by Elks, Carrie
* * *
Maddie stared at her phone, her fingers hovering over her sister’s name on the screen. Ashleigh Lowe. She may have slipped down a few letters in Maddie’s contacts since getting married, but she’d stepped up a whole lot of social stratas when she said ‘I do’ to Michael Lowe. A prominent attorney in Stanhope, the city twenty miles north of Hartson’s Creek, Michael was also the son of a senator, and was working hard on being his father’s replacement in the next election.
The two of them had met when Ashleigh was working in a restaurant in Stanhope and had served Michael and his coworkers. She’d only been twenty when they married a little over a year later, to Michael’s thirty-one. Not that anybody raised an eyebrow. They were too busy questioning whether she was still rebounding from Gray Hartson.
Maddie pressed her finger on the screen and waited for her call to connect. She was struggling with her reaction to Gray’s name being mentioned at Chairs. She’d reacted like the teenage girl she’d been when he was last here, her heart clattering against her chest, her head feeling as light as air.
Thank god nobody else had spotted it. She was usually so cool. When did they say he was leaving again?
“Maddie? Is something wrong?” Ashleigh’s voice echoed through Maddie’s phone. “Is it Mom?”
Maddie glanced at the old Casio on her wrist. It was almost eleven. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late,” she told her sister. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I’m waiting for Michael to come home. I’m sitting on the deck drinking a mug of hot chocolate. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to tell you something.” Maddie pulled at a loose thread in her comforter. “It’s probably nothing, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
“What gives?”
“Gray’s back in town. Jessica Martin told me, and Laura called Becca to make sure it was true. You know what the gossip’s like around here.”
Ashleigh was silent, save for the rhythm of her breathing. Maddie pulled her lip between her teeth, waiting for her sister to respond. It felt strange, having this conversation. Neither of them had mentioned Gray for years. It was an unspoken agreement. They never talked about his music, his success, or about any of the gossip that seemed to surround him like fireflies in the summer. It was as though Ashleigh had cut him out of her life with a pair of scissors and thrown him in the trash can.
“Ash?” Maddie said, tiny lines furrowing her brow.
Ashleigh cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I was listening out for the children,” she said quickly. “So he’s back. I’m guessing it’s not for long.”
“For a few weeks, according to Becca.”
“That’s probably for the best.” Ashleigh’s laugh sounded forced. “Hopefully I won’t bump into him while he’s here.”
“I don’t imagine you will. That was all. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you. Are you still okay to watch Grace and Carter on Sunday?”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. I finish work at three, so any time after works.”
“I’ll send you a message once I know. Good night, Maddie. Sweet dreams.”
“And to you.” Maddie ended the call and put her phone on the nightstand next to her bed, falling back until her head hit the soft pillow. It had been a long day, and yet her body was still buzzing like it was filled with a hive full of bees. She was due to work at six in the morning and she needed the sleep, dammit.
But her body felt strange. Electric. Like everything around her was on the edge of something different.
She wasn’t sure she liked the sensation.
Chapter Four
Gray lay awake in his too-small childhood bed and looked at the walls closing in on him. They were bare – all the posters he’d put up as a teenager in defiance of his dad’s rules were long since gone, leaving behind only dark rectangles of paint and shiny circles where he’d affixed them to the wall.
He sat up, running a hand through his hair. Maybe he should get outside for a few. Breathe some fresh air and let the breeze blow away the dreams that had been haunting his brain all night. He pulled on some fresh clothes from the suitcase he hadn’t bothered to unpack and quietly let himself out of the house. As he locked the door behind him, he hoped to hell that somebody was up when he returned to let him back in.
As he made his way down the gravel driveway, he pulled a grey knit beanie over his dark hair, by habit more than need. He was used to making himself look as unremarkable as possible in public. The roads were quiet as he walked through town, only the occasional roar of an engine cutting through the still morning air. Gray felt his muscles loosen, his jaw untense. He’d forgotten how much that house put him on edge.
When he made it to the town square ten minutes later, there was a light on in Murphy’s Diner, and his stomach growled as if it knew what that meant. He slapped the pocket of his jeans to make sure he had his wallet and headed in.
