by Lexi Ryan
“William?” She blinks at me, as if she can’t figure out why I’d be here. I’m wondering the same about her.
“Good morning.” God, she’s beautiful. She left down her silky, dark hair today and it’s like a curtain over half her face. I clench my fists against the temptation to touch it, tuck it behind her ear to reveal the smooth skin of her cheek, kiss her lips.
I should send her away quickly. When she’s looking at me, I can’t lie to myself about being at peace with letting her go.
“I’m here about some rental space? Do you know the owner?”
“Rental space?”
“Yeah.” She raises onto her toes and peeks into the gallery over my shoulder. “God, it’s such a gorgeous place. Do you mind?”
I step back and motion her in. “By all means.”
Her eyes are wide as she surveys the space and studies the art hanging on the walls. First, she approaches a work done in pastels. A child’s face is lit up with laughter as she squeezes a large male hand between both of hers. “Wow.” Cally’s mouth drops into a perfect circle of awe.
“Maggie Thompson did that.”
“Who’s the child?”
“Her name is Zoe. She’s Asher Logan’s daughter.”
“Asher Logan has a daughter?”
“Yeah. She lives in New York with her mom most of the year, but she spent most of July here. She and Maggie were inseparable.” I shake my head, remembering the look of pure contentment in Maggie’s eyes when she brought Zoe around. “Maggie and Zoe might not share any blood, but they were meant to be mother and daughter.”
“She loves her. You can see it on the canvas.” She moves to the next wall and stops at the five-by-two-foot panoramic of the New Hope River.
I’d taken a photograph from the same spot every week for a year, then I’d digitally merged the images together so they appear to be a single photo. The seasons change by the slightest degrees from left to right.
She lifts her fingers to the placard with my name just below the photo. “You made this. It’s amazing.”
My heart is pounding. Cally in my gallery. Cally looking at my photographs. Cally close enough to touch.
She spins toward me and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.
I shove my hands in my pockets, temptation three inches away.
“Good morning?” someone calls from the front door.
Maggie stands just inside the gallery, her brow wrinkled with worry as she takes in Cally and me standing together.
Cally jumps back when she spots Maggie. “I’m just here about a room Lizzy was telling me about.”
I shake my head. I already forgot about that. I was so absorbed in watching Cally appreciate my gallery—so absorbed in watching her—that I lost focus.
I turn to Maggie. “Can you handle things down here for a bit?”
“No problem. I was going to do inventory today while it’s slow, then later I need to talk to you about my schedule for the fall.”
“Of course.” I turn to Cally. “Follow me upstairs?” I head into the loft, where I feel her watching me as I pour myself a mug of coffee. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Cream if you have it.”
Opening the little fridge, I pull out the cream and add a dash to her coffee before handing it to her. “How’s that?”
Her eyes close as the first sip hits her tongue and that soft, mewling sound slips from the back of her throat, reminding me of our night in the restaurant and turning me way the fuck on. “God, that’s good.”
“Jesus, I thought I was special for making you moan like that, but now that I know coffee can render the same results, I might need to check my ego.”
Her cheeks flush and she shoots a look toward the stairs then back to me. “Hush!”
“Maggie doesn’t care.”
“Yes,” Maggie calls from the showroom floor below, “yes, Maggie does care.”
I bite back a grin and motion Cally toward my office, closing the door behind us so we can have some privacy.
“To be fair,” she says, “you make a damn good cup of coffee and I’ve been subsisting on instant crap. Powder creamer and all.”
“Instant? Damn, you must have been hard up.”
Her eyes connect with mine for a minute, and the heat there clears up any doubt in my mind that she was left wanting as much as me after our date.
Let her go, I remind myself.
“I’m looking to rent a room for massage therapy clients, and Lizzy said there was an apartment above the gallery she thought would work great. Obviously you work here too? Do you know the owner?”
“You’re looking at him.”
She drops her gaze to her coffee. “I was beginning to suspect as much. Lizzy could have mentioned that.”
“I’m glad she didn’t.” We both know Cally wouldn’t be here otherwise. Maybe that was intentional on Lizzy’s part. “So you’re staying?”
“For a couple of months, yes.”
“What changed your mind?”
She crosses her arms and her face turns sad. “My sisters. It was foolish of me to think I could just drop them at Dad’s house and they’d magically feel at home.” She shakes her head. “And the house is a disaster. Not dirty, really, but a mess and not maintained or updated. I took a shower there this morning and the water pressure was so bad it took ten minutes to wash the shampoo from my hair. So I’m staying, helping get the house in order, helping my father figure out how to be a dad. It’ll be okay.”
“So you’re going to start up a massage business while you’re here?”
She shrugs. “I need money, and it’s what I do. Lizzy gave me a couple of leads on spas by campus that might be looking for someone, but—” She hesitates for a minute, choosing her words. “Nothing worked out.”
“Wouldn’t the money be better on your own?”
