Someplace Familiar (Laurel Cove Romance Book 1)

by Teresa Tysinger

  “I’d love that. But it’ll be nice to do some exploring on my own, too.” Livy’s eyes danced with a sense of adventure, a subtle smile creeping to her face. Given what she’d told him about her ex-boyfriend, he knew it was good for her to be independent.

  “How about we meet up for dinner at the café day after next? I’ll have the store closed up by 6:00.”

  Livy paused for a wide yawn. “That sounds great.”

  “I should let you go relax,” Jack said, though he wanted nothing more than to stay.

  She nodded and stood, taking both their glasses to the sink. “Thanks for another wonderful day, Jack.” Jack followed close behind her, waiting as she turned around.

  “Oh, Jack, you startled me.” Her hand went up by instinct, meeting his chest.

  “It was a wonderful day, wasn’t it?” Something came over Jack during these quiet moments with Livy. She had awakened the thing inside him that had gone dormant for so long after his ruined marriage. How could it be that just days before she’d come to town, he’d not even given dating a second thought? Now, he couldn’t be alone with her without letting his emotions—and his attraction for her—take over all reasoning.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow evening when I’m back from Asheville, okay?” Livy said.

  “Sounds great.” Jack leaned and gave her one quick peck. She walked him to the back door, giving a quick wave, before he made his way to the front of the inn.

  The truck had warmed considerably while it sat in direct sunlight. Reaching to turn on the air conditioner, Jack read the screen of his phone laying in the console.

  Four missed calls. All from Claire.

  CHAPTER

  Fourteen

  J ack woke the next morning with the call from Claire still on his mind. From not so far off in the distance, thunder rumbled. The stormy weather matched his mood. The message she’d left yesterday simply asked him to call her back. He hadn’t yet, fearing what she wanted. It was just like Claire to inch her way in just when things were going so well for him. He drove into town under ominous clouds. Hopefully, work at the store would keep him occupied and distracted.

  Almost two hours later, no such luck. Even with heavy rain pouring steady streams off the awning onto the sidewalk in front of the store, Jack’s mind thundered with worry.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Bowdon.” A familiar voice interrupted Jack’s thoughts.

  “Oh, hey there, Harrison.” Jack liked Harrison Clark, the eldest of the five Clark boys, who was polite every time he came in to grab something for his dad, Grayson.

  Harrison held his weathered baseball hat in one hand and ran the other through his floppy hair. “Dad’s looking for a new one-eighth-inch bit. Broke his off first thing today trying to get through a stubborn piece of wood. Didn’t see any on the shelf.”

  Jack let a sack of feed drop from his shoulder with a resounding thud. “Sure thing. Let me check in the back.” He pulled off his leather gloves and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans, and retreated to the stockroom.

  The easy task gave him a moment to breathe—and think. Not for the first time that day, his thoughts returned to how much easier it was with Livy, even with healing left to do. Compared to Claire, high-maintenance and in want of constant attention, Livy was comfortable. Telling Livy his feelings came as easy and natural as skipping rocks on a pond. How strange that, in the short time since he had reunited with Livy, he cared for and appreciated her more than he had maybe the entire time he’d been with Claire.

  “Here you go, Harrison, last one I had. That’ll be $4.78.” Jack took the payment, gave change, and handed the teenager his bag with a receipt. “I heard you’re headed to Western in the fall. Congratulations.”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks, Mr. Bowdon. Have a good day.” Harrison replaced his hat, tipped the rounded bill, and waved on his way out.

  Not five minutes later, Jasper barged through the front door with a strong wind at his back.

  “What you are doing here?” Jack asked, following his steps with the mop from the storeroom he’d kept close all day.

  “They’re reporting a small rock slide north of Poplar on 197, so I turned around. Didn’t think I should risk it with them callin’ for rain through tomorrow. I’ll have to reschedule with Mr. Renfro.” Jasper jumped right in helping Jack finish hauling bags of feed to the front.

