Hometown Hope: A Small Town Romance Anthology

by Zoe York

  “Terror. Yes.” He smiled down at Mollie, who ate with her usual fervor. “The cutest terrorist in the world.”

  Tell me more.

  Where had that come from? Twenty-four hours ago, she hated him. That was before she saw the human side of him.

  She supposed when one sat across from an enemy and witnessed their vulnerabilities it wasn’t so easy to marginalize them from your own experience. Without armor to deflect their innate humanity it became obvious how similar they were to you. Fear and love simultaneously steered the course of our lives. The study of history told the same tales repeatedly and yet we never learned. Wars continued over power and money, destroying lives and alienating cultures from one another. If only we could set aside our metal shields and bare our hearts. Perhaps then the world might solve its problems.

  Had she taken the time to ask more questions of Kyle rather than to cast judgement, maybe they could have been friends and worked through a solution together. He’d brought jobs to their town. The town she cared so much about. Maybe she had been wrong.

  Mollie had finished half the bottle. He hoisted her up to his shoulder and patted her back.

  “Wait, here. You need this.” She grabbed a burping cloth from the stack that she’d unpacked earlier and placed it on his shoulder. “This is to keep the spit-up from ruining every single one of your shirts.”

  “I wondered what those were. I thought they were cloth diapers.”

  She laughed. “They kind of look like them.”

  Mollie burped.

  “You left kind of abruptly after the interview,” she said.

  “That girl.” Kyle said placed the bottle back in Mollie’s mouth. “She reminds me of a cat.”

  “A cat?”

  “A smart cat about to catch a bird in midair and eat the entire thing, bones and all.”

  She smiled. “Would you believe I thought the same thing?”

  He met her eyes. “I would.”

  “We can interview someone else.”

  “I could tell you didn’t like her,” he said.

  “She’s fake and pretentious. I can’t stand people like that.”

  “She’s like twelve years old, so that’s part of it,” he said. “Maybe trying too hard.”

  “I figured you liked that about her.”

  “What does that mean?” An edge crept into his voice.

  She shrugged. “You know. Nubile and willing.”

  A faint pink flush spread over his neck. What would it feel like to press her lips against the muscle that connected to his shoulder? Stop it. What was happening to her? Loneliness, that’s all it was. The last man to touch her in an intimate way had been Cole. She’d already made enough mistakes with one man for a lifetime. No reason to do so again just because her flesh was weak.

  “I suppose I deserve that. Mollie’s evidence of my ways.”

  Violet sipped from her glass, unsure what to say. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said at last.

  “It might be.” He spoke in hushed tones.

  “She wasn’t a child. You didn’t coerce her.”

  The barest flicker of humor sparkled in his eyes. “I’ve never had to coerce anyone into my bed.”

  Desire shot through her. “I’m sure.”

  “Most women aren’t cold to my charms.”

  “You mean like me?”

  “I could be referring to you, yes.”

  “My convictions are stronger than my attractions,” she said.

  “So, you were attracted to me.” His eyes twinkled at her, teasing. He lifted Mollie to his shoulder.

  She flushed, remembering the first night they met. She’d been at The Oar with Honor for a much-needed break from motherhood and real life. He’d come in, all muscular and sexy with a gaze that combed her body and destroyed all reason. But then, he’d ruined it. “Until you opened your mouth.”

  “You were the one who attacked me,” he said.

  “Is that how you remember it?” she asked.

  His voice lowered, seductive and husky. “As I recall, we were having a nice cozy dance and I was admiring your beautiful face and the feel of your silky skin against my fingertips.”

  She resisted the urge to lean closer.

  “You shivered when I placed my hand on the small of your back,” he said.

  “And that told you what exactly?”

  “I was quite certain I’d be taking you home with me later that night. That is, until we returned to the table and you learned of my connection to the lodge. Presto, you transformed into a raving lunatic.”

  “Could you be more arrogant? I wouldn’t have gone to bed with you even if I hadn’t discovered your nefarious plans for this town.” She laughed, despite her best intention to the contrary.

  “Nefarious?” He grinned. “I’m hardly nefarious.”

  “Seriously, stop talking.” How could a man be so utterly charming and infuriating at the same time?

  “You know I speak the truth. We had major sparks that first night.” He tossed a throw pillow at her. “You felt it too. Admit it.”

  He did speak the truth. That dance had been imprinted on her consciousness. With his thighs pressed against her and one strong arm around her waist, she’d wanted to put her hands in his thick hair and pull his mouth to hers. Being in his arms had seemed like a revisit to a long-lost love, familiar and exciting. Truth is, had she not discovered his connection to the lodge that night, she might have gone to bed with him. She’d been drunk with desire. But that was then. Now she could barely stand to be in the same room with the guy. Right? Wasn’t that her story? Was she sticking to it?

  “It was different for me than you.” She flicked a piece of lint from her jeans. “I was actually excited to meet someone smart and funny.” And gorgeous.

  “How is that different from me?” he asked.

  “Because you take a different woman home every night. I don’t get excited about someone easily.” Why had she just admitted that? Kyle Hicks was a player, a serial womanizer. She must not show weakness. God help her, right now he looked like a sexy dad.

