Fearless

by Abby Brooks

  Over and over, again and again, I’d explain that my Great Aunt Ruth had left me the house on Sugar Maple Hill and eyes would go wide. “I heard that place is haunted,” they’d say, laughing nervously, ashamed to admit they might actually believe in ghosts.

  While I’d try to assuage their fears, Amelia had a blast stoking the fire. “When we got there, the porchlights were on. And she hasn’t paid an electric bill! Not one! How is that even possible?”

  She scattered exclamation points like confetti and the people of Wildrose gobbled them up.

  As we strolled down Main Street, I grabbed her hand. “You do realize I’ll forever be the woman who lives in the haunted house, right?”

  “The fearless woman who lives in the haunted house. I’m building your brand, babycakes!” She threaded her arm through mine. “You’ll thank me for this, you know.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” I wasn’t, but didn’t need an argument.

  I pushed through the doors of Sweet Stuff, the jingle of bells announcing our arrival. Peppy music and rows upon rows of brightly colored candy greeted us. With vibrant pastels and emoji themed décor, the place was an adult’s interpretation of childhood dreams. I loved it instantly.

  A brunette glanced up from behind the counter. “Hey there! Take a look around. Let me know if I can get you anything.”

  Amelia peered into the display case, then wandered over to a wall of jellybeans. “I’m thinking we’ll probably go with one of everything.”

  “Solid choice.” The brunette laughed. “You guys visiting?”

  “I am,” chirped my friend. “But Evie here is moving in.”

  “New blood! I’m sure you’ve caught the entire town’s attention by now.”

  “You better believe it.” Amelia glanced up from a box of chocolates. “Especially after they find out she’s moved into the vacant house on Sugar Maple Hill.”

  The woman frowned. “Sugar Maple Hill? That house…”

  And here we go…

  “I know, I know,” I said. “That house is haunted.”

  “No. I mean, maybe? How would I know? I was gonna say that house is next door to my brother’s.” With a smile, the woman behind the counter extended a hand. “Isabelle Prescott, at your service, though everyone calls me Izzy. I’m not serious enough to be Isabelle.”

  “What do you know?” Amelia huffed her surprise. “Now that you mention it, the resemblance is striking.”

  I nodded my agreement. The brown curls. The commanding eyes. The strong cheekbones and full lips. There was no denying the Prescotts came from good genes. Though, where Alex exuded intensity, Izzy screamed fun.

  She bobbed her head and leaned on the counter. “I take that to mean you already met my brother.”

  “And his dog.” Laughing, I explained the surprise introduction that morning.

  “And that was after we almost ran them over last night.” Amelia described the near miss, gesturing wildly. “I keep telling Evie the universe is sending sign after sign…after sign her way, but she insists on taking the hard road. I feel like these two are destined to be together.”

  I rolled my eyes as she gestured to me. “Right,” I muttered. “Because that’s how the world works. The first person you almost kill when visiting a new place is your soulmate.”

  Izzy chuckled. “While I can’t wait to hear how you almost squashed my brother, I feel it’s my duty to inform you that he isn’t the relationship kind of guy. He officially married his job, and no one has been able to break them up. So if signs are coming your way, it has nothing to do with him.”

  I was so glad to hear someone speaking sense, I almost leaned over the counter and hugged her. “I keep trying to tell Amelia here that I’m not exactly relationship ready either, no matter what she thinks fate’s telling me. I’m pretty sure there’s a limit on how many major life events one person should endure at a time. Losing my job and moving to a new town are more than enough at the moment, thank you.”

  Maybe that was an overshare, and I would have apologized, but Amelia spoke before me.

  “And I keep telling her that if she doesn’t learn the lessons the universe sets out for her, she’ll keep getting smacked in the face with them.”

  The bells over the door chimed and in stepped none other than Alexander Prescott. Amelia elbowed me and whispered, “See?” at the same time he bellowed, “Izzy Prescott! I require genius nuggets!”

