by Ava Moreau
There was no one to greet her at the airport. I'll just rent a car, she had told Sarah. Her sister had objected to the expense, but Becca didn't want to be tied down, at the mercy of Sarah's schedule. It made sense at the time, but then as Becca watched her fellow travelers being greeted by their family, she suddenly wished that someone had been here waiting for her.
One couple in particular caught her eye, a girl just a couple of years younger than her, getting wrapped in the arms of her burly boyfriend. Their faces were aglow with happiness. Without quite meaning to, Becca scanned the airport as though there might be someone for her there too.
Don't lose heart yet, she told herself. You know the deal. No emotional attachments that might get in the way of establishing your business. Stick to the five-year plan. Intellectually she knew she was making the right decision, but her shoulders slumped a little as she walked all by herself to the car rental booth.
Myers Lake hadn't changed a bit since she was last here. She wasn't sure if she was bothered by that fact, or comforted by it. The downtown was still just one broad street, flanked on either side by short squat red brick buildings, like the set of the movie about small towns set a few decades in the past. There was Cawley's Pharmacy, whose soda fountain was still in business even in this age of fast food and coffee shops. There was the bank, where her dad had worked for forty years before retiring. And there was the flower shop where Sarah worked, although this morning Sarah's car was not out front.
So many memories. And it wasn't that they were bad memories. That's what Sarah never understood. Sarah acted like Becca was running from some horrible trauma, when it wasn't like that at all. It wasn't that Myers Lake was bad. It was that it was small, and small in a way that was addictively comfortable. You could see yourself living the rest of your life here, tending a little garden, talking to the locals, eventually retiring to a house by the lake, and that would be a good life to so many people. That's what Sarah never understood. She couldn't grasp why Becca wanted more than this. It wasn't there was anything wrong with it, it just wasn’t Becca’s dream. It wasn't part of her plan.
All of which explained the growing tension in Becca's neck and shoulders as she got closer to her parent's old house. If she could make it through today without having to have a long conversation with Sarah, that would be perfect. Hell, maybe she'd get lucky and get to spend the entire day alone, shoveling through her old belongings without having to talk to anyone.
That thought was especially appealing because she was dressed for packing, not for visiting. She hadn't bothered doing anything with her hair this morning, so the mass of curls was simply tied up to keep the hair off her face. She hadn't bothered with makeup, and was wearing an old plaid shirt and jeans, with gray suede boots she'd had for a million years. It was such a difference from her sharp, precise appearance at work.
She would never say this to anyone, but she missed being able to dress like this, not trying to impress anyone, not trying to disguise herself in corporate camouflage, but dressing for comfort and utility. Maybe when she was CEO of a multibillion-dollar corporation, she would institute a flannel and denim dress code. Step one would be outlawing heels.
The thought amused her so much that she almost missed her parent's old house. But home called attention to itself, and the world snapped into focus. Here was the road that was so familiar from years of riding her bicycle. Here were the trees she'd climbed as a girl.
That tension in her shoulders made itself known again.
The house itself came into sight, and her heart sank. So much for being alone. Not only was Sarah's car there, there was a truck sitting next to it. Sarah had invited help. Becca glanced back down at her clothes, gritted her teeth and shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be seen like this. Her carefully-cultivated image, an image that was so important to project among strangers, was like her safety net, and now here she was, walking a tightrope without it.
She pulled in next to the truck. It looked like someone had driven it through wet red clay, its tires spraying mud all over the side. She wondered who her sister had invited over. She could see it now, Sarah with her hands on her hips, ordering some poor helpless guy to bring his filthy truck over to help Becca haul her stuff to the dump.
She’ll boss some country boy into helping me, but won’t put my stuff in storage for me even if I pay for everything.
Becca glanced into the rearview mirror, then laughed at herself. Just a reflex. There was no makeup to check. Nobody here to impress.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” she sighed, getting out of the car.
The front door was wide open, and she stepped onto the porch, listening to that top step creak the way it always had. She could see inside the house, the long empty foyer. Strange to see it empty. The old walnut hall tree that had been passed down for three generations, the runner that had stretched the length of the floor, all were gone; even the lighting fixtures were missing from the foyer.
“Sarah? Are you here?” her voice echoed off the empty walls.
“Oh my god, Becca Thornton. Big-City Becca, all grown up.”
She didn’t recognize the owner of that deep, rumbling voice at first, when he stepped into the foyer. But it only took a second for her memory of high-school heartthrob Jack Morgan to match up with the big man in front of her. Holy shit, she thought.
“Is she here?” asked another voice, and then none other than Trent Thomas came to stand beside Jack.
Oh my god.
The two hottest guys from high school, and they’d only gotten hotter over time, but the differences between them had grown more pronounced as well.
Jack was the bigger guy, with sandy-blond hair that had always been a mess. Stubble softened his square jaw, and his tight shirt showed the rounded bulge of muscle that somehow looked natural on him, even though she knew that nobody got that big and well-defined without doing a good bit of work for it. He took up space like he owned whatever room he stood in, and his smile was big and generous, like you were the person he’d been hoping most to see.