  “You were excited about me?” He kissed the top of Mollie’s head. “I knew it, Mollie.”

  “Mollie couldn’t care less,” she said, laughing.

  “So, do we hire Mel or not?” he asked.

  “She has experience and good references.” Now that she knew he wasn’t fooled by Mel’s act, she could rest easy.

  “As long as you’re sure.” Kyle carried Mollie over to the crib. Violet watched as he swaddled her with surprising swiftness.

  After he had Mollie settled in her crib, he wandered back to the couch and picked up his glass of scotch. “Would you like me to order dinner?”

  “Not yet.” She went to the window, pretending to be interested in the view, holding her breath as she heard his footsteps cross the room.

  He stood behind her, his reflection a shadow in the window. “Regarding our earlier conversation, I’ve been with a lot of women.” Dropping his head close to hers, he spoke softly into her ear. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize a special one when I meet her.” She caught the pleasant smell of scotch on his breath.

  Her body was betraying her. Goosebumps spread up her arms. A throbbing warmth between her legs told her what her mind didn’t want to accept. She wanted this man—all of him—his long fingers stroking her skin, his mouth on hers, his thighs pressing her into the window. If she merely leaned backward, their bodies would mesh into one form. Two days, Violet Ellis. Two days and you’ve lost all reason.

  Without looking at him, she added a nonchalant shrug as if it all meant nothing to her. “You didn’t think I was special. You were just doing your thing.”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you were…you are…beautiful.”

  She might burst into flames. Outside the window, the lights of town seemed to dance like fireflies before her eyes.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

  She tilted
her face toward him, unable to resist the pull of his gaze.

  “I heard you.”

  “You should show yourself more often.”

  “Show myself?”

  “Show the softer side of you. The side I’ve gotten to see the past few days. Your huge heart. Your sense of humor...” He trailed off as if he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure he should.

  “I show that to people all the time,” she said.

  He turned so they faced each other and raised one eyebrow. “Just not to me.”

  “Maybe,” she said, looking into her glass.

  “Maybe I want you to like me just a little. I’m more than I appear.”

  “Are you?”

  “I want to be.”

  She peeked up at him.

  “What are you, Kyle Hicks, if not what you appear on the outside?” Impulsively, she touched the sleeve of his t-shirt for a split second. Don’t touch him or it’s all over.

  His mouth stretched into a smile that made no difference to his mournful eyes. “I’m broken, Violet Ellis. Like millions of pieces of ice. Like Humpty Dumpty.”

  “What happened to you?”

  Dark blue eyes watched her. The physical heat between them evaporated, replaced by an intangible familiarity. In those blue windows to his soul she recognized a sadness so deep, it chilled her bones.

  “Life. That’s all. Like everyone.” He smoothed a section of her hair away from her face. “Sometimes I think the person we all started out to be gets chipped away and chipped away until we’re left with nothing but the hard kernel—the place where we’re merely surviving on the fumes of our former glorious selves. All that’s left is the survivor who exists without redemption or grace. We must get through, we think. Just one more day. One more deal. One more deposit into the bank account. One more conquest. I’ve lived like that for all my adult life. It’s been a constant trudge up the hill to prove to myself that I’m not Sisyphus after all.”

  Her eyes filled. She nodded, unable to speak, knowing exactly what he meant. She imagined him as a little boy just then, hurt and scared. All her beliefs about the man in front of her crumbled. She saw him now for what he truly was: vulnerable, unsure, terribly alone. Like her.

  “I don’t want to live like that any longer,” he said. “I want to be different. For Mollie. I want her to remain glorious. I don’t want to be the one who chips away at her, who makes her nothing but a hard center. I’m afraid. I’m afraid I can’t do it. Am I too broken? Is it too late for redemption?”

  She placed her hand around his wrist and looked into his eyes as far she could. “It’s never too late. Not when it’s love you’re fighting for.”

  After she left Kyle and went to bed, she lay awake for some time. Their discussion had stirred up memories of her parents and their reaction to her pregnancy.

  She’d flown home that morning from Boston. Twelve weeks pregnant by then, she’d resigned from her position at the church, and like an injured dog wanted nothing more than to lick her wounds in the comfort of family. The problem? Her family wasn’t comfortable.

  The scene played before her eyes.

  She folded her napkin in her lap and willed herself to get it over with. “I have something to tell you.”

  They looked at her expectantly. “What is it?”

  “It might come as a shock,” Violet said.

  Her mother placed her fork carefully onto the plate and tugged on the diamond earring that hung on her left earlobe. She made this gesture often. Violet sometimes wondered if she realized how many times a day she played with that diamond. Her mother had gained weight over the years and her hair had turned white, but besides that, she remained virtually the same year after year. From her peach lipstick and Chanel No. 5 to her insistence that pantyhose never went out of style, her mother remained stubbornly in 1992.

  “Does it have something to do with your abrupt decision to come for a visit?” Her father watched her from across the table, his eyebrows scrunched together like a pair of furry caterpillars. Terry Ellis was tall with thick white hair and stooped shoulders. Slumped shoulders indicate a man who talks to God, he often said.

