Forged by Fire: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by Cleveland, Eddie

  “Whatever. You’re not worth my time anyway.” He saunters off and I ball up my fist, ready to punch his square head off his bowling pin body. Rebecca pulls the door shut behind him and stands out on the step.

  I sigh, unclenching my jaw, and look at Karen’s sister. “What’s going on? Why did Karen get you to pick her up last night? Is she mad at me for something?”

  “No. It’s not like that.” She holds up her hands.

  “Then what is it like?”

  “She just needs some space, Luke. Coming back here, you two picking this up again, it’s a lot for her to process, okay? Just give her a little space and a little time to sort through her feelings.”

  I kick my dress shoe against the step and scuff the toe. Somehow, ruining something that’s supposed to be fancy and nice makes me feel a bit better. “Rebecca, go talk some sense into her, will ya? This is crazy. You expect me just to lie low and act like nothing happened with her and me? I’m just supposed to wait for her to think for however long that takes and do nothing?”

  “Yes,” she answers simply. “Go home, Luke. Give her some space.” She doesn’t wait for me to respond, not that I have anything more to say. Instead, Rebecca leaves me stewing as she slips back into the house. Eventually, I stomp off to my car and drive off down the road.

  This is bullshit.

  31

  Karen

  Sitting outside the fire department in my car, I go through this entire conversation in my head one last time. Over the past four days I’ve been swinging like a pendulum, back and forth over what I should do. Now I have a decision, if I can just find the nerve to get out of my vehicle and go do it.

  “It’s now or never,” I whisper, grabbing the coffees I bought, and head inside.

  The bay is empty except for a few people. One of the friendly faces is Luke’s cousin, Hannah. I wave at her and she joins me.

  “Are you looking for Luke?” Her voice is way to cheery. It reverberates against me, against the cold armour I’m trying to hide behind.

  “I think so.” My voice sounds anything but good. It’s wobbly and wavering. Just like me.

  “He’s in the office, in there.” She points to the door. Hannah heads back to the truck she was stocking up and sends me on my way.

  My feet feel like they’re encased in cement. Each step is a massive effort. Slowly, I manage to get to the office. Luke is busy filling out some forms, but his pen freezes in midair when he sees me.

  “Hey.” My eyebrows slide up. “I brought coffee.” I hold it in the air.

  “Come in.” His voice is monotone, like the pilot light inside him has been extinguished. Did I do that?

  I slide my peace offering across the desk and sit down, but he doesn’t touch it.

  “What’s up?” He cuts to the chase.

  “Well.” I look down at my lap like there are answers there. “First of all, I was hoping you’d be my date for Myra’s art show tonight. It’s supposed to be kind of a fancy event, so we’d have to get dressed up to go,” I begin rambling. This isn’t how I practiced this speech. What am I doing?

  “The art show?” He echoes me blankly.

  My nerves are taking over. I’m fumbling, desperately trying not to look too closely at the pain etched across his face. Trying not to think about how each beat of my heart hurts right now. My mouth is dry and my face is flush. I can’t stop myself from pushing forward through this planned out conversation. I’ve spent days in misery trying to figure out what I should do. About what future I should choose. Now it’s time to find the courage to follow through.

  “Yeah, I’d really like to go with you. It would be one last chance for us to hang out or whatever before I leave.”

  “Back to New York?” he guesses.

  “Yeah, so it’s insane, but the dream job I’ve been working toward for the past four years, I got it,” my voice is deadpan. When I first heard the message about the job, I thought I’d be through the roof with joy. That I’d be squealing with excitement, but it’s all off. Instead, I’ve been twisted up with agony over this choice. “It’s crazy and exciting and a huge change.” I keep talking, my eyes unfocused so I don’t get distracted by him. “But it’s an amazing opportunity. The woman hiring me is at the very top of our field. It’s really a once in a lifetime chance …”

  “And what am I?” He frowns. “What are we?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that, Luke. We’re … complicated.”

  “Complicated,” he scoffs.

  I think that sums us up pretty well, but I can tell Luke doesn’t agree. For years we were each other’s everything. And then, for four years … nothing. No contact whatsoever. I know Luke had good reasons for sending me away, but in that time of anguish, I grew more determined than ever to make it in New York. I worked my ass off to become the most inspired and promising interior designer in my class. And it worked. Now am I supposed to just let that all go? Turn my back on my dream for a man who already broke my heart once?

  Yes, my heart whispers. I swallow hard and try to stop myself from crying. This is a career opportunity I’ll never get again. I can’t just give in to whispers. I need to be strong. Do what’s right for my future.

  “So, because what we have doesn’t fit in a neat little box, you’re ready to ditch it for some job?”

  “It’s not just any job. I worked hard to get into NYU and for some reason they chose me. Then, I spent my entire time there just trying to work for this woman. And that’s who hired me. This isn’t just some job, this is an amazing opportunity.”

  “Well, I guess that settles that then, doesn’t it?” He practically spits the words out of his mouth. “You string me along and then leave me a pathetic note in the motel. Then you fucking disappear for four fucking days, refusing to talk to me, and now you show up with some coffee and some kind of consolation prize offer to go on one last date night before you leave for good. Is that right?”

