Not So New in Town

by Michele Summers

  “It’s a mess, but I didn’t have time to get organized,” she said in a muffled voice, head deep inside another large bag.

  “You give new meaning to ‘junk in your trunk,’” he said, chuckling louder.

  “Yay! Found it.” She popped up with a jumbo box of strawberry Pop-Tarts in her hand.

  Brogan’s lip curled. “You’re kidding, right? That’s the most important thing you needed to find?”

  She blinked. “No point in buying more when I have some right—” She stopped talking. His expression of complete disgust must’ve registered. He couldn’t imagine anyone with a brain eating that nasty shit. Nothing but empty calories and sugar. No nutrient in sight.

  “What?” She shook the oversized box. “Breakfast of champions. Pop-Tarts are awesome. Don’t tell me you’ve never had one. On super busy days, I’ve been known to eat these for lunch and dinner.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still into junk food. I thought you only ate that crap when you got nervous.” He peered at her stash of boxes and bags of garbage food. Judging by the contents of her trunk, Lucy must be close to a meltdown. “What’s going on, Luce? Either you’re having a nervous breakdown, or you’re some kind of hoarder.” He silently counted six boxes of instant mac and cheese. How could she eat all that crap and stay thin? Her clogged arteries probably resembled a corn dog.

  She shot him an uneasy glance. “Look, it’s nothing. I had to move out of my apartment kinda fast. And cooking has never been a priority for me. Besides, what I eat is none of your business.” She shoved a yellow-and-green tote over her shoulder and smashed a few bags farther down into the bowels of the dark trunk. “That oughta do it until I can get my poor baby towed in.” She slammed the trunk closed. “All set.”

  Poor baby his ass. More like a bucket of rattling bolts. Broken-down car. Trunk full of junk food. Nervous hair twirling. Brogan remembered Lucy’s nervous habits with perfect clarity. Something big must’ve gone down for Lucy to be here, and he planned to find out what.

  Lucy’s bag slipped, and he reached for it, his hand trapped for an instant between the padded strap and the smooth silk of the tank top covering her shoulder. She felt warm, and he took a moment to enjoy the sensation, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. She had a very kissable mouth. Lush, full, plump lips. The flush shading her cheeks told him she felt the same attraction…or she was dying of heatstroke. But the set to her chin and furrowed brows told him she had no intention of acting upon it. Brogan gave a mental shrug as he hefted her bag over his other shoulder. Not a good idea to start something. He had enough trouble in Harmony, trying to live down his past relationship with Julia. No need to arm the town with any more ammunition.

  “Come on, pack rat. Let’s get you settled.”

  * * *

  Lucy followed Brogan to his sleek dark-blue convertible. Picturing him in this expensive car only enhanced her colorful fantasies. Brogan came from a lot less than she, but he’d always been hardworking and smart. Must’ve paid off. She worked hard too, but she didn’t have a flashy new convertible to show for it. Instead, she had a useless business contract, broken-down old car, and depleted savings account. Brogan’s remote popped his trunk open seamlessly. Lucy gave a silent sigh. Okay, so she had to reinvent herself…again. Not the end of the world. But to be coming home to Harmony not in the healthiest financial situation—that was a bitter pill to swallow. And for Brogan to be her first eyewitness…well, make that a bitter horse pill.

  Brogan placed her jam-packed bags inside his pristine trunk. “Nice car. Aren’t you a little young to be having a midlife crisis? Or are you trying to overcompensate for something?” she asked.

  Clear green eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. “For someone who used to be shy, you sure are mouthy.” He opened the passenger-side door. “Your carriage awaits, my lady,” he said with a mock bow.

  She slid into the smooth leather seat, breathing in the new-car smell, and reached to buckle her seat belt. Brogan tossed a broken-in UNC baseball cap in her lap.

  “Don’t want your hair getting tangled. What happened to your curls?”

  Lucy fed her sleek hair through the hole in back of the cap as Brogan pulled onto the road. She patted her ponytail, still loving the way straight hair felt to her fingers. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my boyfriend thought straightening my hair presented a more professional image, and I happen to agree.”

  He gave her an odd look. “Boyfriend?” he said, as if the mere thought of her having a boyfriend defied credibility. “Why would your boyfriend care about your professional image?”