The diner was as empty as the streets. He walked up to the counter and took in the glass domes covering freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and generous wedges of lemon cake. The smell made his mouth water.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” a woman called from the half-open door to the kitchen. “I’ll be right there.”
“No rush.”
Gray leaned on the counter as the woman backed through the door, pushing it open with her denim-clad behind. He blinked when he realized he was staring. Soft, rounded, and completely inappropriate to be caught looking at. Somehow he managed to tear his gaze away before she turned around and put the tray she was carrying on the counter in front of him.
“Oh.” She blinked. “Can I get you some coffee?”
Her expression was unreadable. He had no idea if she knew who he was or not. Becca had said that most of Hartson’s Creek knew he was back in town, but his little sister was always known to exaggeration.
He nodded. “Black. No sugar, please.”
“Coming right up.” The waitress smiled as she poured him a cup. “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll let the caffeine work first.” He took the mug from her, the tips of her fingers sliding against his. He frowned at the shock it sent up his arm, the sensation making his hand shake, hot coffee splashing over the rim and onto his fingers.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” The waitress tore a wad of paper towel from the roll on the wall behind her. “Are you okay? Did I burn you?” She pressed the towel against his hand. “I have a first aid kit here somewhere. We must have some cream in it.”
“It’s fine,” he said, amused. “It was just a few drops. We can probably hold off on the burn kit.”
She looked at him through her thick lashes. Christ, she was pretty, in a girl-next-door kind of way. Big hazel eyes and freckles across her high cheekbones that reminded him of a fawn. As she leaned across the counter and dabbed at his hand, he tried not to look down at the curve of her chest.
What the hell was wrong with him? He really wasn’t that kind of guy. Bringing his gaze firmly back to her face, he realized she looked familiar.
Not that it was a big surprise. He probably went to school with her, or played football with her brother, or made out with her cousin at a school dance. He only had to ask her name to find out who she was and who her relations were, yet he didn’t.
Because then he’d have to tell her who he was.
He lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of coffee, watching as she wiped up the counter. He barely tasted it as it went down.
“You want a top up?” she asked him.
“That’d be good.” He held his mug out. She was extra careful this time, pouring slowly and leaving a good inch of space between the coffee and the rim of his cup. “I’ll order in a minute. I’m still trying to make up my mind.”
“Take your time. Murphy’s still half asleep back there, anyway. I always advise customers not to expect anything edible before eight a.m.”
Gray laughed. “I
s that why this place is so empty?”
She shook her head. “It’s empty because everybody’s sleeping as long as they can before church starts. We’re never busy on Sundays until service lets out.”
“Everybody goes to church?” Still? Gray hadn’t stepped foot in a church in years.
“Pretty much.”
“Except you.”
She grinned. “I pray at the church of coffee.”
“You’re going to hell.” He winked at her.
“I’ve been there. Stayed a few years, got a t-shirt, decided not to go back again.” She raised an eyebrow as she leaned her elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her palm. “Pretty sure the devil has more important people to concentrate on than me.”
Her lips curled up and they did something to him. They were completely devoid of make-up, yet as plump as any he’d seen in L.A.
It had been way too long since he’d gotten laid, that was for sure. And the thought of remedying that in Hartson’s Creek made him want to laugh. Gossip flew through this place faster than the speed of light, and he was way more concerned about Aunt Gina finding out than any gossip rag that might pay for that kind of information.
“Okay, I think I’m ready to order. I’ll take the pancakes, maple syrup on the side. And do you have strawberries?”
“Sure do.”
“I’ll take some fresh ones cut up in a bowl on the side.”
“You want any eggs?” she asked him.
“Nah.”
“Good call. We had a food critic from the Stanhope Daily come here once. He called them inedible.” She shook her head and leaned a little closer. “That’s kind of a lie. What he actually said was ‘eating fried eggs at Murphy’s Diner reminded me of the first time I gave my boyfriend some deep affection. Readers, I advise you to spit, not swallow.’” She wrinkled her nose.
