Almost Perfect: A Sweet Small Town Opposites Attract Romance (Back to Silver Ridge Book 1)

by Claire Cain

  I settled the last folded towel on the pile atop the dryer, then leaned against the machine.

  “I’ve gone out with plenty of nice women, Samantha included.” He seemed determined not to count my last relationship, but it did. “I’m going out with someone today who really does have potential.”

  “Yeah? Is her favorite color beige and her favorite ice cream is one scoop of ‘plain’ in a recyclable brown cup?”

  I couldn’t stifle my chuckle even as a little bolt of irritation shot through me. “No. She’s a teacher, and from what I can tell, she seems really nice, and she’s been witty and fun on messages. Her name’s Sarah.”

  “Oh, good. Something really exotic like Sarah almost guarantees she’s going to be a wild ride.”

  “Hey. Don’t talk like that. She seems great. And I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  I had been… I had. I did. That was the sense of anticipation that’d nipped at my heels all day today. Never mind I hadn’t been this impatient for a RuralMatch date ever. Sarah seemed great, and that had to be it. Not giving Calla a ride into town, but finally putting a face and full name to the girl I’d chatted with for a week now. And Warrick was wrong—what I wanted was anything but a too-beautiful mountain-loving popstar whose name might as well have been Trouble.

  He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he sounded sufficiently chastened. “I’m sorry. I hope Sarah’s great. But I guess I do just want to suggest, for the umpteenth time, that you are looking for someone you think you want instead of someone you actually want. I realize you’re going to just tell me I don’t know what I’m saying, but at some point, you need to figure out why none of these women click with you.”

  The position grated, but he was right. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it, and I wasn’t going to agree with him now and give him the satisfaction. My role as older brother demanded I not give him everything all the time, or he’d end up one of those obnoxious youngest children who thought the world owed them. Plus, he didn’t need a dating app. He went out with people all the time—women he met as he went about life all over the place. Not that he was all that prolific with dating, but still. He didn’t seem to have to try, and if anything, had to work to avoid relationships in an inverse capacity to the way I had to work toward one. Or something.

  But he’d flustered me with his insight.

  I saw no one but family regularly. When I went into town, I only spoke to the people I already knew. And most of the women my age who I’d be halfway interested in were taken. I’d met Samantha through a mutual friend, and that hadn’t been the magic ticket.

  So back to that app. And placing hopes in the Sarah basket. And ignoring the twinge of excitement when I noticed it was twenty after the next time I checked my watch, and I could finally load up and go get Calla.

  Ten minutes into the drive, the quiet of the truck cab had reached unbearably awkward. Normally, I’d listen to podcasts or maybe the radio, though it didn’t come in well in the canyon so downloaded podcasts worked best. But sitting eighteen inches from Callaway Rice had me on edge, every sense acutely tuned to what was happening inside the car.

  “Everything still working out in the cottage?” I asked, hoping my talking wouldn’t be unwelcomed.

  “It is. And it’ll be even better after some time away.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t think of this sooner. I—”

  “Please. You’ve got to stop apologizing to me. It’s not your fault I can’t drive and chose to live forty-five minutes from town.”

  I let out a breath. “Fair enough.”

  We rode in silence another few minutes, and then the curiosity clobbered me. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Can I ask you how you ended up here? I mean… why here, of all places?”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I actually grew up in Silverton.”

  What? What the hell? In all my imaginings, which had been far more numerous than I’d admit to, never once had I considered she might have roots here. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I left at fifteen. This is my first trip back since then.”

  I glanced over just in time to see her knit her fingers together and stuff them between her legs. She wore jeans and her usual boots, another soft-looking sweater, and a black winter puff jacket over top. Her hair fell in wavy curls over her shoulders and down her back.

  “That’s just… It’s a small enough town that I feel like I would’ve remembered you, but I’m guessing our age difference means I wouldn’t have known you from school.” Not that I knew how old she was, but she had to be younger than me.