  Jasper hated plans changing. “Sorry, man. I know you wanted to get that meeting out of the way.” But with another person at the store, Jack could take time to return Claire’s call before the day dragged on. “Now that you’re here, do you mind if I step to the back and make a call?”

  “Sure, why not?” Jasper stepped away to help an elderly woman studying their selection of birdseed.

  In his office, Jack sat at the desk and gazed out the small window overlooking the store’s rear parking lot. Uphill past the trees and roofs of small homes, the inn sat in the distance, blurry from the rainwater running down the pane.

  Memories sprang forward of the first time Claire had called. Only a few weeks following their divorce, Jack had reached his lowest point, drinking more than he should and only coming in to work a few days a week. When he saw her number on his phone late one sleepless night, he had picked up right away.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” Her speech was a slur of country twang and booze.

  “Claire?”

  “Who else would be calling you this late?” Annoyance replaced her syrupy-sweet voice for a sharp, quick moment, then it softened again when she asked for a ride home. “I’ve got no one else to call, Jack.”

  Jack went to her, but the knots churning in his gut had warned him it was a bad idea. By the time he arrived at the bar, Claire was crying about how wrong she’d been.

  “I love you, Jack. Everyone keeps telling me how crazy I am for letting you get away. Can’t we put this behind us?” Jack knew better. But that night, he’d learned a cruel reality of infidelity. Even when a wife cheated on her husband, he didn’t automatically stop loving her. Seeing Claire upset and drunk, needing to be saved, Jack offered help. He had taken his marriage vows seriously, even if she hadn’t, and for a long time he had wanted to try to work through their differences. She hadn’t been interested during the divorce proceedings, blaming him for sending her into the arms of another man by not being attentive enough to her needs.

  With Claire stumbling to his truck under his support, showing regret for the first time, he lost his better judgment and let his guard down.

  “Let’s just get you out of here.” He took her home to his house—what was supposed to be their house—and let her sleep in the guest room. He’d been foolish to think maybe there would be a fresh start between them. The next morning, however, things weren’t as different as they seemed.

  “I heard you’d finished the house,” she’d mumbled as he handed her a cup of coffee, her eyes muddied by smudged mascara. “You must be doing pretty good for yourself. I’m almost bankrupt thanks to the divorce.”

  Jack hadn’t said a word, sensing her mood had shifted since the night before.

  “You know, if you’re as nice as everyone says you are, you’d offer a little money to help out.” She had looked him straight in the eye, as if convinced he owed her more than he’d already sacrificed for her. His chance at a happy marriage. His reputation in town. His heart.

  Still grieving and feeling sorry for her, he had given her a few hundred dollars before taking her home. Ever since that day, Jack only heard from Claire when she was drunk and needed money. The silence these past several months had given Jack the chance to finally heal.

  Then there was yesterday’s call—out of the blue.

  An impressive boom of thunder rattled the window, pulling Jack back to the present. He looked down at his fisted hands. There was nothing to gain by putting this off. He shook out his hands, picked up the phone and reluctantly dialed Claire’s number. It took only one ring.

  “Hi, Jack. Thanks for calling me back.” She sounded calm
. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought.

  “Hi, Claire. How are you?”

  “I’m doing pretty good. I’d ask you the same thing, but I think I know the answer.”

  And there it was. Her voice might be calm and collected, but this was about him and Livy.

  “Well, I am doing pretty good—” Jack started in before Claire interrupted.

  “Imagine my surprise when Dorothy tells me she saw you in the coffee shop with some woman she’d never seen before.” Her voice didn’t sound as biting as the words themselves. Instead, she sounded artificially sweet, as if trying hard to hide her real feelings.

  “Claire, listen…”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s very nice. In fact, Dorothy said she was real cute, but a brunette? You surprise me, Jack. Then, Mary Sue said she saw you two together at the Blue Bird. Really getting around, huh?”

  “Claire, listen.” Jack’s voice was firm. No more games. “You gave up the right to know my business or care who I am with a long time ago. Is there anything else you need today?”

