Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2)

by Lucy McConnell

  “I’m not complaining.” She called over her shoulder as she disappeared back into the bathroom to check her makeup, brighten her lips, and put a couple items in her gold clutch.

  The night was already off to a great start with nowhere to go but up, right?

  Fay was glad that the gallery was next door as she loved being able to walk there in the cool night air. She had a wrap, but didn’t need it yet, so it hung loosely from her elbows, green, soft, and gauzy and the perfect complement to her dress.

  “Are you excited?” Austin asked as they turned toward the front door of the gallery.

  “Yes, and terrified, and anxious, but I’m not feeling like I could toss my cookies anymore.”

  He laughed as he opened the door. “I’m going to assume that I have some responsibility for that fact. If you need more assistance in that area, let me know and I’d be happy to help again.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The gallery had only been open in Echo Ridge since before Christmas and Jonah Owen had restored the old building, shining the wood floors and creating perfectly lit displays around the room and the loft upstairs. He also had apartments above his business, though he now lived with his wife Kaya on her farm on the edge of town.

  Jonah, tall, sandy haired, and wearing a welcoming expression, met them at the door and gave Fay a big hug. “Your drawings are terrific, and the watercolors you brought over— wow. You need to do more of those. I love the blend of colors and unique style. I’ve already had two people ask about them tonight, and a few other collectors who are planning to check them out.”

  “Thank you.” She had labored over each drawing or painting with joy and excitement, focused on the image in her head and trying to tease it to life. She introduced Austin to Jonah, and Kaya, who approached while introductions were being made. Fay greeted the other artist, whom she had met at a previous gallery night, and then walked around the room, studying how he had displayed the art, mixing their pieces together along with an occasional piece from his general collection. People began arriving— the mayor, the owner of Ruby Ridge ski lodge, a bunch of people she’d never seen before. She was starting to wonder if her parents were going to make it when Sam stepped into the gallery, her mom and step-dad entered right behind him, with Bret in tow. Apparently they had all come together. How had he known, and what was he doing in town in the middle of the week, anyway?

  She stopped and stared, then turned away, facing Austin before they could catch her looking their way. “I can’t believe it. Seriously, is she never going to give up?”

  “What? Who?” Austin glanced around, but not in the right direction.

  “My family is here. All of them.” Fay managed to control the volume of her voice so she thought only he could hear. She hoped only he could hear.

  “Sam’s here. That’s nice of him. It’s a long drive to come here in the middle of the week.”

  “It is not nice!” She hissed.

  Confusion entered his eyes as he tipped her face up toward his. “Look, they’re coming over. He’s your father, he’s making a big effort to be here for you, and you’re in public. Do your best to make nice and pretend you’re not angry to see him, and tonight you can finally tell me what all this is about. Don’t let this ruin your night. He obviously cares about you.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t.” She answered, struggling to restack the precariously wobbling stack of her life’s pieces. She thought she had reached equilibrium, but things wouldn’t stay stacked right. First Austin turns out okay, and her dad shows up again and again. She didn’t know if she could handle it.

  Then Austin leaned over and kissed her, firmly but sweet, and all-too briefly. “You can do this,” he whispered, before nudging her around to face the family.

  “Well, it’s about time.” Her mother said, looking at Fay with Austin.

  Fay grasped his fingers behind her, needing the reassurance. “Apparently when I stopped making myself hate him, it turned out that I kind of like him.”

  “That kiss didn’t say kind of to me,” Bret said. He glanced at Sam. “Did it say kind of to you?”

  “Not so much.” Sam was all cleaned up in a blue button-up shirt and navy pants. She hadn’t noticed how much gray was in his hair before. Maybe because she had been focusing on his face? “You look beautiful, Fay.”

  “Thanks.” She reminded herself that all she had to be was civil, and it would be fine. Surely. “I was surprised to see you here mid-week. It’s a long drive.”

  “I’m doing some work remotely this week, and taking some personal time with Jeremy before the cook-off. I needed a break from my old life, and he told me you had this show tonight.”

  “So that’s why you’ve been in town— personal time?”

  “Yeah. We saw that butterfly watercolor on our way over here. It’s extraordinary work. My mom would be so proud.”

  “Thanks.” Fay was all confused by the weirdly normal conversation, and struggled to hold in the words she wanted to yell at him about not caring before now, and abandoning them when she needed him most. Instead, she turned to her mom for a stiff hug, with less-stiff hugs for her step-dad and brother.

  “It’s lovely, I haven’t seen any of your watercolors since high school,” her mother said. “You’ve gotten so good at them.”

  “Thank you.” Fay talked with them for a few minutes, Austin by her side, taking her hand back after she finished the round of hugs. He didn’t leave her side all evening, even when she got into a technical conversation about pencil leads and favorite watercolor papers, which had to be the equivalent of her listening to two guys talk Klingon.

  Sam stayed for nearly an hour, Jeremy joined him for the last half, checking out the items on the main display floor and stopping to congratulate her before taking Sam back to his place.

  She saw them leave with a package, and realized the painting of the butterfly was no longer hanging where it had been earlier. A few of her other pieces had been removed and either wrapped or set in the back room for shipping and she was relieved that people were enjoying her work as more than a cute image on the café walls.