  “So far no one has, and I doubt they would. Honestly, I don’t really have a lot of memories of this place, and the ones I do are all pretty vague. Plus Ca—my mom and I didn’t socialize much. I kept my head down, did my own thing, and then one day we just left.” She craned her neck to look out her passenger window.

  “And thus began the tale of Callaway Rice becoming Miss Mayhem?”

  Her eyes shot to me with an edge, then softened with a little huff. “Not quite. I modeled in Asia for two years before I ever sang a note. Once they realized I could sing, they started capitalizing on that. I was on this really prim little show for about a year playing this angelic teacher’s pet kind of girl and recorded a demo during that time. My agent pushed hard and got me a record deal, but they didn’t like the sweet girl thing. They’d seen some photos from a shoot I’d done in Japan and wanted that persona—a ‘bad girl’ look. It was back when everyone really had to have an angle. So I went with that, and nearly every decision that came after that was made with that image in mind.”

  “Until now.”

  Even with my focus on the road, I could feel her eyes on me. Her voice was soft when she said, “Until now.”

  I couldn’t imagine a life like that—literally could not fathom moving overseas and starting to work at such a young age. Leaving behind everything she’d known, then living a life where people crafted her persona for her. It was shocking and, frankly, sounded awful. But she didn’t sound regretful. More accepting and maybe resigned. That tore at me. Her acceptance of essentially losing her childhood. In a way, I knew what that felt like, and I suspected I’d never fully embrace that reality.

  “It sounds like a hard life,” I said, foolishly unable to keep my trap shut.

  She sighed. “It’s been a good life, but hard. And I’m just… exhausted. So I’m glad to be here, and not there. I hope I never go back.”

  Twenty more questions piled up on my tongue, but I bit them back. Her response sounded like the end of a sentence, like a stopping place, and I didn’t want to seem like I was prying because her fame fascinated me. Like she fascinated me. Because she wasn’t someone I should be thinking about like that. Even if she wasn’t… her… she would still be leaving in a few weeks. I was looking for long term.

  Unless she stays. Unless she doesn’t go back, just like she said.

  I had to shut that thinking down, because her wistful tone was simply expressing her being glad to be here. She wouldn’t actually leave her career behind—Are you insane, Wyatt?

  Wrangling my focus back to the moment, I tried not to betray my stupid thoughts with my next comment. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time in town. I’ll be at lunch for a bit, but you can text me if you need anything.”

  Seemed odd to tell her it was a date, even if she wouldn’t care.

  Minutes later, I pulled into a lot and parked the truck. After ascertaining she didn’t need directions to get anywhere, I took off, doing my best not to glance back at her. I had an errand or two to run in the time before I met Sarah.

  And Calla would be fine on her own. I’d see her in a few hours, and hopefully, I’d have a second date with Sarah lined up.

  ELEVEN

  Calla

  I’d never had a library card as an adult. I had a membership to one in California so I could access e-books, and that kept me in business. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with paperback
s, nor did I ever have space for them, so e-books just made sense. Or, honestly, I just bought what I wanted, because what was the point of having wealth if you couldn’t buy books with it?

  But today was a day where I imagined being a local and wandering into the little building across the street from where I stood and just browsing for hours before checking out a few books and smuggling them home to devour. It was the same library I’d frequented weekly, and sometimes more often, as a kid. Same building. Probably the same librarian. Candy would use the computers and I’d sit in the kids’ corner on one of the giant bean bags.

  I’d forgotten about that—how I’d sit there until the backs of my legs were pasted to the odd material of the bags and I’d have to peel myself out of them. The memory urged me toward the building, but I turned in the other direction. Maybe I was more sentimental than I realized, and going in there would be a kind of reunion with the past.

  Maybe I was a romantic at heart.

  I chuckled silently to myself. Yeah, no. Maybe when it came to the reading experience, but it ended there.