She shrugs. “Established businesses come with built-in clientele. Kind of a shortcut, which makes sense since I don’t plan to stay.”
“My friend Meredith owns a salon, and I think she was looking for a new massage therapist.” I’ll call in a favor. God knows Meredith has made it clear enough that she wants to see me again.
“Meredith Palmer? At Venus Salon?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“She’s not interested in hiring me.”
“What? Why?” She lifts her gaze to meet mine, and I get it. Meredith knows about Cally’s mom. The rumors. “I can talk to her. I’ll explain.”
She puts her hand on my arm, stopping me from getting my phone. “Please don’t.” She forces a smile. “It’s probably best. Once I have a client list built up, the money is much better on my own. I’ll find a space to rent.”
“That I can help you with.”
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “How often are you here?”
“Often enough.”
“I think we both know this would be a bad idea so—”
“Hold that thought.” I motion back to the hallway.
She follows me across the little kitchenette and reception area to the other side of the upper story that holds a small apartment.
For a few weeks after my second failed engagement, when I was just opening the gallery, I spent a lot of nights here to escape the big, empty house and all my ruined plans. Now the apartment sits unused for the most part.
I pull my keys from my pocket and unlock the door, flipping on the lights as we head in. “There’s access from the outside, too, a balcony out back, and a stairwell down the side of the building. Your clients wouldn’t have to go through the gallery, though they’re welcome to.”
She nods, but she’s frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
She turns a slow circle, taking in the furnished living area and small kitchen. “It’s just really nice, but it’s too much.”
“Would you be living here, too?”
“No. I’ll stay with the girls. I just need
a space to work.”
I motion her toward the bedroom. “I thought this would be a nice space for you,” I say, flipping on the lights in the small bedroom. “Honestly, I’ve become accustomed to using this apartment for a quick shower when I don’t want to run home. I’d give you a deal if you wanted to rent only this space, and I’d make sure to stay out of your way when you had clients.”
She nods as she looks around the room. Like my office, this room has a set of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the river and let in tons of light. “Lizzy was right. This would be perfect.”
“Then why do you sound so disappointed?”
“It’s not a good idea for us to work this close.”
Despite all reason, I can’t help but smile. “I can’t think of many ideas better. You don’t even have to pay me upfront. I know money’s tight now. You can pay me once business picks up.” I sound desperate. Maybe I am. I want to be close to her, to have her close to me.
She shakes her head and looks at me, bewildered. “I’m not in a position to say no to that, so…thank you.”
I grin. “You’ll take it?”
Slowly, she returns my smile, but hers is shakier, more tentative. “I’ll take it.” She pauses a beat. “William?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for not assuming the worst. About the kind of massage business I’ll be running, I mean. Thank you for understanding I’m not my mom.”
“You’ll never be like her, Cally. You’re too good.”
A crash echoes off the walls as her coffee cup slips from her hands and shatters on the floor, coffee splashing all over her legs.
“Oh,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
I run to the kitchen for some towels, and when I return, she’s on her knees, collecting shards of coffee mug. Her hands are shaking.
“Hey.” I sink to my haunches, dropping the towels and taking one of her hands in mine. “It’s no big deal.”
A tear spills onto her cheek. “Mom wasn’t bad. She just did what she believed she had to do.”
“Aw, shit.” I gather her against me, and she cries, big, body-shaking, silent sobs that leave my shirt wet and me feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet.
AFTER I recover from my little meltdown, I rush from the gallery as quickly as I can without running. I need to put space between me and William. It felt too good to cry in his arms, to have him stroke my hair and murmur apologies he doesn’t owe me.
Once I’m outside, I go around the building and sink onto a bench, dropping my head into my hands. I take deep, calming breaths.
Everything’s going to be okay. It’s all going to work out.
That space is perfect. So perfect. The apartment’s tiny kitchen and living room would make a comfortable waiting area for clients. I would set out herbal teas and bottles of water on the kitchen’s granite island. Clients could sit with me on the couch and chat about their concerns with their bodies. And the massage room? Those windows overlooking the river give it a unique ambience I would bet nowhere else in town can match. I’d set up the room with minimalist luxury, and my clients could look out those windows as I gave their massages. Not to mention how ideal the location is. What says “high class” more than an art gallery? And even though my business wouldn’t be a part of the gallery, people would connect the two in their minds, instantly earning me the respect I’ll need in order to escape my mother’s reputation.
It’s perfect. And I should probably walk away. Because I already want William too much, and I can’t have him. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t want me anyway.
Someone sits next to me, and I look up to see Maggie Thompson, her red curls framing her frown. I remember being jealous of her when Will and I were dating. She’s a couple of years younger than me, so it’s not as if he seemed interested in her romantically back then, but I knew how she felt about him. She would have been maybe fourteen when he and I were together. But he was always very protective of her. Of all her sisters. And now she’s working for him. Interesting.
I sit up and force a smile. “Hey, Maggie.”