  When there were only fifteen minutes until the gallery would close, Fay felt like she could safely go home.

  “The show went so well,” Jonah greeted her when she tracked him down to say goodbye.

  “It did. Thank you!” Fay gave him and Kaya each a big hug. “You do such a beautiful job of setting them up.” This was only the third official show they had done since opening the previous winter, but she popped in sometimes if she had half an hour, to see new acquisitions and to dream of a day when she could afford to buy some of them.

  “I have a few more people coming in tomorrow, and someone bringing her sister back as well. Everyone was impressed with your work.”

  “The galleries in New York weren’t impressed,” she muttered.

  “They are idiots and snobs. Snobs who obviously don’t have an ounce of intelligence,” Jonah said. “I wish I could support you full time so you could just create all day. Your work shows so much enthusiasm and excitement. I can’t wait to see the artist you’ll be in another ten years.”

  Fay didn’t know if she had ever blushed in pleasure quite so much. She hadn’t thought she was still capable of blushing, but she could feel the heat in her cheeks. “Thank you so much for giving me a chance. I can’t imagine walking away from the café now, it’s where I belong, but I’ll definitely keep drawing.”

  “Good. People shouldn’t give up things they love if they make life better.”

  They all said goodnight, including Austin in the goodbyes and he walked her back out into the night.

  It had grown chilly while they were inside, and Fay pulled the wrap up around her shoulders, appreciating the warmth it brought, and that it was only a couple hundred feet to the bottom of her apartment stairs.

  “That was quite a night,” Austin said as their feet crunched on the crushed gravel Fay had paid to have poured and s
pread to keep the mud under control.

  “It really was. I can hardly believe it’s over. Or that I sold paintings and drawings. Or how many people showed up. Or that Sam was there.”

  “Yeah, about that...”

  “Can we not? At least not out here?” Fay asked. She needed to get rid of her shoes and collapse on a horizontal— or mostly horizontal— surface.

  “Yeah, I have a few minutes.” He gave her hand a squeeze, and led her upstairs to her apartment. “Did you ever find the book you were looking for?”

  “I put in a few calls to bookstores in the city. One of them had one in decent condition and offered to mail it. It should arrive tomorrow— which is good, because braving Marian’s disapproval would be dangerous.”

  “She can’t be that bad. They would never keep her around.”

  “No, you’re right. She’s actually nice, deep, deep down. She just comes across a little intense.” Fay sighed. “Anyway, she should be happy, the store owner texted me some pictures and it looks good.”

  “That’s good— I think you have enough other things on your plate right now without a raging librarian on your case.

  “I totally agree.”

  As soon as they came through the door to her apartment, she lifted one foot and undid the strap on the shoe, kicking it into a nearby corner, then she switched feet.

  When she looked up at Austin, there was a serious light in his eyes that did not bode well.

  AUSTIN HAD BEEN HOLDING his peace for too long. He saw the way she had reacted to Sam being in the gallery, her café, and heard about her ducking out of Sunday dinner with her folks to avoid him.

  One part of him wanted to let her handle her past and her family the way she wanted to handle it, to give her the space to do whatever she needed to, and to let it go.

  The other part of him saw the hurt that she was causing— not just to Sam, but to her mother and, most important of all, herself. He had to at least understand that hurt, even if he disagreed with her about how she handled it.

  He said. “I didn’t think it was my place to pry, and honestly, Bret hasn’t exactly been forthcoming when I asked him, but I’m having a hard time understanding what’s going on.”

  “You don’t need to worry about it.” She collapsed on the sofa, looking exhausted. But when, these days, didn’t she look exhausted?

  “I do, actually, because I can see that it upsets you, and I want to understand. See, that’s another part of this whole being the boyfriend thing. Number one— don’t date anyone else. Number two— do your best to understand the things that matter most to her.”

  “Is there a number three?” she asked, her eyes closed as she draped across the armrest of her beat-up old sofa.

  “Yes, but you’re not ready to hear it yet. So, your dad. What happened?” He slid into the spot beside her on the sofa and took her hand, steeling himself for the worst possibility, but hoping it was somewhat less serious than that.

  She opened one eye and peered at him. “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. Lay it on me.”

  Her second eye opened and she slowly sat up, studying his face. “It’s not a particularly entertaining story.”

  “That’s okay, I can handle a boring one too.”

  She nodded. “Okay then.”

  He waited patiently while she looked down at their joined hands, apparently trying to figure out where to start.

  “When I was little, Dad was my hero— he was the biggest, the strongest, the coolest. He played with me sometimes and always told me he was proud of me. He made me feel special. He and mom had a lot of fights— you know how it is, when you’re a kid and your friends’ parents are splitting up. You start to watch and worry that it’s the beginning of the end if your parents have tiff. I remember Mom giving him a lot of frowns and being unhappy. She was critical and complained about him more all the time, until it started to feel like she was picking on him. Or it seemed that way to me.”

  He watched the emotions flash across her face: pain, grief, worry, regret. He wished he could protect her from the feelings, but knew it would be better for her to get it out. He wondered when she last spoke about any of it to someone.

