One More Chance
Sydney Bristow
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Edited by Kate Hiester
Cover design by The Killion Group
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Part Two
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
Other Titles by Sydney Bristow
CHAPTER ONE
At the Bedford Falls Family Restaurant, where she waited tables a few times each week to save up for college, Ashley Lawford had tried chatting up the sandy-haired guy who looked her age. With a few days of sexy stubble on his chiseled jaw, he may have graduated a year earlier; he certainly appeared more mature (and intense) than most guys in their late teens.
Since serving him, he hadn’t removed his gaze from his notebook. He’d only mumbled “coffee and toast,” crumbled up a page, and added it to the eight other ones that spread across the table. Later, when she’d strolled by with a cheery smile to refill his coffee mug, he’d only nodded and thanked her without looking up from his work.
Ashley felt stupid for trying to attract the attention of someone who had no interest in her. Then again, after he failed to transfer the vision in his mind to the page, she preferred to think that he’d blocked out all external stimuli.
So if he hadn’t even noticed her existence, why did she find him so captivating? No doubt, his rugged good looks and passionate artistic endeavors would have made most girls swoon. Still, these characteristics failed to convey why she found him so…compelling.
Once more, he failed to conjure the words he hoped to put onto paper. He crinkled another page with an exasperated sigh and tossed it aside. The tightly knit ball slipped off the table and fell onto the floor.
Having just finished serving a late dinner to a family of six, Ashley took that as her cue to draw him into conversation once more. She picked up her pace, intent on beating him to the page, which might also give her a chance to examine whatever he worked on.
He glanced at the ball with a grimace and tilted his body to retrieve it.
Ashley swooped in and snatched it. “You know, littering is a crime. I could call the cops.”
“Sounds like a smart idea,” he said, his voice like honey and containing the irresistible allure of complete confidence. “I might concentrate better in jail.” He looked into her eyes, and the corners of his lips perked upwards. “Fewer enticing distractions.”
Enticing. The notion that he found her attractive set her pulse racing. Besides, how many teenagers used such a descriptive word? It meant that, like her, this young man was probably well read. That trait intensified her interest in him. “So you’d enjoy the intimate, late-night rendezvous with your fellow inmates?”
“Yeah, I get the impression they might not be too…sensual. And those are pre-requisites for me.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge. Who knows, your cell-mate might be a romantic.”
“Hmmm, I don’t think they’d allow candles and scented oils behind bars. Besides, how romantic can you really get in a room with only a bunk bed and a toilet? But my biggest obstacle is that I find the female body the most beautiful piece of art ever created.” He lifted an eyebrow, insinuating naughty desires that conflicted with his charming demeanor.
Those two contradictions made Ashley lose her breath. Even worse, the mirth in his eyes penetrated her soul, stripping away her biggest flaw: difficulty trusting others.
“Thankfully,” he said, “each time I’ve been locked up, I was lucky enough to fight off those… gentleman callers.”
“Each time?” Ashley asked, unable to swallow past the bulge in her throat.
“Now don’t get the impression that a jail cell is my second home. I mean, I’m only seventeen, but the judge always wants to try me as an adult.”
“Each time,” she repeated.
“I’ve been brought up on charges four times.”
That admission shocked Ashley into silence.
“The first time, the juvie court system tried me for shooting an intruder who had burglarized our home. I mean, how is that even fair? The dude entered my home and stole my stuff – and I’m the bad guy?”
“You shot someone?” Her stomach dropped. Her mouth went dry. And an alarm sounded in her head.
“Not just anyone: a criminal. There’s a difference. Oh, and the second time the court system wanted to try me as an adult?” He chuckled with a carefree sound reminiscent of someone remembering a cherished memory. “This one was actually kind of funny—”
“Um, I’ve got to go.” Ashley half-turned around to walk away.
“Come on, do I look like a convict?” He cracked a smile. “I don’t even own a gun.”
The tension in her shoulders relaxed at the joviality in his voice. She spun back to him. “That wasn’t funny.” But she battled to keep her lips in a straight line.
“So you’re saying I should give up my dreams of being a comedian? That’s pretty harsh. We barely know each other, and you’re already judging me.”
His lighthearted tone made her smile. Beyond all reason, every second he stared into her eyes revealed aspects of her personality that acquaintances often needed multiple encounters to earn: she never held anything back; she never betrayed anyone’s trust; and she treated others the way she wanted to be treated.
Ashley didn’t know which idea frightened her more: that he’d found a key to unlock her thoughts, or that he’d used the key to steal her thoughts. She’d never been on more than a few dates with the same guy, and none developed into anything more than a passing interest; the guys she went out with just weren’t that interested in her. So to meet someone who understood her after chatting with her for only a couple minutes was frightening…and intoxicating.