  When his eyes met mine, he stopped short. The door clicked shut behind him as he cocked his head. “I swear you’re following me.”

  “Except you keep showing up where I am, not the other way around.”

  He started to concede the point, then thought better of it. “Not last night. I’m sure I was on that road first.”

  “You got me there,” I said as Amelia dug her elbow into my side for no apparent reason. At least she stopped handing me imaginary phones.

  Izzy came out from around the counter and hugged her brother. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

  “Hence the need for genius nuggets.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and bobbed his head, the pink neon sign behind him dancing in his wayward curls. With his air of masculinity, Alex Prescott did not look like he belonged in Sweet Stuff, though he moved behind the counter like he owned the place. “You good, little sister? You need anything before I disappear into the world inside my head?”

  “You don’t have to check on me every day, you know. I’m not mom,” Izzy said to her brother, then turned to me. “Alex swears copious amounts of jellybeans are the only reason he’s ever finished a book.”

  “Only because it’s true.” He leaned on the counter. “Hit me with a variety. The situation is dire.”

  As Izzy bagged up an obscene amount of jellybeans, Alex turned his attention to me. “I hear you’re making waves around Wildrose. You two are the only thing anyone wants to talk about.”

  “I’m sure that’ll fade. I never hold people’s attention very long.”

  Amelia smacked my arm. “Be nice to you.”

  Alex’s gaze skated across my face. “Yeah. Be nice to you. You have my attention.”

  The bag of candy in Izzy’s hands hit the floor with a thwack and she giggled as she bent to pick it up. “Sorry. Ignore me. I’m just not comfortable hearing my brother flirt. Like, at all.”

  Alex smirked. “Very funny, but I’m not flirting.”

  “You have my attention,” Izzy intoned, leaning on the counter and hitting me with exaggerated bedroom eyes.

  Amelia nodded her agreement. “She’s not wrong.”

  His attention bobbed between the two women. “Oh, she’s wrong.” He took the bag of jellybeans from his sister and popped one into his mouth. “See, I’m considering offering our friend Evie McAllister here a job. I’d be an idiot to flirt with a potential employee.”

  “A job?” Izzy, Amelia, and I said in unison, then burst out giggling when Alex blinked back in surprise.

  “Since when were you even considering hiring someone?” Izzy asked.

  “Since the entire town started whispering Evie’s name today. I followed the wave of ‘there’s someone living in that haunted house,’ and the more I thought about it, the more I realized she might be exactly what I need. Someone to read through my drafts. Critiques. Edits before I send things to my editor. We could hang out in her kitchen while she offers moral support. That kind of thing.” He popped another jellybean into his mouth and chewed around a grin.

  I blinked at the man. Once. Twice. A third time. “I’m sorry. I keep waiting for the punchline.”

  “No punchline. Think it over, but the offer is as genuine as it is spontaneous. I just have a good feeling about you. You did come highly recommended after all.” He dropped a wink at Amelia who dug her elbow into my ribs for the eight hundredth time that day, then gathered his genius nuggets and breezed through the door.

  “Okay,” said Izzy. “I’m officially a convert to signs from the universe. My brother doesn’t
flirt, and he definitely doesn’t offer jobs to strangers.”

  “See.” Amelia folded her arms over her chest and beamed.

  We returned home with bags of goodies draped over our arms. Amelia made a beeline for the kitchen to break into one of her many bags of candy and pulled up short. “Evie! Look at this!”

  I peered over her shoulder into a perfectly normal kitchen. “Look at what?”

  “See that chair? The one at the little table under the window? I definitely sat there this morning and I know for a fact I pushed it back in.”

  Two chairs cozied up perfectly to a breakfast table nestled under a large window looking into the backyard. The third sat at an angle about three feet away and I scooted it back in place. “Maybe you forgot in your hurry to make your point about hints from the universe.”