  Lucy screwed up her mouth. How could she explain? Not that she owed him or anyone an explanation, but it’d be better he heard it from her than from Dottie Duncan, or worse, Miss Sue Percy, who could spread gossip faster than a bullet train. High-speed Internet had nothing on the ladies of Harmony.

  “Ex. Anthony is my ex-boyfriend. He had certain standards for taking his business to the next level.” And she’d been the perfect tool, buying into his total BS. The Jag cruised down the road at a nice clip, and Lucy tilted her face toward the sky, catching the breeze caressing her heated skin, when suddenly the car slowed to a crawl, and Lucy caught Brogan staring at her.

  “And your hair factored into taking his business to the next level? What am I missing here?” He appeared baffled.

  More than she cared to reveal. Thinking about her ex-boyfriend made all the hurt and anger bubble to the surface. And talking about him with Brogan, who was one of the good guys, made her feel foolish and stupid. Lucy would curl up and die if Brogan laughed, or worse, pitied her. She didn’t lay the blame on others for her own mess. But that didn’t mean she wanted everyone bantering about it. Talking about Anthony only infuriated her. The temp pimp rodent.

  Lucy motioned toward the road. “Are we going to crawl to town? Because I can walk faster than you’re driving.” Brogan gave her a questioning look as he accelerated and resumed his normal speed.

  Lucy almost bit her tongue at her unnecessary rudeness. “Thank you. I’m sorry for sounding testy.”

  “You didn’t sound testy. You sounded mad.”

  Not good. Not good at all. The whole reason for her coming home was to help Julia and to show everyone she’d changed. Riding into town with steam pouring from her ears and acting like a mad Doberman would not be putting her best foot forward.

  “Not that I blame you. Tell me about the temp pimp rodent.” What? Brogan answered her shocked expression. “You said temp pimp rodent out loud.”

  Holy crud. She was worse off than she imagined, leaking her thoughts with loose lips had to be a sign of loconess. Crossing her arms, she said in a tight voice, “Well, if you must know, Anthony and I worked together before we started dating. He runs his own temp agency, and I did a lot of work for him.” Before he reneged and cheated her out of a partnership deal. The conniving, lying, heartless jerk.

  Brogan nodded. “Temp pimp rodent. Got it. Makes perfect sense.”

  Clearly it didn’t, but Lucy ignored his sarcasm. “You don’t know the half of it,” she mumbled under her breath.

  * * *

  Brogan could only imagine. Lucy had catastrophe written all over her. But in a funny, fascinating, weird way. He liked that about her. “I can feel a story there. Lay it on me. Scale of one to ten, ten being the highest, I’ll score it for hilarity content.” Brogan glanced at her profile. Soft pink highlighted her cheeks. From wind or embarrassment, he had no clue, but he admired the flush.

  Lucy pursed her lips. “What makes you think it’s funny?”

  “Hunch. Sixth sense. ESP.” The sound of snorting came from her general direction as she rummaged through the jumbo handbag resting on her lap.

  “Cheetos?” The smell of fake, factory-produced cheese assailed his nostrils as Lucy waved a bag in his direction.

  “God no,” he sna
rled. “And neither will you.” He snatched the bag from her hand.

  “Hey!”

  Brogan shook his head, shoving the Cheetos beneath his seat. “Little Lucy Doolan, I think it was destiny that we met again today.”

  She swigged some water from a bottle she’d pulled from the bottom of her bag. God only knew what else lurked in there. “How do you figure? So you can monitor my diet?”

  A curl of pleasure bloomed from the bottom of his gut to the top of his wind-blown hair. Lucy would be his test market. If he could get her on board, an obvious junk-food-aholic, then maybe his business would survive in Harmony after all. “Hunch, sixth—”

  “Yeah, yeah. ESP. Whatever.” She gripped the dashboard, leaning toward the windshield as he turned off the service road and down Main Street, the heart and soul of Harmony, where most of the local businesses resided.

  “When was the last time you were home?” he asked.

  Lucy’s shoulders tensed. “Couple of years ago. For Bertie Anderson’s wedding. You know she married Keith Morgan, that famous ex–tennis player, right?”