His gaze lingered. Then it slipped down to her lips before meeting her gaze once more.
No one had ever looked at her with such interest and curiosity. The stranger’s disarming smile returned, and his eyes promised something much more than a one-and-done date. Her inability to identify his intentions made her quiver with anticipation.
After steadying every muscle in her body, Ashley realized that she’d misinterpreted his insight into her psyche. He didn’t have an uncanny ability to read her mind. She only wished he had, so she wouldn’t feel so alone. But why did she feel such a strong connection with him? It didn’t make any sense.
His boyish grin returned, revealing that he knew the effect his charm had on women. Then his smile dipped into a moment of uncertainty, and he broke eye contact with her.
She realized that, by
not adding something to the conversation, she’d probably scared him off. “I’ve got to hand it to you: the whole prison concept was pretty unique.”
It took a moment before he met her gaze again, but this time his smile evoked twice as much presence as it had before. “I prefer originality…with an edge.”
The way he looked into her eyes made her knees weak. “Mission accomplished.”
“Just mentioning jail made you so pale that I thought you were Casper the Friendly Ghost.” He dropped the smile and leaned forward. “Wait, you are friendly, right?”
Ashley placed both hands on her hips. “For your information, I’m—”
“The ‘ghost with the most:’ Beetlejuice?”
“No. I’m—”
“That hideous looking-chick from the Ring movies? She’s kind of thin, so I can see how she’d fit inside one of those old televisions, but a flat screen? Come on.”
“Will you just—”
“Don’t say you’re that freaky chick from the Grudge films.” He opened his mouth and let out a long creaking sound.
“I never said—”
“I got it! You’re that creepy girl from the Exorcist! Just don’t spin your head around, okay?” He drew closer, preparing to confide in her. “Okay, I’ll admit it: you’re way better looking than her.” He checked her out. “You’ve got a better figure, too.” Then he met her eyes again. “But I hate to say it: Beetlejuice? He gives you a run for your money in the looks department.”
“You think you’re really funny, don’t you?”
“I don’t have to think it. I know it.” He winked at her. Then, adopting a more serious expression, he returned his attention to the page.
And just like that, the emotional charge between them vanished. It left behind a trail of intensity similar to the way a candlewick spewed forth tendrils of smoke after someone smothered the flame. She wanted to feel the heat of those dazzling green eyes again, so she could burn their image into her mind. Just for a few seconds. Just to tide her over until she met a guy who actually liked her.
Ashley stared at him, wondering what to say, what to do. Unsure how to get his attention, other than pestering him, she began unwrapping the page she’d picked up.
Without even looking her way, his hand shot out and clutched her wrist.
Alarmed by this quick reaction, Ashley almost jerked back. Who grabbed a stranger like that in public? And how had she mistaken him for being charming and bookish? She was about to retract her arm and bolt away from him, but when she met his gaze, she saw gentle eyes that pleaded with her to refrain from looking at his draft. Then his grasp slackened, and he narrowed his eyebrows, overcome with a sensation she couldn’t read.
It turned out that she didn’t need to analyze his feelings. She felt them. Everything about this interaction seemed strange: first, his disinterest in her and an unwillingness to even look her in the eye, followed by moments of great humor, and now he searched her eyes with an appeal of …what exactly? These hot and cold emotions both fascinated and startled her because, despite his unnerving behavior, she still found him intriguing.
Why did this guy have such a big affect on her? She hadn’t even tried to convince herself to leave. And she didn’t know why.
He set his gaze on her again. They made eye contact, and her stomach flipped. She couldn’t look away. She tried, but with his searching expression so full of curiosity, she wanted to see whatever conclusions he arrived at. His fingers stroked her skin as they slipped up her forearm, sending bolts of pleasure through her.
It seemed like such a mature approach, especially after having watched countless guys at school either groping their girlfriends as though claiming their property, or less confident boys hesitantly touching a new girlfriend, unsure what actions might titillate her.
Then, as if realizing that he’d engaged in inappropriate behavior, he released her wrist and flinched as though breaking that connection stung him like an electric shock.
Ashley looked at him, astonished. And he looked back, not like he knew her, but like he understood her in ways that only came after years of deep friendship. Just as astonishing, she couldn’t understand how a simple touch could send a current of elation through every pore in her body.
He also seemed astounded by their chemistry. He raised his eyebrows and drew back from her, as though she’d chanted a Wiccan spell. “What was that?”
She shook her head and folded her arms. Without his touch, she felt cold. Not physically. But emotionally.
He glanced at his hand and turned it over to inspect his knuckles. Seeing nothing supernatural or worrisome, he remained serious. “Do we know each other? Have we met before?”
