by Meghan March
“Why not? What’s the hurry?”
He doesn’t answer because he’s already stomping down the stairs.
“What the fuck, Logan?”
Is this how he felt during our last morning after? For the record, it sucks.
I grab my jeans and shirt from last night and tug them on. By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs and step into the kitchen, Logan is reaching for the door handle.
“Really? Just like that? Is this how a real man handles the morning after in his hometown? What the hell is your problem?” I’m seething, and tempted to grab the nearest object and launch it at him.
“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” he says.
“No, I really don’t.”
“This is a small town. Do you have any idea how many people probably already know I spent the night here? The gossip grapevine is alive and well, and within the next hour, everyone is gonna be talking about it. That’s why I don’t take any of those women up on their offers. I don’t need to be the talk of the town. I’ve got a business to run, and that’s all that matters to me.”
His words carry a cold slap of reality.
I’ve been in this town for less than twenty-four hours, and apparently I’m already going to be labeled the Whore of Gold Haven. Isn’t that a fabulous way to start my new beginning?
“I’m sorry to ruin Logan Brantley’s perfect reputation. I didn’t realize I’d be screwing you over while you were screwing me. I guess you better get out of here so you can salvage your public image.”
He shakes his head, his hand still on the door knob. “You don’t get it. But you will. You think Manhattan will chew someone up and spit them out? You’ve never lived in a small town.”
“How bad can it possibly be to have a bunch of Betty Crocker wannabes turning up their countrified noses at me? I’m so concerned about their opinion.” Sarcasm drips from my words like napalm, ready to ignite into rage at any moment.
Why did I think coming here was a good idea? Why did I think letting Logan inside this house, inside me, was a good idea? I could smack myself for letting it get this far out of hand.
Logan shakes his head. “I give you twenty-four hours before you’re back on a plane to New York.”
What. A. Dick.
“You know what? It’s official. You’re an asshole. Get the hell out.”
When he opens his mouth, I don’t want to know if he’s going to deliver an apology or more angry words, so I hold up a hand. “Get out. Just get the fuck out.”
Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he’s gone.
I drop onto one of the cushioned kitchen chairs, trying to figure out what just happened. I’m not sure I can handle more of this karma shit.
Last time, he was the one walking out with wounded pride, and now I’m surrounded by the tattered remains of mine.
Logan Brantley can take being a real man and shove it up his ass.
* * *
I spend the rest of the morning fuming and working furiously on my laptop. My fledgling business doesn’t stop just because some asshole doesn’t want the people of this nowhere town to know he spent the night with me.
Three hours pass before I stand and stretch, amazed that I accomplished so much in such a short period of time. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’m starving. Logan’s groceries are in the fridge, but there’s no way I’m touching them.
Even if I knew what to do with a steak, I wouldn’t eat it.
I check the time again; my rental car should be here any moment. Holly and Crey insisted on paying for one since I wouldn’t take any money for “house-sitting.” I have my pride, and no one is going to pay me for squatting my homeless ass here.
Opening the fridge again, I decide that the orange juice inside is fair game. I basically claimed it as mine last night.
There’s a knock at the door at noon, and I peek through the lace curtains to see who it is. Two cars are parked out front, and a man is still sitting in the running one. Perfect.
I unlock the ancient dead bolt and pull the door open.
“Ms. Regent?” the man at the door asks.
“Yes.”
He holds out a set of keys. “This is yours for however long you need it. Just call the number on the key tag to give us the location when you want us to come pick it up.”
That’s easy.
“Thank you,” I say as I accept the keys, and he turns and heads back to the other car.
And just like that, I’ve got wheels, which means it’s time to shower so I don’t actually look homeless while I explore Gold Haven.
Chapter 26
Logan
I don’t hear the ding of the door chime over my music, but as soon as someone turns Black Sabbath down, I know I have a visitor. Unfortunately, both of my employees are taking a smoke break, so I slide my creeper from under the car I’m working on and look up.
Julianne props a hand on her cocked hip and stares down at me. “Well, well. Aren’t you the talk of the town this morning. I knew that bad boy from high school was hiding somewhere inside the upstanding-citizen thing you’ve got going on these days.”
Even though I expected this, it’s not what I want to hear. “How bad is it?”
“The girls at the salon have been buzzing about it all mornin’. Lots of speculation on the woman, that’s for sure. Some are saying that Holly Wix ran away from her husband, and you’re her secret lover.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I stand up and wipe my hands with a rag from my back pocket.
“Nope, not at all. I’m sure that’ll probably make the tabloids, because I know for a fact that Deana has pictures of your truck out front of Holly’s gran’s house, and will probably try to sell them because her ex is seven months late on child support and she’s getting desperate.”
“Fuck. I better call Holly and give her a heads-up.”
“That might be smart.”
“What else?” I ask.
“Your favorite restaurant manager stopped in to get a nail fixed and got the whole story from the peanut gallery. If you’re looking to make any moves there, you might have to do some damage control.”