  “I mean, not exactly,” I watch dark clouds of anger roll in over his face. It takes everything inside me not to cry. Not to tell him he’s right and that I’m just scared. I’m scared that I’ll stay and any number of things could come between us. I’m scared that this is temporary. That our feelings have gotten the best of us because of how things ended before. But who’s to say if he’ll still feel this way in a month, let alone a year from now. “I’m really sorry about the note, Luke. I tried to talk to you that night, but you passed out. I panicked. I just needed some space to figure it out. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Yeah? ’Cause from where I’m sitting it looks like the only thing you meant to do was hurt me. Is this some kind of sick payback? Did you just want to make me fall in love with you all over again so you could break my heart this time?” He stands up abruptly as emotions battle on his face.

  “No, of course not! I never wanted to hurt you,” I answer truthfully.

  “Well, great fucking job. At least when I hurt you, I was doing it for your own good, Karen. Not like this shit. I can’t believe you thought I’d want to go on another date with you just so you could skip town and never look back. I know you thought that would make you feel a lot better about all of this, but the answer is no. I’m not going to be your date and I refuse to make this easy for you. So, goodbye, Karen. Good luck with your fucking dream job. I hope it was worth shattering everything. Us. My heart. Our dreams.”

  Luke storms out of the office, leaving the coffee I bought him behind. Hot tears I’ve been struggling to hold back rush down my face as everything spins out of focus. This wasn’t supposed to go like this. Getting this job was supposed to be the best thing that ever happened to me. But now it feels like the one thing I’ve been working toward my entire life and the one man I’ve ever loved are playing tug-of-war with my heart, and I’m here stuck in the middle, watching them shred it in two.

  32

  Karen

  “Hors d’oeuvres?” A friendly woman in a black silk dress that falls to her mid-calf offers a
n assortment of tiny foods skewered with toothpicks to me on a silver platter.

  “No, thank you.” I smile weakly. “I’m good with just the champagne.” I hold up the same glass of bubbly I’ve barely even sipped over the past half hour.

  “Okay, well, if you change your mind I’m offering them around the room and then I’m going to put them on that back table by the wall there.” She points with her elbow. “So feel free to grab some if you get hungry.” Her smile is like a warm hug.

  My head slowly turns as she walks away, not to follow her, but to check out all the exits yet again. My shoulders round and I sigh with disappointment as I search each one. He’s still not here.

  I try to focus on the artwork instead, but it’s really jarring. Large, black and white faces pop off the canvases like twisted nightmares. It’s strange that such eerie, and in some cases bone-chilling, pieces come from such a shy, gentle woman. Some of the paintings have twisted metal interwoven to the edges of the frames. I know they’re probably supposed to represent the accident that changed her life. I’m sure this entire art exhibit is a tribute to that horror. However, I can’t look at it without thinking of my parents’ yard.

  Just one more reason to go back to New York. Lord knows there’s probably a thousand of them. I realize how much I miss Luke and he’s still just down the road in this town. What am I going to do when there’s a vast and almost uncrossable number of miles between us again? I have every possibility waiting for me to begin out on the East Coast and all I can concentrate on is the one, powerful reason I should stay. I blink away the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. Although he still isn’t here tonight, and I doubt he’ll show up.

  This was a mistake. I’m so uncomfortable here alone. From the corner of my eye, I see Byron. He’s also clearly here alone. He looks so out of place, with his plaid shirt tucked into his denim and his big work boots all scuffed up. Among all the art snobs and intellectuals, he’s a giant sore thumb sticking out. I’m not the only one searching the room for a familiar face. He’s clearly scanning the floor for someone. And, maybe I’ve just got romance on the brain, but I’m guessing that someone is Myra.

  I scan the room again, but there’s no one coming in now. I need to accept that him yelling at me and storming off was our goodbye. Maybe one day that will hurt a lot less than it does now.

  Maybe.

  “Hey, pretty lady, I heard you might be here tonight. I’m so glad you could show.” Chris Lentz snaps me out of my isolating, sad thoughts and brings me back to the art show.

  I smile at his familiar face. He hasn’t changed a bit since school. He was always a few grades ahead of me and hung out with only the coolest kids in Pine Grove. I remember their gang of arty rebels and punky misfits. Many of them had clothes they designed themselves and wildly colored hair that made the seniors in town wag their tongues.

  Rebecca had a huge crush on Chris all through middle school. Of course, he never knew how he broke her heart when she mustered the courage to find him at one of our school dances, so she could ask him to slow dance, only to find him behind the bleachers kissing another boy. My sister was never one to shed a tear over any guy, but I know she did that night. I heard her bitter heartache muffled by her pillow as she sobbed over a love that was never meant to be.

  “Hey.” I finally forget about Luke for ten seconds and a wave of comfort washes over me as we give each other a quick hug. “I wouldn’t miss it. This is quite the show. I’ve gotta say, the art is, um, gripping.” I search for the most flattering word I can think up. “But it’s this building I can’t stop staring at. The architecture is amazing.”