  A long moment of silence followed. Jack thought maybe she’d hung up, but she spoke again. Her voice was softer now, no longer artificial or sarcastic.

  “I’m sorry. I guess hearing you might actually be with someone really threw me for a loop. How about we go to lunch sometime?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jack sighed. At least she was calm.

  “I understand. I’m sorry I bothered you.” Jack strained to make out her last, soft words.

  He offered his goodbye into a disconnected line. Something about the call left him unsettled. Maybe she regretted her actions that ended their marriage now that he seemed to be moving on. Despite their past, he hoped she could find peace—a calming peace like he had found with Livy.

  Jack returned to the front of the store lighter because the call was over. The place bustled with the usual morning customers.

  “Who’d you have to call? You were back there a while.” Jasper whispered as Jack joined him to help bag items at the register.

  Jack mouthed Claire to his brother, who returned wide eyes.

  “Thanks, Mr. Moreland. Have a good day.” Jasper handed the young man his bags and then looked around to make sure they were out of the earshot of any nosey townsfolk. “What in the world did you call her for?”

  “She heard about Livy and wasn’t happy. Called me four times yesterday and insisted we talk. But I think I made my point and doubt I’ll hear from her again.” Jack shrugged weary shoulders.

  Jasper rolled his eyes and slapped Jack’s back as he walked past him toward a cart full of coiled green hoses waiting to be shelved. Jack wanted to believe his own words. But things were never so easy with Claire.

  ***

  Steady sheets of rain fell in a soothing pattern against the window of the dark room. Livy lay awake thinking of Jack. And Claire. She closed her eyes to a ticker tape of unanswered questions racing through her curious mind. Why did Claire call him yesterday? More curious, why did the call fluster Jack? Was Claire really just a long-gone part of Jack’s past? How did Claire feel about their breakup?

  But a peaceful calm enveloped Livy like the warm, soft blanket covering her old bed. Her confidence in Jack’s feelings for her—and her only—matured every day.

  Rolling to one side, Livy rubbed at sleepy eyes and pushed up on one elbow. The glowing numbers on the bedside clock were harsh against the darkness. Eight fifty-four? She reached for her wristwatch next to the clock. Sure enough, she’d slept until almost nine—the latest she could recall in recent memory. Pulling back at the window’s curtain revealed fierce, dark storm clouds. Her arms stretched high toward the ceiling, toes pointed to the floor. A long, deep sigh shook off the remaining sleepiness.

  She crossed the creaky wooden floor and headed for the bathroom. A mighty roar from the sky above made her jump. The thunder rolled on for several seconds, reverberating off the surrounding mountains.

  Memories resurfaced of a storm that had come in the night the same summer she met Jack. Violent thunder and neon strikes of lightning had startled Livy awake at an early hour. She had bolted through the small house to Gram’s bed, clinging to her side.

  “There, there, my dear.” Gram’s whispers were faint, but they had washed Livy in comfort. Soon, Livy’s heartbeat slowed and her eyes grew heavy again, finding sleep.

  The morning light revealed a large tree had fallen across the length of Gram’s front yard, crushing two precious flowerbeds and blocking the driveway. Even at ten years old, Livy had known how close the cottage had come to being struck.

  “Oh, sweet mercy. Thank you, Jesus, for protecting us.” Gram’s voice was breathless, a trembling hand covering her chest.

  “Audria! Hello? Can you hear me?” a man’s voice bellowed beyond the fallen tree.

  “We’re here, Pete, and we’re just fine.” Pete Wilson.

  Standing in the inn’s bathroom, Livy paused with her toothbrush in her mouth, smiling at her reflection in the oval mirror above the pedestal sink. The elderly neighbor she’d met several days before—Mr. Wilson. He had come to check on them after that storm then called authorities to remove the tree. The realization filled her soul. Did he remember that storm? She’d have to ask him next time she saw him.

  The floor vibrated again under Livy’s bare feet as thunder roared across the mountains. The weather wasn’t ideal for a casual shopping trip to Asheville, but she’d make the best of it. She took her time showering, sipped coffee from the single-cup brewer in the room, and left just after 10:00, decked out in a slick hooded coat, knee-high rain boots, and umbrella.