“No.” This situation made no sense. But on an elemental level, she felt comfortable, if a little uncertain, by the prospect of whatever this bond might mean. How could a look and a touch evoke such chemistry?
“Then why do I feel like we know each other?” he asked.
“I don’t know. My name’s Ashley Lawford.”
“Scott Mettle. I just moved into Vista Heights. I used to live in Crystal Lake.” He appeared unwilling to explain why he’d moved.
“I’ve lived in Bedford Falls my entire life.” She looked at the wrinkled page in her hand, but the words were on the other side. For some reason, she didn’t want to turn it over to look at whatever he’d written. Doing so now felt like an invasion of his privacy. Yet before meeting his gaze and making physical contact, she wouldn’t have felt the least bit awkward about looking. “This must be pretty important: you tossed it away like trash, but when someone picks it up—”
“Not just someone…you.”
That comment should have made him seem creepy. But the unguarded way in which he looked at her made her consider him quite endearing. And once again, she felt that unadulterated awareness that told her that she could trust Scott. Despite having only just met him, she couldn’t get over the inexplicable assumption that failing to trust him would result in sadness…for both of them.
“I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” He shook off the weird sensation they had experienced. “But I can’t get what’s in here,” he said, gesturing to his heart, “onto here,” and he stabbed the piece of paper in front of him.”
“Taken literally,” Ashley said, “that would be pretty disturbing.”
“My heart on the page?” He released a warm smile. “If that happened, I’d imagine you’d need to call the cops.”
“Kind of standard protocol for heartless individuals. Not that we’re prejudice here. Not at all! A real mean bastard can show up, and we’ll serve him. It’s just that when someone without an actual heart steps inside, you know, we kinda have to draw the line.”
Scott laughed. “Can you imagine some guy running around the restaurant without a heart? And all that blood all over the place?”
“No, but thanks for the visual.”
“But seriously. I’ve never had writer’s block like this. And then…you.”
“You’re not doing it right.” She scowled the way the Evil Queen might upon crossing paths with Snow White and said, “You!” Then she broke into an easy smile. “See the difference? That’s how people usually react around me. But be prepared; it’ll take hours of practice to perfect it.”
“I could never look at you that way.”
Ashley’s attempt at humor had fallen flat. But she appreciated that he revealed his sincerity. Something told her that he would never look at her with hatred, curse at her, or raise a hand to her. Looking closer, she wondered if others had treated him as she’d joked. The mere thought sent a dagger of empathy into her heart.
Scott sat back in the booth. “I like this. You’re fun to talk to.” He glanced around the near empty restaurant. “And obviously not very busy today, otherwise, you’d probably need to wait on other customers.” He flinched as some form of realization crossed his features. Suspicious, he gave her a sidelong glance. “Oh, now I get it! You’re chatting me u
p to get a better tip.”
“What? No. I—”
An easy grin surfaced, and he started laughing.
“You’re a jerk,” she said, wanting to punch his arm. “What’re you working on?”
“A song. Sort of a power ballad.”
“You’re a musician?”
He nodded. “I’m the songwriter and vocalist in my band.”
The idea that she’d met a musician made her chest grow tight. “The song you’re writing: is it based on a girl you know?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” It felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach, stealing her breath.
“Yeah, she’s so…stunning. The first time I saw her, I felt this…” He shook his head. “See? I can’t describe it. And if I can’t describe it, how can I write it? Anyway, how about you. I sense that you’re also an artist.”
“How’d you know? But I’m an actress, so I’m not really an artist.”
“That’s B.S. You play a part and help tell a story, so you’re an artist. What have you acted in?”
“Well, tomorrow night, I’ll be playing Belle from Beauty and the Beast. You should stop by Bedford Falls High. Have you already graduated?”
“No, I just started there a few days ago. Sucks to switch schools a month before graduating, but, whatever.”
Ashley’s heart thundered at the prospect of seeing him at school. She only wished she’d met him earlier. Who knew where life might take after graduation? After all, in the fall, she planned to move to LA and attend classes at the University of California, Berkley.
Scott let loose a warm smile. “Thanks for the invite, but Mrs. Jenkins hit me up to work on the crew. I guess someone got Mono, so yeah, I’ll be there.”
“That’s great!” She tempered her enthusiasm so she didn’t sound too eager. “Don’t expect too much though. I’m not Meryl Streep.”
“I’d hope not. Otherwise, you’d definitely be in cougar territory. But if you were, I’d say that you look amazing for someone of retirement age. But seriously, don’t stress: just be yourself, and I’m sure you’ll be great.”
One More Chance (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 3) Page 1