  “I know, isn’t it?” He looks at the towering walls that lead up to an open second-floor loft. “Apparently, like a hundred years ago this used to be some kind of hospital they forced unwed mothers to go to.” His thick eyebrows rise high as he opens his gray eyes wide and takes a sip of his champagne.

  “Seriously?” I soak in the stunning hardwood trim with intricate flowers carved into it and the amazing spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor.

  “Yes, can you imagine? Families would make their daughters come here to hide their pregnancy before they started to show. They’d live here and work here and then when they finally had their babies, they’d rip them from their arms, give them up for adoption, and give the girls the boot.”

  “Wow, that’s so cruel.” I shake my head and try to picture this building full of frightened teens with round bellies cast out by their families. “I didn’t know about that part of Pine Grove’s history.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty grim.” Chris looks around the space. “But that’s why I had to have it for the gallery, because that’s art summed up, right? Making something beautiful out of something so ugly. Or, in the case of this show”—he sweeps his hand out at the imposing paintings—“out of something so tragic.”

  Now that’s a part of Pine Grove history I do know, and I feel nothing but empathy for what Myra’s suffered. “That’s a great point,” I mumble.

  “The only thing is, with this building, I never really knew a good way to give the space a modern flair without ruining the heritage of the building, you know? I did my best, but I feel like it’s clunky at best. You’re in interior design, right? Let me pick your brain, what would you do in here?”

  I slowly twirl around, studying the sprawling space with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. “Well, there’s a lot to work with in here. I think what I’d do first is replace that half wall you have in the loft with a glass barrier. It would open it up even more in here and give better light on both floors. Then I’d probably rip down these curtains that are just hiding these amazing windows and closing off the space a bit. Custom metal blinds that retract with the touch of a button would complement them better.” I tap my chin with my finger and my eyes are drawn to an old abandoned brick fireplace in the corner that’s propping up a painting. “Oh! And I’d restore that”—I point excitedly—“and really make it as beautiful as the art in the room.”

  Chris is quiet, and I realize he might have just been making polite conversation. Maybe he didn’t really want me to tell him all the things I think could be done better in here. He takes a long, slow sip from his glass and finishes the bubbly in one mouthful. Heat prickles up my neck as I wonder if I’ve accidentally stepped on some kind of social landmine.

  “Interesting,” he finally says something.

  I cringe. Interesting is the word people use when they hate your ideas. At NYU, when a professor told me one of my projects was interesting, it always ended up with a disappointing grade.

  “So, if you were totally given free rein, how much would you charge to do a head-to-toe makeover in here?” Chris tilts his head and his dark curls bounce across his face.

  “Oh, wow, I’m not sure. I mean, it would be pricey.” I try to brush off the question. The fact is, I’ve never remodeled a business before. I have a good idea of what the decor would cost, but I’m not confident about what I could charge for my services.

  “Here.” He pulls a piece of paper and pen out of his pocket and hands it over to me. “You write down a number and I’m going to go grab us a couple more champagnes. I’m just curious.” He smiles. “There’s no right or wrong answer.” Chris plucks my empty glass from my hand and leaves my side.

  I try to do some mental math, adding and multiplying up estimates off the top of my head. The most difficult part is figuring out what I would expect for a fee. I see him coming back across the room with two flutes of fresh drinks and just decide to hell with it. I write down the high-end number floating in my head and quickly fold over the paper, stuffing it in his hand as soon as he’s back by my side.

  “Let’s see here.” He smiles as he opens the sheet. There go his bold brows again. They climb up to toward the ceiling as his eyes widen and his jaw slacks. “Wow.”

  Shit.

  Heat sears my cheeks as I look down at the bubbles floating to the top of my glass. They b
urst open on the surface like mini-fireworks on the Fourth of July. I could use some kind of distraction because obviously, my high-end number was stupidly optimistic.

  “Yeah, I’m heading back to New York tomorrow anyway, so I’m not sure why I even gave you an estimate.” I start to backpedal and try to explain away my embarrassment. “It was dumb.” I deflate a bit, trying to shrink away.

  “Well, that really is a shame then”—his intense gray eyes rest on mine and hold me captive—“because if you could remodel this place for that, I guarantee I would hire you right now.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” He nods emphatically. “I don’t know what you’ve got lined up out in New York, but I know that with all the new blood moving into town and the tourism that floods Pine Grove every year, there are a ton of businesses popping up all the time. Plus, all the old places want to compete for their slice of those sweet tourist dollars too, right? I bet you could make a killing here just doing facelifts and design on this street alone.” His eyes sparkle at the idea.

  It’s hard not to get swept away in his enthusiasm. It’s pretty alluring to imagine running my own interior design studio rather than working as an assistant for someone else.

  “Well, I don’t know about any of that.” I try to keep my wits about me. It’s easy to get lost in a fantasy, but would any of this actually pan out when the champagne wore off and tomorrow comes?

  “I do. Trust me. I’d never lie to a fellow artist.” He lays his hand on my arm and a tingle shoots through me. Not because of his touch, but because of his words.

  Artist.

  It feels so good to hear someone call me that. Not “assistant” like in the city, and not “artsy-fartsy” like Todd. Just artist.