  Getting to Asheville from Laurel Cove involved passing through several small towns before reaching a major highway. The two-lane drive down the mountain ridge was a gray blur as thick sheets of rain pelted the windshield, the wipers working full-speed as she gripped the steering wheel. The narrow lane offered no shoulder, so only a few feet from the line would be a deep ravine. So much for a pleasant scenic drive. Livy expelled a sigh as she steered the car onto the four-lane interstate.

  The relentless rain kept her speed to a creeping 15 miles per hour. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. Her white knuckles matched the tension in her gut. The car came to a large puddle and the back tires hydroplaned, veering into a sideways skid for a moment before regaining traction.

  “Okay. Enough of this.”

  Next Exit Weaverville. Thank goodness. She steered off the interstate and followed the street into town where the rain was somewhat less aggressive. She could make out grand old homes with sprawling porches that appeared to house attorneys’ offices, dental practices, and other businesses. As she waited at a stoplight, she spotted a quaint storefront lined with blue and white canvas awnings. Blue Ridge Gallery. In between passes of the wipers, she squinted to make out a smaller sign. Fine Art Supplies Sold Here.

  Tingles surged through her fingertips. A sting pushed through her bottom lip as she bit down, the car now filled with a neon green glow. The car eased to a stop in one of the diagonal parking spots in front of the building. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d set foot in an art store. It was time—no more avoiding. Tucking her purse inside her coat, Livy pulled the hood over her head and made a run for the door. A dainty ringing of a bell announced her entrance.

  “Well, hey thay-er!” The deep, raspy drawl dripped over Livy like honey. The woman behind the counter, Livy guessed to be about fifty from the silver strands at her temples, peered over a magazine through red glasses. Her lipstick matched the bright rims.

  Livy struggled to remove her coat without shaking water all over the carpeted floor. The hook she hung it on resembled a short tree branch made of bronze. “Hello.”

  “Didn’t reckon I’d see anyone out in this mess, but am sure glad you’re here. Anything you’re looking for?”

  My hibernating art career. “No, I actually just stumbled on you after pulling off the interstate until the rain l
et up a little. I’ll just look around.”

  “Well, you just holler if you need somethin’.” Her white teeth contrasted against dark caramel skin that suggested she frequented a tanning salon. “I’m Marge, by the way.”

  “Thanks very much.” Livy couldn’t recall the last time she’d been in an art store.

  Stark white walls displayed more than two-dozen art pieces, some framed and some on bare canvases. Most were probably done by local artists, as the subject of the grouping was landscapes of nearby mountain sunsets, native flora and fauna, and recognizable landmarks. In a different area, colorful abstracts, pottery, and unique mixed-media pieces were also displayed, the last of which caught Livy’s eye. Many of her own pieces used only paint, but her favorite projects involved layering paper elements over paint for a multidimensional effect.

  She wandered past the gallery into a retail space that also included a few long, high tables, and several easels. They must offer classes and demonstrations, too. Colorful paint splatters, uneven beneath her touch, covered the wooden tables, similar to the floor of her college art studio. Livy’s pulse raced as she came to an impressive array of canvases and mountings. An entire wall held a rainbow of paints, charcoals, pencils, and clay. She hadn’t sat in front of a blank canvas with her paints and papers in nearly eight months. The thought of that day, and why she’d stopped painting, quickened her pulse and knotted her stomach.

  “That is what you’ve spent weeks working on?” Sam’s words, laced with disapproval, had hit her with the force of a fist to her stomach. Her chin pointed upwards in protest, but acidic tears betrayed her.

  “Oh come on, Liv. You’re not crying again, are you? I’m just saying that surely you can do better than that. What is it supposed to be, anyways? At least I care enough to not let you embarrass yourself.” He’d left her staring at her paint-covered hands before she had a chance to defend her work. She’d set the canvas aside and not looked at it again. In that moment, Sam had stolen her last bit of inspiration to create.