  I’d need lunch, but not yet. I wanted to savor access to civilization, so I wandered onto Main Street. Restaurants, a bar, a few stores… first stop, coffee. I could grab a decaf, sip it slowly, browse the stores, then justifiably head to lunch and I wouldn’t be full.

  I opened the wooden door, and a bell jingled overhead. Inside, bright yellow walls gave the place an unbelievably cheery vibe I loved immediately. But it was the smell that clinched it—not just the delectable coffee aroma. Better than that—the scent of warm, fresh bread permeated the air.

  I moved through the small space, past a table of boisterous older men, many of whom wore veteran hats marking them as World War II and Vietnam vets, and one or two who seemed about my age. A few made eye contact and nodded, but no one broke from the conversation.

  “Hey, what can I get for ya?” A tall redheaded man who looked like he might be early twenties smiled warmly from behind the counter. A little name tag pinned to his shirt identified him as Garrett. Behind him, baskets hung on the wall and held various kinds of bread loaves and rolls.

  A huge espresso machine, panini press, and a few other things filled the space behind him, and in the glass case next to the register, an alluring selection of pastries and parfaits waited. But I couldn’t indulge in something that filling and still be ready to devour my meal later.

  “I’ll have a decaf drip coffee and… a slice of the day.”

  He nodded. “Great choice. Today’s bread is cinnamon swirl, and we’re sold out of full loaves. I think Sadie’s going to have to double the amount next time she does this one.”

  I swiped my card while he turned around and clanked a pot of coffee, dumping steaming hot liquid into a bright blue mug. He set it on one end of an oval plate, and on the other, he placed a slice of light brown bread with a spiral of deep brown cinnamon starting at its center and circling out to one edge. It looked like heaven.

  “Thank you,” I said, almost breathless with anticipation for tasting this bread that had now become my sole focus. I sat at a table near the window so I could eventually people-watch. After pulling off my knit cap and placing my jacket on the back of the chair, I slumped into the seat and shoved the slice into my mouth.

  I may have groaned. Loudly. Just as Warrick Saint walked through the door.

  “Oh, I’ll have what she’s having!” he said, a goofy smile on his handsome face.

  Chuckling, I gave him a small wave as I finished chewing. “I recommend it.”

  His smile widened, though I wouldn’t have thought it possible. He sidled up to the counter and placed an order, then mumbled something else I didn’t quite hear. I busied myself with another bite of bread and a sip of coffee—also delicious, even if it paled in comparison to the glory of the cinnamon swirl bread.

  Warrick grabbed his order, and I waved him over before he needed to ask. He was one of three people I knew in town if I didn’t count adorable Jake, my driver from a few days ago, not to be mistaken for Jarrod, the car service driver, and I was tired of my own company. Plus Warrick was a genuinely nice, happy person and I’d been around people like him so rarely, I figured, why not? He reminded me of Jenna, which might’ve explained my immediate sense of comfort when being around him.

  He dropped into the chair across from me and set down a bright mug on a saucer. No bread.

  “You’re missing the best part.”

  “Oh, I know. But I come here pretty much every day at one point or another, and I’m also opening a personal training program next month. I can’t exactly get soft just before I launch and expect people to take me seriously.” He held up his mug in a cheers gesture, then took a sip.

  “I hear you. I’ve been ignoring the fact that at some point, I’ll have to dress the part again.”

  Miss Mayhem’s wardrobe was, to put it mildly, daring. Low-cut tops, cut-out midriffs, and short, short, short skirts. I’d managed to pull back on some of that in the last few years because I was established enough to have some measure of a voice, but in the end, it was all still demanding. It required a careful diet, an active lifestyle, and it didn’t hurt that I had evidently pretty forgiving genes. I would never pretend it was all based on my hard work, but I also did work hard.

  But lately, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to sit and eat an amazing piece of bread and not feel bad about it, and here I sat, living the dream.

