, where I bee-lined for the fridge and a Tupperware full of homemade hummus. Shoving sliced carrot spears into my mouth at a rate that was liabl
e to make me choke if I weren’t careful, my gaze wandered out the window to where Gloria and Rosalie’s house stood.
With both of their cars gone, I had a straight line of sight to a section of the porch’s roofline that was sagging in a way that spelled trouble. I should probably take a look at that, I thought as I put the lid back on the container.
Rosalie being gone was all the motivation I needed to inspect the roof right away. It had been a couple of days since we’d shared that bottle of wine, and truthfully, I’d been avoiding her ever since. I knew it made me a coward, but I’d enjoyed that hour together way more than I should have. I was thirty-four fucking years old, which was about twenty years too old to be crushing on the pretty girl next door—especially since the girl in question was technically still a married woman.
Yeah, but she’s getting a divorce, the devil on my shoulder tried to convince me as I finished up in the kitchen.
And while that was true, I knew better than most that anything could happen between now and making it official, so I’d vowed to keep my distance from her. I didn’t want to risk catching feelings for a woman I couldn’t have.
Been there, done that, got the “I’m with stupid” t-shirt.
Heading up to my bedroom, I quickly switched out my sweaty t-shirt for a clean, dry one and then added an old college sweatshirt—the screen printed letters peeling at the edges—for added warmth. Back downstairs, I laced my feet into my work boots and shoved a knit beanie down over my mussed hair. Sufficiently dressed for working outdoors on a chilly autumn afternoon, I grabbed my toolbox and headed across the lawn, the cold grass crunching beneath my feet.
Because nothing in my life ever seemed to go according to plan, the second I set my tools down onto the porch, Rosalie’s ancient Volvo sputtered up the driveway. She waved at me through the windshield, and I raised my hand to return the greeting as she got out and circled around the back of the car to open up the rear hatch. A couple of seconds later, she emerged, weighed down by several colorful tote bags overflowing with groceries, the leaves from some stalks of celery smacking against her cheek.
Homecoming (Speakeasy) Page 5