I don’t owe Emmy any explanations, but that isn’t something I need to tell Julianne, because it’ll just add to the gossip mill that’s already churning.
“Anything else?”
“That’s about it, but for sure when whoever you were fucking all night long makes an appearance, she’s gonna get the side-eye like nobody’s business. So you might want to make sure she’s aware of what’s coming too. Unless it was a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am kinda thing.”
I know this is Julianne’s way of trying to find out exactly who’s staying at Holly’s gran’s house, and my answer will set the tone for how the entire town treats Banner for as long as she’s here.
I choose my words carefully. “When it comes out, you can tell anyone who says a cross word to her or about her that they’ll answer to me.”
“So that’s how it is?” Julianne drawls.
“That’s how it is.”
“Ain’t that an interesting piece of information? So it’s serious between you two?”
I give her a hard look as I remember the blowout Banner and I had this morning. “That’s not up for discussion.”
“But you know this whole town is gonna speculate on it anyway.”
“They can go ahead and speculate all they want. I don’t care. But if anyone says—”
Julianne finishes my sentence. “One cross word to this mystery woman, you’re going to be knocking it back down their throats.” She tilts her head to the side. “You know that’s not gonna stop it.”
“It should help.”
Julianne laughs and turns for the door. “I guess we’ll see.” She pauses at the threshold that leads from the garage into the waiting room. “By the way, you need a haircut. I can fit you in tonight after I close up, if you’re still here.”
I nod. “I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
I pu
ll out my cell phone as soon as she’s out the door to call Holly. I get her voice mail, so I leave her a message. Here’s hoping she and her husband—who isn’t my biggest fan, for the record—thinks this whole mess is funny.
* * *
Three hours later, I’m about to lock the doors of my shop so I can get some work done. I’ve had more casual visitors wanting to make appointments and shoot the shit than I can count on one hand. They’re all not-so-subtly probing for information.
“So, you’ve got a friend in town?”
“I hear you’re keeping some late hours.”
I still haven’t heard back from Holly, and I’ve stopped myself from texting Banner all day. I was a dick this morning, and I know it. But realizing how badly I fucked up by leaving my truck parked out front all night set me off.
In a small town, you’ve got one chance to make a first impression. I know how hard it is to change that impression, and what people are gonna be saying about Banner pisses me off already. The double standard is alive and well, and even more pronounced here. She’ll be branded a slut before she even steps foot out of the house, and it’s all my fucking fault. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I need to apologize, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to get within firing range of her.
I finally give in to the urge and pick up my phone to text her.
LOGAN: I’m sorry about this morning. I’d like to deliver the apology and explanation in person.
Chapter 27
Banner
Whoever perpetuated the Hollywood ideal that small towns are friendly and welcoming is full of shit.
Everywhere I’ve gone today, which isn’t many places because there aren’t many to go, has been filled with people looking at me like I’m some kind of hooker. And that’s without wearing anything flashy or scandalous. Skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a long pale blue sweater make up my outfit, but the women in this town are eyeing me like I’m walking around in stripper heels and a G-string.
I’m in the grocery store, searching the shelves high and low for organic, non-GMO steel-cut oats, when I finally overhear some of the snide comments that I’m sure have been making the rounds all morning.
“I heard she lured Logan Brantley there by saying it was Holly Wix, and we all know that he’s had a thing for Holly forever.”
“Oh, I bet you’re right, Tricia. Otherwise, he would’ve already put a ring on Emmy Harris’s finger. How long can Logan possibly carry a torch for Holly? She’s married to that billionaire guy now.”
A third voice joins the conversation. “There’s no way he’s carrying a torch for Holly still if he’s banging some New York skank friend of hers. Besides, I heard he told Julianne from Cut a Bitch that he’ll be handling it personally if he hears anyone say a cross word about this mystery woman.”
The first voice replies. “He can handle me personally anytime. I know my way around a man.”
“Hasn’t it been like ten years since you’ve had a real man in your bed? Leave it to someone who doesn’t need pruning shears to be ready for him.”
Wow. These bitches take no prisoners. My curiosity is stronger than my shame, though, because I want to see exactly who’s talking shit about me so I don’t accidentally end up being nice to them later.
I push my cart around the end of the aisle in their direction, and sure enough, there they are. A brassy blonde who desperately needs a better colorist, a brunette, and a woman with salt-and-pepper hair in short curls. All three heads swing in my direction as the wheels of my cart squeak.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your gossip free-for-all, but do you know if there’s a non-GMO or organic section in this grocery store? This New York skank has some standards.”
Two faces pale, as expected when caught in the middle of an epic gossip session, but the brassy blonde straightens her shoulders.
“You’ll probably want to go back to New York for that. Here we just have normal-people food and none of that fancy crap.”
“I’m not leaving anytime soon, so I guess I’ll have to ask Logan to help me find what I need.”