  “When she finally kicked him out of the house, I hated her. I thought she had pushed him away and I blamed her for a long time. Even when she remarried and Bret and his dad moved in, I still thought she was responsible for why I almost never saw my dad. On the occasions when we spoke on the phone or he came to stay with Grandma, he was good at throwing blame on Mom. Since I was already inclined, I fell right in line.”

  “When did you realize that it wasn’t all your mom’s fault?”

  “I can be slow to learn and accept,” she said with a hollow laugh. “They separated when I was nine, I didn’t know that he was at fault until I was fourteen. Even then I wasn’t sure if I believed it.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I heard mom and Mike talking. She said something about when my dad cheated on her. I wanted to yell that they were big liars and my dad never did that. Instead, I ran to the café and Grandma took me upstairs to the apartment and told me how it was. Dad had never been faithful, and Mom didn’t kick him out, despite the long-term girlfriend he’d already had at that point. He left her. Six months later he was on his own again. Then there was someone else, and someone else. He married quickly and divorced just as easily. He flitted from relationship to relationship, but the one that mattered most, or should have— me— he barely had time to acknowledge.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” He wrapped one long lock of her dark hair around his finger, wanting to offer her comfort, but knowing she wasn’t ready yet. She needed to finish getting it out. “I knew he wasn’t around much when we were teenagers, but I guess I didn’t pay a lot of attention to why or how it affected you.”

  “Because we weren’t friends— you and Bret were. Why would you pay attention to me?” She said it matter-of-factly

  “I paid attention, but not until a year or two later. Then I was paying a lot of attention,” he admitted.

  She smiled and entwined their fingers together. “I still can’t believe I never noticed. Anyway, I realized that Mom hadn’t wanted me to hate him, so she didn’t tell me what was really going on. She figured I would figure it out soon enough and she didn’t want to be one of those parents that talked bad about their ex in front of the kids. I didn’t get it then, but now I can see how lucky I was that she didn’t force me to choose, that she sucked it up and was the bigger person.”

  She lifted her gaze to his again and he saw they were damp with unshed tears. “I realized that he had broken up our family. He had stayed away because he didn’t really care about me. He lied to me, over and over, making me think he wanted to spend more time with me, but he didn’t. Breaking up our family was his choice. The next time he came to town I confronted him about it. He lied again, but that time I knew better. That time I could see the fear behind his eyes, and I knew he didn’t care about anyone as much as he cared about himself. I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore if he couldn’t be honest with me and man up. So he left, and I didn’t hear from him again until after Grandma had died.”

  A lone tear slid down her left cheek, breaking Austin’s heart. He brushed it away with his thumb and waited for the other thing he saw she wanted to say.

  “Almost ten years, Austin. He had no interest and no use for me for nearly a decade. I don’t want anything to do with him now. I’m over it, and that’s the end of it.”

  Austin drew her in and held her tight, feeling the pain radiating from her. If only she understood how very not over it she was. “When did he first try to reach out to you again?”

  “Last Christmas, he came into town to see Uncle Jeremy, and showed up on my doorstep like he belonged there. Like I should just want him back. He said he was ready to be honest with me, to explain. I told him it was way too late and to get lost. He keeps trying but I’m not going there again. Uncle Jerem
y had the nerve to tell me Dad had changed, that he was different now. As if I’m going to believe that.”

  Austin pulled back so he could look her in the eye. He tucked the hair behind her ear and brushed at another tear streak, then steeled himself to say what she needed to hear, even though he knew she wouldn’t like it. “Don’t you want to hear his excuses? To at least let him try to explain or beg for mercy? I’d think you’d want to hear him out, even if you shut the door on him right after.”

  He realized the timing of his suggestion was on the dangerous side when her eyes narrowed at him and she pushed him away. Maybe he should have waited a little while to mention that.

  “I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”

  “I’m not taking his side, I’m taking your side. You said you’re fine, you don’t care, you’re over it, but you’re not. You’re hurting, and I think you might hurt less if you let yourself hear what he said so you can close that chapter, even if you didn’t let him back in.”

  “You think I should forgive him and start over?” She pulled back from the sofa, towering over him.

  Austin stood, wanting to be on equal ground with her. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But it’s what you meant.”

  “No, I meant what I said— that you should listen so you can clear the air and put this behind you. If you put him behind you at the same time, that’s up to you, but— ”

  “But you don’t think I will. You guys, you all think you have the answers, to think that I should change, to rearrange my life to suit you. You think I’m weak and helpless and need you to tell me how to live and what to do, well guess what? I don’t. I don’t need his pile of worthless excuses, and I don’t need you telling me that I’ve misjudged him or need to let it go.” She stalked over to the door and opened it. “Get out. No, don’t go there. Don’t protest, just get out. I have a life of my own, a busy, fulfilling one, and you don’t have a place in it.”

  Austin gaped at her for a long moment, not sure how the night had spun so completely out of control. Weren’t they having a terrific night? Weren’t they getting along? How did a simple disagreement devolve into her kicking him out? “Fay, can we talk this over when you’re better rested and we can get some perspective on this? Or better yet, forget I said anything.”