“Hey.” She toys with the pendant on her necklace. It looks like a piece of shattered glass, and the sunlight dances on its surface. “Do you think renting that space is really a good idea?”
“Probably not.” I should see about commuting to Indianapolis. Maybe I could find a position at a spa where I wouldn’t be working under the shadow of Mom’s reputation. But that would mean gas money, and I’d have more hours away from the girls. I’ve always wanted to work for myself, but I’ve never had the luxury of being able to walk away from the benefits of working for a large company. This may be my only chance.
“But you’re going to do it anyway?” she asks.
“Sometimes the bad idea is still the best option you have.”
She narrows her eyes and studies me as if she understands this. Most people wouldn’t. “And what about Will?”
Even in the hot August sun, I rub the chill from my arms. I don’t want to talk to Maggie about my relationship with William—despite the fact that she’s been here while I’ve been away. Or maybe because of it. I don’t want to talk to anyone who knows that I broke his heart. I’d rather pretend that didn’t happen. Real mature. “What about him?”
“You’re staying in town for awhile. Are you going to get back together with him?”
“I— It’s—”
“None of my business?” she asks with a raised brow.
I let out a breath. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
She looks out at the river, and I’m relieved to have those scrutinizing eyes off me. “You can’t pick up where you left off, Cally. William’s not the same person he was when you lived here before. He’s been through a lot.”
My life, on the other hand, has been a freaking walk in the park. Right. “I’m not trying to pick up where I left off. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“But you slept with him?” Her gaze is back on me now.
“What? No. Did he tell you that?”
Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “No, he didn’t, but I can tell something happened between you two to get him all hung up on you again.”
I push off the bench. Nothing’s fucking changed. People in this town still believe Will is a saint and I’m just a dirty poor girl who must have tricked him somehow to make him fall for me. I wonder if Will ever figured out that’s why I wouldn’t have sex with him. There were some who assumed I was easy, who thought sex was the only reason a good-looking young man like him would be with a girl like me.
Maybe, once, I might have felt the way they did. Although I respected him too much to think he was using me for sex, I didn’t understand why Will would want me when he could have any girl in our high school. I didn’t understand why he went against his grandmother’s wishes and dated me when there were dozens of prettier, smarter girls from better families. Girls his grandmother would have been happy to see him with. Girls his friends wouldn’t tease him for loving.
But I’m older now and I know my worth. Funny how low I had to sink to learn it.
“I appreciate your concern,” I finally say, choosing my words carefully. “But I think Will can take care of himself.”
“I’m just looking out for a friend.”
“And that’s all he is to you? A friend? You’re sure about that?”
She flinches then her face hardens. “Don’t pretend you know me or what I’m about.”
“Fine. But return the favor.” I turn on my heel and walk away, my anger growing with each step. Because I didn’t ask for this. If Will is “hung up” on me again, it’s certainly not because I encouraged it. And yet, I know I’m not angry with Maggie. I’m angry with myself.
Seven Years Ago
The restaurant is a little on the dark and dingy side, but it’s close to the apartment, and I wouldn’t have to take the bus or use Mom’s car to get here. I head straight to the bar to ask the hostess if I can see the manager.
The waitress looks me over and shakes her head but does as I ask.
There’s a silver-haired man sitting at the bar, looking me over as if assessing the value of a horse. I’m tempted to ask him if he’d like to check my teeth when a short, stocky woman comes out from the back.
“Hello—” I pause. Her name tag says Manager. No name, just Manager. “Hello, I’m Cally Fisher.” I stick out my hand, and the woman takes it with the enthusiasm of a person picking up a piece of chewed gum. “I was wondering if you had any positions available for servers. I have some experience, and I’m a hard worker.”
“How old are you?” she asks, hand propped on her hip.
“Twenty-one,” I lie. Because no one wants to hire a waitress who can’t serve alcohol.
She snorts. “Yeah, me too.”
“I really need a job. My family—” I cut myself off, not wanting to sound too desperate. “I could really use a break. I’ll do anything. You won’t be sorry.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I need a hostess. Nights and weekends, minimum wage, no tips. Take it or leave it.”
Minimum wage. That won’t be enough, but it will have to be for now. Because even a little is better than nothing. “Okay.”
“Come back tomorrow and fill out your paperwork. You can start this weekend.” Then, as if dismissing me, she turns on her heel and walks away.
“Looks like it’s your lucky day,” the man says.
I force a smile. “Yeah. I guess so.” I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but minimum wage isn’t going to get me far. “Maybe I can work my way up to server, right?”
He shakes his head and pulls a business card out of his pocket. “I’m not talking about some crummy hostess job. I’m talking about the fact that I’m sitting right here.”
I unconsciously step back, away from him, away from his greedy and calculating gaze.
He shrugs and tosses his card on the bar. “You need money? I can help. A little loan. Work it off or pay me back. Whatever. No big deal.”
I eye the card, afraid to touch it. “Work it off doing what?”
“Don’t worry so much. This is what I do. Help people.”