  Violet wished he’d take her advice and practice yoga. She figured a straight back could not affect his relationship with God.

  “We barely hear from you for months and then you suddenly announce a visit home. I figured you’d screwed something up and needed money.”

  “It was rather abrupt.” Like always, her mother piled onto his last statement with a fervor of agreement.

  “Please don’t tell me you’ve lost your work at the church.” Her father’s hands trembled as he reached for his water glass.

  “I’ve taken out a small business loan to open a shop here in town.”

  “A shop? What qualifies you to run a shop?” Her father leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his ample belly.

  She ignored his question and told them about her idea for the shop and the small business loan she’d taken out. “I’ve rented the empty space next to the bookstore.”

  “You’ve never made any of your hippie schemes work in the past, why should this one?” Her father leaned back over his plate and proceeded with the detailed chopping of his steak.

  “My hippie schemes?”

  “He’s referring to your change of major to environmental sciences,” her mother said.

  “Which I wasn’t able to finish when you cut me off.”

  He stabbed piece of steak and waved his fork at her. A glob of fat flew across the table and landed in her mother’s water glass. “Your choice. You always choose failure, that’s what you do.”

  Violet breathed deeply, willing herself to stay calm. “I’m not asking for your permission.”

  “You never have.” Her father took another sip of water. “Why start now?”

  “Why here? Why would you come here to open a business?” Her mother’s open mouth looked like one of those gaping fish at the fish market in Boston.

  “Because I love it here. This is my home, my town. I love every inch of it. Every building, every grain of sand. Also, I’m going to have a baby. I want to raise him here—in a small town where community still matters.”

  She’d lost them at baby. They stared at her in shock.

  “You’re what?” The glass in her dad’s hand shook even more violently until he positioned it next to his plate.

  “I’m going to have a baby. I’m three months along already,” Violet said, not nearly as calm as she sounded. Under the tablecloth, she twisted her cloth napkin into a rope.

  “We didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,” her mother said.

  “He wasn’t a boyfriend. He was married and wants nothing to do with the baby or me.” How had that just come out of her mouth? She hadn’t planned to say that part.

  “A married man? Violet?” Her mother’s voice had risen a good octave and a half.

  Violet lifted her chin and spoke silently to herself. Don’t back down. This is your life. You’re almost twenty-five years old. You can do this. They do not define your worth. Not anymore. “It was a terrible mistake. A foolish mistake. I fell in love with the wrong man. However, I have every intention of doing the right thing. I’ll be having the baby and taking care of him without a partner.”

  Her father blew from his chair like a volcano. “What will our friends think?”

  “Why does it matter?” Violet placed her hand on her belly.

  From across the table, her mother wept into her napkin.

  “A lot of women have babies on their own,” Violet said.

  “Whores. People from Hollyweird. Not decent women.” He slammed his fist on the surface of the buffet. One of her mother’s china cups fell from its hanger and smashed into pieces.

  Violet’s legs barely held her as she leapt to her feet. “You have no idea what it means to be decent. You’re cold and rigid and overly critical of everyone, especially me. I’ve never felt loved by you. I’m just a trinket to parade around at
church. Look at my pretty little girl with the bows in her hair. Be seen not heard because a woman can’t possibly have anything worthwhile to say. Do you know how exhausting it was to be perfect all the time?”

  He roared and slammed his fist on the wall this time. “You’re hardly perfect. You never have been. You’re in love with failure and boy howdy you sure love to embarrass me. Is it fun, little girl, to make a mockery of your father? Everything I believe in you’ve scoffed at and ridiculed—in love with the counter culture just to hurt me. Everything foreign and degenerate. Yoga like the Orientals. Environmental sciences like the tree huggers.”

  “Dad!”

  “My own daughter’s a whore, Rose. How do you like that?”

  “I’m a grown woman, not a teenager. Get over it.” Violet crossed her arms over her chest, mostly to stop shaking.

  “You’re not my daughter,” he said.

  Just like that, she filled with a calm assurance. She would no longer tolerate his presence in her life. Her voice, hoarse from rage, no longer shook. “You’re an ignorant bigot. I should feel sorry for you but I’m too disgusted by you to have one ounce of pity left. All my life I’ve felt terrible about myself because of you. I’m done. Consider this the last time we will ever see each other.”

  “Good,” he said.

  “Great.” Violet left the dining room and walked up to her childhood bedroom and grabbed her suitcase.

  Like Kara did years later, Violet had rented a cold, depressing room in an old Victorian in the middle of town. When Dakota was just a week old, her mother had come for a visit. They were flying to South America in the morning. They might never come back, depending on her father’s health. They would keep the house in Cliffside Bay for now, in case they wanted to move back. Please, move into the house. Your father doesn’t have to know. But you can’t live here. Not with my grandson.

  She’d taken her up on the offer. In hindsight, perhaps she shouldn’t have. Living in her father’s home wasn’t exactly being on her own two feet like she’d so brazenly sworn she would be.

  She rolled over and pulled the covers up to her neck and gave herself a little lecture.