  “You’ll be fine. You’ve got the baseline. A few weeks of relaxing from your routine won’t kill ya,” he said, then took another sip.

  A petite blonde woman ducked out from the back room, brows raised and looking at Garrett. Soon, her eyes shifted to take in Warrick, but she skirted by him to greet some older men at the table occupying the other half of the space.

  Big rumbles of good-natured laughter rose and fell. The woman leaned down and pressed a kiss to a wrinkled cheek and gave the group a big smile before she turned our way.

  “Ah, there she is.” Warrick smiled as the woman wiped her hands on a pristine white towel she had tucked into the apron strings that crisscrossed at her tiny waist. “This is Sadie Miller, the mastermind behind all the baked goods and really everything here at Rise and Shine. And this is Calla. She’s staying up at the little StayBnB at the ranch.”

  I beamed up at her. “You’re a genius. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  She nodded, a small close-mouthed smile tilting her lips. “Thank you. Likewise.”

  “Just wanted you two to meet. Sorry to disturb.”

  He shot Sadie a look I hadn’t seen before—something… wary. Like maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to come out, assuming that’s what he’d done minutes ago.

  “No problem. I should get back.” She nodded at me again, then turned and disappeared in what had to be record time.

  Warrick raised a brow at me over his coffee mug. Before he took a drink, he said, “She hates me.”

  “No way. No one could hate you.”

  “Nah, she does. Always has.” He squinted after her.

  I bet it bothered him to no end that someone disliked him. It probably happened so rarely.

  I could relate to that feeling. I’d had it for years. Not so much the likable part, but the niggling feeling between my shoulder blades and the drop in my gut when I thought about people disliking me. Or in my case, not just disliking me, but outright and vocally hating me. A woman who wasn’t ashamed of her body and had a fair amount of fame and wealth? No matter what she did, she’d incur wrath from certain people.

  Add to this that controversy had followed me—my label had helped fuel the fires early on to help build that bad-girl rep, and then the last few years, everything had basically spiraled out of control and just outright sucked. Well… yeah. Hate was unfortunately the right word.

  I could admit that was no small part of why I’d fled. It became harder as I got older to brush it off, especially when I understood it. Why was I even still out there? The last two albums
I’d made had flopped. I didn’t want to face the third in my current contract. The whole thing with Candy, and the mess with Bri… I needed rest.

  So here I sat.

  “I find that hard to believe. She came out because you asked, right?” I tried to focus back on the now. On the new friend-type person in front of me.

  “No, really. She’s hated me since high school.” His eyes darkened a touch. “I think she’s cordial because she can’t stand not to be. And I’ll admit I try to provoke her now that I’m back.”

  “Now that you’re back?” It occurred to me I knew nothing about him. It was odd after so many years working with the same people in what had become a very small and thick-walled little bubble. I had realized we were probably at Silverton High together for half a minute, but he would’ve been a year ahead, I figured. I’d kept to myself so much, it made sense, and as for me, so much of those years was a blur, so I wasn’t surprised I didn’t make the connection sooner.

  He flashed his brows again, that expressive face purely boyish and adorable, if it weren’t for how darn handsome he was. Jane Saint had some seriously good-looking sons.

  “You’re not the only fancy pants around, you know?”

  “Oh, really? I demand a refund!” I said with a slap on the table.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” Garrett said from the spot next to our table where he’d materialized in seconds.

  “Nah, buddy, she’s fine. She’s joking.” Warrick waved him off, and I watched Garrett’s shoulders deflate with relief.

  “Wow, he’s good.”

  Warrick nodded. “He is. He’s a hard worker. Been here for years.”

  “So you have fancy pants too?” I prompted.

  He pressed his lips together and nodded, making a doofy little I’m super cool and you don’t even know face.

  “I played ball. Pro. For a solid three point five seasons.” Then he shrugged.

  “Oh, nice. And then you… moved back here?” Curious.