All their eyes widen at the mention of his name.
“It sounds like he already found what you needed,” the blonde says in a snotty tone.
“My G-spot, my clit, and the back of my throat? Absolutely.” With a smile, I turn my cart around and push it in the opposite direction.
Churn that through the gossip mill, bitches. See if I care.
On the way to the checkout, I grab a bag of Doritos and a fifth of Fireball.
* * *
Contrary to what my parents and probably the rest of the people who know me think, I do work hard. I just never let anyone see that side of things. Why? Because they would laugh me off as being ridiculous if they knew about my current project.
Screw the haters, because I’m going to be a success on my own terms.
I work at the kitchen table until my phone is nearing the end of its battery life, so I have to stand and stretch and go dig out the charger to keep my Internet hotspot going. If I’m going to stay here long term, I need to look into getting Internet service.
Four hours of conference calls later, and I’m done working for the day. There’s always more I can do, but my eyes are bleary from staring at the computer screen all day, and my mind has hit the wall.
Before I got on the phone, I gave in and responded to Logan, but I’ve received zero response to my when and where text.
Maybe he changed his mind?
As much as I would like to think I do, I don’t know Logan that well. A couple of weeks of texting, even if we were at it nearly around the clock, doesn’t add up to knowing how a person is going to react to you showing up in his hometown and saying you’re going to stay a while.
Maybe we need a fresh start. Maybe it’s my turn to find him and offer the olive branch. I close my laptop and go upstairs to change and touch up my makeup before heading out to my rental car.
Thirty minutes later, I’m driving around Gold Haven like a freaking stalker. There’s not even an actual stoplight in this town, only a blinking light. When I pull up to it in front of Logan’s shop and see all his lights are off, my stomach sinks.
I’ve still gotten zero response to my text, and I have no idea where he lives, so that’s out of the question. It’s after eight, and I don’t know where else to look. I take a left at the blinking light, and that’s when I see his truck still parked around the side of his shop, but again, no sign of life inside.
It only takes one swivel of my head to the right to figure out exactly where he’s at—the salon across the street. Through the well-lit window, I see Logan in the stylist’s chair, cape wrapped around his neck. A woman holds her clippers above his head as he throws it back in laughter. She’s laughing too. Logan’s hand slips out from under the cape to wipe at what must be a tear in his eye, and the woman makes a similar movement.
The scene seems to play out in slow motion as I drive away, finally turning my head to stare at the road in front of me.
The reminder hits me hard.
This is Logan’s world. This town is filled with his people.
And I don’t fit in.
The realizations continue to batter me as I brake at the stop sign just ahead before turning back toward my temporary home.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong anywhere.
Chapter 28
Banner
The pity party in my rental car is reaching pathetic levels as I pull back into the gravel drive of Holly’s gran’s house and drop my forehead against the steering wheel.
“What now?” I whisper to absolutely no one.
At least at home, I could walk across the hall and be treated to unsolicited advice from Frau Frances. Even though the woman outed me to the association board, I actually miss her.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my phone, pull up her contact information, and call.
“Frances residence.”
Recogniz
ing the voice of Irene, one of her caretakers, I say, “This is Banner Regent. I could feel Myrna missing me all the way from New York.”
“Ms. Regent, it’s good to hear from you. Let me see if Mrs. Frances is available to speak with you.”
I roll my eyes. “We both know she’s going to say no, even though she wants to say yes. Tell her it’s Smith College wanting to discuss naming a building after her.”
A few beats of silence pass before Irene replies. “I’m going to tell her you lied to me, you know.”
A chuckle rises up from my chest, already lightening my mood. “Perfect.”
“Hold, please.”
I wait sixty seconds before Myrna’s familiar raspy voice comes through.
“I’m not giving you any more damn money, if that’s what you’re asking.”
My lips stretch in a smile. “Color me shocked, Myrna. And here I thought you were going to give me all your millions after I was evicted.”
“Who is this? Because you sound like that ungrateful girl who used to live across the hall from me.”
“The one and only. You know you’ve missed me. Come on . . . you can admit it.”
“Please tell me you’re not homeless and hooking on the street.”
That pulls a full-blown laugh from me. “I’m really not. I’m in Kentucky, trying on the small-town life.” That should knock her back in her rocking chair. I didn’t tell Frau Frances where I was going before I left New York, because I was still pissed at her for tattling on me to the board.
“Kentucky?” The shock in her voice comes through loud and clear. “Why in God’s name would you go there?”
“I needed a cheap place to live so I don’t end up homeless and hooking,” I say, throwing her words back at her.
“Do they even fluorinate their water? It can’t be remotely civilized. You’ll probably get eaten by some strange animal.”
I’m not sure Myrna has left New York in twenty years, so her priceless reaction is just the comic relief I needed.
“So far the only thing that’s been eaten is my—”
She cuts me off before I can finish. “Gah! Still haven’t learned to keep your legs closed, you—”