  Brogan knew him real well. Keith had managed to strong-arm him into opening his store in Harmony with statistical projections, data, and a hefty investment. After opening the Keith Morgan Tennis Academy a couple of years ago, traffic in Harmony had increased. And Keith had taken a special interest in sprucing up Main Street and attracting new businesses. His proposal had included BetterBites providing concessions at the academy. Healthy food choices for tennis players of all ages. Endless possibilities. And Brogan had had enough smarts to jump on board at the ground level. Feeding athletes was his specialty.

  “Yeah. Keith’s cool. Bertie seems real happy. Her baby boy is going to be as big as Keith one day, and her stepdaughter is a sweetie too.” Lucy nodded, but Brogan wondered if she heard him. He slowed as someone pulled onto Main from the parking lot at the Daily Grind, the local coffee shop. Lucy adjusted the baseball cap over her eyes. People bustled over the brick paver sidewalks, browsing and window-shopping. He straightened in his seat as he tracked a family of four he didn’t recognize entering his store.

  “What are you doing in Harmony?” she asked. “Hey, what’s that place?” She inched up from her slouched position as they crawled past BetterBites.

  “That’s what I’m doing…for now.” He wished he could pull over and follow the family inside, but he needed to get Lucy settled first.

  “Huh?” She glanced at him.

  Brogan nodded at BetterBites. “That’s my newest location.” Whipping her head around, surprise lit her eyes as she lowered her sunglasses for a better look. “My fourth store. I have three more up North.” And his fifth and largest location would open in New York City, if he could get this one running smoothly. Brogan thrived on challenges, but the heavy breathing down his neck from his investors made his adrenaline speed up, and not in a healthy way. By September sixteenth, his butt needed to be the hell out of Harmony and in NYC. Simple. Better marketing and better customers. The reoccurring tension churned his stomach.

  “Wow. What is it?”

  He laughed as his anxiety eased. “Something you’re gonna learn to love.” Along with everyone else in this offbeat Southern town.

  Chapter 3

  Lucy wished they’d move it along. Cruising down Main Street in a flashy convertible with Brogan Reese made her stick out worse than the last time she sat atop the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile during the Fourth of July parade dressed as a bottle of mustard. Although rushing to Julia’s side to play nursemaid didn’t inspire warm and snugglies, spending time with her nephew did.

  Lucy slid lower in the cushioned leather seat as Brogan waved to a group of women walking with covered casseroles. Must be potluck camp-song night at the Harmony Community Center. Once a month, Harmony Huggers got together and sang along to an old player piano while sampling new recipes and drinking spiked punch. Drunk dialing usually followed, and husbands or significant others would be called to the rescue. Coco’s Cab had gotten smart and now waited out front to cart the tipsy women home.

  Lucy really wanted to know if Brogan had moved back home for good, or if Harmony was only a bump in the road. She prayed he had more exciting places to be. She didn’t need any more Brogan encounters. The past fifteen minutes in his car had been enough to last a lifetime. Being with Brogan brought back a myriad of flashbacks. Not all pleasant, as she remembered how he smiled and hung on Julia’s every word while Lucy worried if Julia was spreading more lies about her.

  Lucy glanced from beneath her lashes and watched as the wind whipped his sun-streaked tawny hair, which kind of ticked her off, since she knew he didn’t spend hours in a salon chair with foils sticking from his head like some sort of new-age cactus. Just looking at all that natural male hotness made her crabby. His big shoulders, tanned arms, and muscled thighs left her with a queasy stomach. Sparkly green eyes, cute smile revealing white teeth, and nice strong hands used for lifting boxes and opening stubborn peanut butter jars. Brogan Reese had been living in Lucy’s dreams for years, and he needed to remain there. She couldn’t afford getting all starry-eyed and moondoggie over him. Not this time around. One crumbled heart needing major repair was more than she could handle right now.

  Heat from embarrassment infused her neck and cheeks as she recalled that night after the football game when she’d waited for Brogan like she always had. After a huge win against Harmony’s biggest rival, he hadn’t seemed himself. Lucy had only wanted to make sure he was okay. She’d had no intentions of sitting on the bleachers with him or talking to him…or almost kissing him. Lucy bit the inside of her cheek and started cataloging the urgent things needing attention, like opening a new bank account, replacing the chargers for her phones, and buying more Hershey’s chocolate. Anything to keep her mind off the past and Hottie Hotcakes burning the seat next to her.