To say that Trent was smaller than Jack might’ve been misleading. Back in school, he’d been much skinnier than his best friend, but clearly he had filled out. He was leaner, sharper than Jack, and that sharpness seemed to come out in his eyes as well. His dark hair was neatly trimmed compared to Jack’s messy spikes, and his smile, although no less friendly than Jack’s, was somehow both shyer and more intense, as though he’d shared a secret with you and you’d both promised not to tell.
Maybe it was the fact she’d been up so early to catch the flight. Maybe it was the lack of sleep the past few nights, getting ready for that disastrous meeting with Jordan & Huntley. Whatever the cause, she felt herself extremely aware of the two men, like the air between them was sizzling with potential.
Whoa there, cowgirl. You’re gonna want to step back a second. Just because your five-year plan hit a snag, doesn’t mean you’re going to stand here and entertain fantasies about two of your high-school crushes. No matter how good they look. Standing there next to each other. Their shoulders touching.
It was such a relief when Sarah walked in, that Becca rushed to hug her. Sarah looked a little confused by the warm reception her sister gave her, but hugged her tightly back.
“Glad you could finally make it,” she told Becca. She held her at arms-length and studied her. “And looking like a normal person, no less!”
Becca was suddenly conscious of her lack of makeup, the shabbiness of her clothes. She glanced over at Jack and Trent. Are they judging me? Are they saying, ‘She looks like she never left town’?
She stepped back from her sister’s grasp, before she could screw up and apologize for not dressing better. She had to take control of this situation; couldn’t let her confused emotions lead her into starting a stupid fight with Sarah.
There’s nothing wrong with Sarah wanting me back here. This is what normal sisters do. Right?
Then why was her hea
rt racing? Did it have something to do with two men from her past watching her?
“What’s the big class reunion for, anyway?” she asked.
“Your sis bedeviled us into helping you box stuff up,” said Jack.
“I didn’t bedevil them,” said Sarah.
“She yelled, she screamed,” said Jack.
“At one point, she pulled my hair when I refused,” added Trent.
It was so ridiculous—staid, upright Sarah yanking Trent’s dark locks—that Becca had to laugh, feeling the tension drain from her. These guys weren’t afraid of Sarah. She didn’t have to be, either.
“It’s weird seeing the hall so empty,” she said.
“You should see the rest of the house,” said Sarah. “At least with the folks gone on their cruise, they won’t pester you while you’re getting stuff done.”
Becca nodded, but still felt strange standing here in the empty room.
“Listen,” said Sarah, “I’ve got to get back to the shop. We’ve got a wedding coming up, and I’ve got to get twelve dozen white roses into order. The boys will do anything you need, and just call me later and we’ll get something to eat, okay?”
You’re leaving me…alone? With them? Becca glanced back at the men.
Were it not forbidden by the five-year plan, she might’ve stared at them a little longer, to figure out which one she liked best.
It was a hard choice! Jack was clearly the bigger, more macho guy, good for some rough-and-tumble action. But Trent had the intensity in his dark eyes, the sense he could get you deeply into trouble. How could anyone pick which one to go after?
But luckily I don’t have to worry about that because small-town boyfriends are NOT on the plan.
She kissed Sarah’s cheek and felt her sister squeeze her hand. “I’m so glad you came back,” Sarah whispered to her, and it sounded sincere.
“You’re not furious at me?” Becca whispered back. “You’re always mad on the phone.”
“You’re here. That’s all that matters. Call me when you need a break, okay? See you soon.”
And just like that, she was alone with the guys.
They looked expectantly at her. “Should we go upstairs?” asked Trent.
5
Trent started to walk up the stairs first, but Jack held his arm. “Ladies first,” Jack said.
Becca made a little moue and rolled her eyes.
Trent tried very hard not to look at her lips. They were so full, and with no lipstick, they seemed fresh somehow, like pink fruit.
Okay, no denying it: Big-City Becca was hot as hell. He really hadn’t expected it. He’d heard Sarah talk about her so much, he’d figured she’d be wound tight, hair in some severe bun or perfectly-tamed businesswoman coif. But her hair was wild, barely restrained by tying it back. He found himself wanting to plunge his fingers into its thick blonde depths.
He could tell Jack felt it too. All during the conversation with Sarah there in the foyer, Jack had been sneaking appraising glances at Becca. He knew Jack’s type, and knew his best friend was standing there wondering how Becca looked when she wasn’t hiding in a big flannel shirt.
Hell, Trent liked the shirt. Liked the way, when she turned, her breasts would slightly move the fabric. It was subtle, and Trent liked subtle.
What the hell are you thinking like this for? He chided himself for letting his attention wander. You’re here to do Becca a favor, not jump her bones. That’s ridiculous. Besides, you’re not good enough for her, clearly.
That had been obvious from the moment she walked into the room. Becca thought very highly of herself. Not in a vain way; not like the girls in town who wouldn’t let themselves be seen in public without a few hours spent on their eyes and hair. Clearly Becca didn’t care about that.