  “I didn’t. I am a serial chair pusher-inner.” She studied the rest of the kitchen, then gasped at the counter. With wide eyes, she yanked open a cabinet and pulled out a mug. “Oh my God! Evie! I didn’t put this away! I had it out, realized there wasn’t any coffee, then put it on the counter. I’m too much of a slob to put it all the way back in the cabinet!”

  “Which is it? You’re a serial neat freak who never forgets to push in a chair? Or you’re a slob who never cleans up after herself?”

  Amelia sagged. “I’m holding proof of the ghost right here in my hands and you’re too busy being a smartass to care.” She waggled the mug in the air, then clunked it onto the counter and disappeared in search of more signs.

  While she careened through the living room—drawing room? Study? I really needed to learn the difference—I peered out the window toward Alex’s house. What did it say about me that we may have found proof of an actual ghost, but all I wanted to think about was my neighbor?

  “It says my priorities are straight,” I whispered. Anyone who didn’t want to think about a man who looked like that had a wire loose somewhere.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex

  My office had been the death knell to my creativity for months, but today was worse. For every minute I worked in the document, I spent ten more scrutinizing my new neighbor as she dug in the flowerbeds in front of her house.

  Her hair fought the sun over who could give off more light. Her back was to me, but I could feel her smile and it fed my own. She was my metronome. The hypnotic tick of her actions swirled through my consciousness. Her schedule dictated mine.

  I typed the lines into the document. They didn’t make sense in the context of the story, but I was desperate to see words on the page. Maybe, if I could get them out of my head, I could make progress on my book. A quick copy and paste sent them into my slush pile—a waiting room for scenes and sentences I liked but couldn’t use. Maybe they’d go into a book of their own someday. I’d never written a stalker before. Never been one, either, though anyone peeking in on me as I peeked out at her would beg to differ.

  My fingers stilled as my gaze found Evie again. Morgan sighed and shifted at my feet, then lifted his head to hit me with a reproachful glare. “I know, I know,” I leaned down to play with his ear and Larry stood from where he’d been curled into Morgan’s stomach to head-bump my hand. “Get my eyes off the girl and my head in the game. I hear you, you furry dictator, you.”

  His tail thumped his agreement, then he stood, resting his head in my lap as he wiggled with excitement.

  I read his mind as Larry climbed my jeans. “You’re probably right. We both could use a good walk.” Wincing, I detached the tiny cat and put him on the floor. “And you could use some restraint with those claws, man.”

  Nails scrabbled across the floor as Morgan bounded downstairs to whine and wag in front of his leash. The dog had a point. Maybe the crisp air would clear my head. And maybe, just maybe, standing near Evie would jumpstart my creativity like it had the last few times I’d been with her.

  Even more aware of where we were going than I was—after all, we made this trek more often than I would admit—Morgan bounded off the porch and beelined across the yard, pulling me toward our neighbor who crouched in front of her flowerbeds, digging in the dirt. The leash pulled taut, but I refused to trot after him. Desperation was not a look I wanted to wear. Tell that to a dog, though. They lived in desperation and glee—and Morgan was the doggiest dog that ever dogged.

  I have to get to that squirrel, or I will die!

  I have to eat now, or I will never have another bite!

  This is the best walk of all the walks we’ve ever been on, but I sure wish I had more food! Hey! What’s that? A squirrel! Can I eat it? I will try!

  Evie glanced up as Morgan arrived, happy and wiggling beside her. “Well, good morning to you, sir!” She rubbed his head, laughing as he bowled her over in his enthusiasm for more love.

  I crouched, intervening to the best of my ability. “I’d apologize, but it’s pointless. He’s not ashamed of his behavior, so I won’t be either.”

  Evie’s laughter had the same indescribable quality as Wildrose Landing in autumn. I’d spend the rest of my career trying to nail it down. “This is the kind of greeting a person could get used to. Morgan sure knows how to make a girl feel special.”

  She glanced at me and her smile faded. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Did I upset you?”

  I quirked my head. “How would you upset me?”

  “You’re glaring. Hard.”