  The sleek Jag cruised through one of the older residential neighborhoods. A canopy created by huge oaks lowered the heat level by at least ten degrees. Despite the welcome shade, Lucy’s body temperature shot to boiling as she spied the redbrick, two-story Georgian-style house on Daffodil Lane that used to be her home. But it hadn’t felt like home in a very long time. Not since the day Julia had moved in…twenty-some years ago.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Okay? She’d rather be cleaning gas station toilets with her bare hands than coming home to nurse her nemesis. And what did she know about babysitting her fifteen-year-old nephew? Lucy’s insides shriveled. She loved her nephew Parker and had enjoyed playing with him, but it had been a while. A long while. And now Parker was all grown up. He probably didn’t even remember her. Shaking off the shroud of doubt, Lucy straightened her spine.

  Brogan pulled into the circular driveway lined with clusters of pink and purple daylilies, and stopped the car. “You don’t look so good. When was the last time you ate? Real food, not garbage?”

  “Breakfast. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She hefted her handbag over her shoulder. “Thanks for the lift. If you’ll just pop the trunk, I’ll unload my stuff and be on my way.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

  “What gave it away?” He narrowed his gorgeous green eyes. “I’m kidding. Clearly you’ve gone beyond the call of duty, but I can take it from here.” She hopped from his car and moved to the rear. Hang tough, Luce. She couldn’t allow herself to fall in the lust-filled Brogan trap. Not this time.

  Brogan stretched his tanned arm across the back of the seat and peered over his shoulder. “You never answered my question. What brings you home?”

  Lucy removed the UNC baseball cap and tossed it on the backseat, shaking her hair loose. “Your girlfriend and her baby, for starters. Or should I be saying your baby?” Loose lips struck again. Ugly words suspended in the air between them. She could’ve smacked herself.

  A knot appeared o
n Brogan’s jaw; his expression darkened. “Aren’t you too sophisticated for small-town gossip?” He met her by the trunk.

  Lucy shrugged, trying to feign disinterest even though her heart raced and her palms sweated. “I’ve heard the same thing everyone else has heard.”

  “And you believe it?” His brows drew together in a fierce frown, and murky green eyes shot sparks of anger. “Shame on you. Of all people, you should know how rumors spread, hurting those involved.”

  Heat prickled her cheeks. Boy, did she ever. And she hated being reminded of it from the Golden Boy of Harmony. She’d been the brunt of many convoluted stories over the years, hence the nickname Loco Lucy. A part of her didn’t believe the wild stories about Brogan and Julia. But on some level, natural curiosity had taken root, making her wonder what had really gone down.

  “Parker’s not my kid.” His voice deepened along with his intensity. “And neither is this one.”

  All righty then. Hope sparked to life inside Lucy only to be doused by a big bucket of doubt. To be fair, she needed to hear Julia’s side of the story.

  Pop went the trunk, and Brogan started yanking bags out with unnecessary force. “I’ll get thos—” She tried reaching past him, but his broad back blocked her access. A whiff of clean soap, layered with exotic coffee and expensive leather, made her pause. Wonderful smell…all Brogan. She could take a long bubble bath in his smell. Unable to resist, Lucy leaned toward his white polo shirt and sniffed just as he turned toward her. His odd look confirmed she’d been busted. Lucy stumbled back, face aflame.

  Brogan chose to ignore it. “After you,” he ordered, jerking his head toward the front door.

  Two things: she hated that she’d upset him, and she dreaded entering the house. Lucy couldn’t decide which one disturbed her more.

  “Look, Brogan, I’m sorry—”

  “Save it.” The jumbo box of Pop-Tarts nudged her hip. Dragging her feet up the front steps, she gave a sharp knock on the solid, mauve-painted door. Yes, mauve, thanks to Babs, her ex-stepmother-turned-NASCAR-lover groupie. Lucy turned the brass knob and pushed the door open. Unlike Atlanta, where she’d been living, residents of Harmony left front doors open and cars unlocked. Crazy. But Harmony had never been a hotbed of crime.