Was she stuck-up? It was hard to tell. Maybe her stiffness around her sister had been more about the family drama than snobbishness. Trent supposed he’d be able to tell, once she started ordering them around.
Jack had said Ladies first, so now Becca was headed up the stairs.
Trent raised an eyebrow at this unexpected gallantry, and Jack inclined his head towards Becca.
Oh, though Trent.
Letting her go up the stairs first gave them a perfect view of her ass, trim but sensuously rounded, the old denim softly cradling each cheek as she moved upward. Maybe it was just this long dry spell talking, but Trent had the sudden urge to grab her hips and plant his face right between those succulent cheeks.
Jack gritted his teeth as though the view caused him great pain, and Trent nudged a silent elbow into his ribs.
We better behave. The last thing they needed was an angry confrontation with Becca over staring at her ass. She wouldn’t take it as a compliment, Trent knew that for a fact. There would probably be an angry lecture about feminism and living in the twenty-first century and how women’s bodies aren’t made for men’s observation.
The fact that he felt like he wanted her to say something like that—the fact that it was totally different than anything a local girl might say to him—was almost as thrilling as the view itself.
“Oh my god, so much work,” Becca sighed as she walked around upstairs.
Their footsteps echoed in the upstairs hall. The rooms were empty, and Trent felt a little spooked, like maybe there was more room for ghosts now. Becca was at the door of one particular room, looking inside, not entering.
“Damn,” said Jack, looking over her shoulder. “Really?”
Curious, Trent moved behind them both to look inside, conscious of the body-heat the two of them were giving off in the small space.
It was like an entire lifetime had been fit in one room. He’d been expecting to see a teenager’s room—although what teenager meant for someone like Becca was probably different from what it meant to the girls he had dated in high school. Instead of pictures of cats and rock stars, she might’ve had pictures of CEOs and stock charts and business plans.
He couldn’t even see the walls. Boxes were stacked high, not neatly, but in wild disarray. Some had tumbled from their heights, spilling papers and trinkets all over the floor. Crates of toys were here and there in the room. The bed was piled high with clothes.
There wasn’t a single inch of floor space to get in there.
Becca shook her head. “Maybe I should just throw a match in there.”
“What is it?” asked Trent. He and Jack stepped back to give her room to pace the hall.
“It’s everything,” she said. “My mom liked to hoard things. She’d never get rid of anything. She’s on a cruise right now, probably hiding napkins under her pillow so she has an extra supply. But…I didn’t think Sarah wanted me to box up literally everything I have ever owned since the day I was born!”
Jack poked his head back into the door. “Baby clothes, a crib, holy shit—um, I mean, holy crap, Becca, that’s a lot of stuff.”
She slumped against the wall. “Fuck. Fuck! I should have known she’d do this to me. She made it sound like it was just my stuff from high school. A few boxes to take to Goodwill. That’s a fucking weekend project in there. I’ll be lucky to be done by Sunday night, then catch a late flight, I’ll be dead Monday, and I have so much work to do on my presentation…”
Trent and Jack looked at each other uncomfortably. They didn’t know her well enough to know how she would respond to their support. Trent said, hesitantly, “We’re here to help you. The three of us should be able to get through it.”
“You saw how quickly she left, didn’t you? She didn’t want me to get a look upstairs before she left. Wedding. She’s probably cackling at the trick she played on me.”
Jack reached out and put his hand on her arm to comfort her—and she immediately jerked away from him and glared. He pulled his hand back like she’d burned him, a look of apology in his eyes.
What kind of creature are you? Trent wondered. Even though she had dressed like a relaxed, comfortable person, he could see that she was indeed wound tig
ht…and didn’t want anyone to know that.
There were layers here, deeper things he didn’t understand about her.
Things he wanted to understand.
Get your mind out of your pants. Don’t be nice to her just because she’s hot. That’s dishonest.
But it wasn’t just that. She was obviously going through something big in her life; why else would a room full of boxes bring her to this state?
“I’m okay,” she said, realizing they were both watching her. “I’m fine. It’s just a lot of work, and I didn’t expect it. You guys know my sister. She’s always looking for a way to punish me for leaving. Well, she found one. Now I’m stuck here.”
Jack glanced back into the room. “Well, you can’t clean up like that,” he said.
Trent stiffened. Jack wasn’t known for his decorum or sensitivity. Trent worried what he might say.
She pushed a strand of hair back from her face, a tiny gesture that sent electricity running through Trent. He could almost imagine the softness of that hair against his fingertips. “I’m open to suggestions,” she said.
“I was thinking we should grab a few beers,” said Jack. “Relax a while, think about how to tackle things.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Your big idea is day-drinking?”
“Morning-drinking, specifically,” said Jack with a rakish smile.
It gave Trent a little thrill to see Jack smile like that. Not that he would ever admit it.
“It’d give us time to plan our attack,” his friend continued. “You don’t want to just jump into a job like this without thinking it through.”
Becca gave Jack a quizzical look. “It’s boxes. There’s just a ton of them. We’ll shove them downstairs and onto the truck.”