  I’d been trying to catalogue her. To sum her up the way I would a character in one of my books. To find the perfect combination of words to bring out the effervescence bubbling under her surface. The life surging through her gaze, contained by what? Fear? Doubt?

  Evie fidgeted and I realized I was still staring. Intensely.

  I shifted my focus to the dog. “If I’m glaring, it’s because of work. Or my utter inability to work. Nothing to do with you. Promise. Not being able to write is like not being able to breathe.” Or pay the bills.

  I summoned a smile and offered Evie a hand.

  Her eyes made promises she wasn’t bold enough to keep. This woman with her hair battling the sun…

  She wiped dirt from her hands and allowed me to help her off the ground while I mentally repeated the line, hoping to burn it into my brain so as not to forget it before I got home. How was it that this woman held the key to my inspiration?

  “The great Alexander Prescott can’t focus?” Evie blushed and glanced at her feet. “I assumed words and plots and characters flowed out of your fingers straight onto the page.”

  “Sometimes they do. Sometimes, an entire day passes with my butt in that chair and my mind in the story and I don’t realize until Morgan drops his food bowl at my feet.” I grimaced as she sat on the bottom step and rubbed his ears.

  “Poor Morgan. Mean ole’ Alex making you wait for dinner.” Morgan panted his agreement and leaned into her.

  “I thought having him around would stop me from disappearing like that.” I perched on the step beside them. “He helps. Maybe too much right now. And I make up for the days I ignore him by taking him for walks in the pouring rain just because he asked nicely.”

  Evie giggled. Her gaze bounced off mine, then settled on the dirt caking her shoes. She brushed it off. “Isn’t getting lost in the flow part of the magic of being a writer? Why would you intentionally keep yourself from it?”

  My face darkened. The smile faded. Friendliness leeched out of my eyes. I rubbed Morgan’s ears and willed myself not to scare my new neighbor more than I already had. Thankfully, her gaze stayed glued to her shoes and she missed the monster who dashed across my face, looking up in time to see the hero. After Candace stormed out of my life, claiming I was just like my father and too selfish for my own good, I’d adopted Morgan and sworn off serious relationships. Caring for a dog would remind me there’s more to the world than work, while staying away from commitment would mean one less Prescott man letting people down.

  “I have my reasons.” I winked. Yep. That happened. A wink. What was I doing?


  “Ahh, yes. Reasons,” Evie said with a quirk of her head and a glint in her eyes. “Something a failed writer like myself couldn’t possibly understand.”

  “I’m with your friend on this one. Your unemployed status doesn’t make you a failed writer.”

  “But the lack of having any completed books does.”

  “I wasn’t going to say it, seeing as how we barely know each other, but yeah. The thing about a writer is…”

  “…she writes.” Evie shrugged as she finished my sentence. “I’m afraid of writing. Well, not afraid. Okay, maybe kind of afraid. My confidence took a hit. A couple hits. And now I question everything I try to put on the page.”

  Morgan plopped his head into Evie’s lap. She ruffled his ears and leaned in to kiss his snout. His quick glance my way said, “You better make your move or she’s mine, asshole.”

  Silly dog. No moves would be made. I would not repeat the mistakes of the past.

  I stood, offering her a hand to help her do the same. “I feel like this needs to be said, just in case. I know offering you a job out of the blue is a little weird, especially because I don’t really know what the job will be and we don’t know each other. If I put you on the spot, please don’t feel like you have to accept the offer. I have this habit of really going after what I want.”

  And what I wanted were more chances to be around her because somehow, someway, she opened up the floodgates that had been closed for weeks now. Bonus points because I would talk her into working in her kitchen, which would circumvent Brighton’s suggestion of breaking in, something I’d be forever ashamed to admit I tried. After the women left the house yesterday, I used my key, sat down at the kitchen table, considered making coffee, then left, relieved to know my selfishness actually had a limit. After hearing Evie’s name on everyone’s lips, the idea to offer her a job landed with a heavy thwack of “Hey! That could work!”