Gray burst into laughter. God, she was cute. He really wanted to see if those lips felt as good as they looked. Wanted to run his fingers through that hair and see if it was as silky as he imagined.
“Definitely hold the eggs,” he told her. And as she turned to walk into the kitchen, he averted his eyes and stared out of the window onto the square. Yeah, she was pretty, but he was used to pretty girls. The one thing he didn’t need was a complication like that.
* * *
After he demolished two plates of Murphy’s finest pancakes, Gray walked out of the diner, his long, denim-clad legs covering the distance between the counter and the door in a few strides. Maddie’s face heated up as soon as the door closed behind him. Through the glass, she saw him adjust the woolen beanie on his head then stuff his hands into his pockets as he headed down the sidewalk. His cheeks were pulled in, his lips pursed as though he was whistling. She grabbed the empty plate and let out a big sigh.
“Murph?” she called out.
“Huh?” He was sitting on the chair in the corner, reading a newspaper, a goofy smile on his face. Which was weird because Murphy never smiled.
“What are you reading?”
“The funnies.”
“You look like you’re enjoying them.”
“They’re crap.” As though he’d just realized he was smiling, Murphy’s brow pulled down and he rolled up the paper and threw it across the room. “Don’t know why I buy that rag anyway.”
Maddie bit down a grin. Murphy had been cultivating the grumpy-old-man look for years. “I’m going to take a break. There’s nobody in the diner, but I’ll keep an eye out and come back if we get any customers.”
“Huh.” He nodded and slid his eyes back to the paper on the floor.
Taking that as a yes, she poured herself a mug of coffee, adding extra cream, before making her way out to the bench set at the center of the town square. It was her favorite place to take a break, especially when there was nobody else here. In the summer, she’d close her eyes and smell the scent of the rose garden carried up in the warm breeze. And in the winter, she’d zip her padded jacket up tightly and huddle around her mug as though it was a warming fire.
“I forgot to ask your name.” The smooth, deep sound of his voice made her jump.
Maddie looked up to see Gray standing over her, his tall body blocking out the early morning sun.
“My name?” she repeated, her brows knitting together.
“Yeah, I want to write a Trip Advisor review. Tell all the readers that you told me to avoid the jizz eggs.”
Maddie bit down a smile. “In that case, my name’s Cora Jean,” she told him. “You want me to spell that for you?”
“You don’t look like a Cora Jean.” He tipped his head to the side, his dark blue eyes catching hers. She’d forgotten how magnetic he was. How he drew everybody toward him. She curled her free hand around the wooden slat of the bench in case her body decided to throw itself at him.
“What does a Cora Jean look like?”
The corner of his lip twitched. “I’m kinda screwed here, aren’t I? If I tell you Cora Jean looks about sixty years old with nicotine stained fingers and a better moustache than I could ever grow, and your name really turns out to be Cora Jean then you’re going to want to hit me.”
“And if my name isn’t Cora Jean?”
His voice lowered. “Then I’d say I’m not surprised, because you still have a way to go with that moustache.”
“You’re a real sweet talker.”
“That’s the effect you have on me, Cora Jean.” He grinned.
Her own lips twitched. It was almost impossible not to smile at him. God, he looked good. His gray long-sleeved t-shirt did nothing to hide the contours of his chest or the size of his biceps, and his dark jeans clung to his ass like they never wanted to let go.
When they’d first locked eyes in the diner, she’d expected him to recognize her right away. She hadn’t changed that much since she was a kid – or at least she didn’t think so. And yet there was no hint of recognition in his eyes as she’d wiped the coffee from his fingers.
And for some strange reason she liked that. She didn’t have to explain why she was still living here in Hartson’s Creek, years after she was supposed to have left. Didn’t have to tell him that while he was topping the charts in five different countries, she’d been living with her mom and flinging hash to keep a roof over their head.
For a few minutes back there, she’d liked being somebody else. But it was fleeting, she knew that. Somebody only had to walk past and greet her and he’d figure out exactly who she was. Nobody flew under the radar in this town.
“My break’s over,” she told him, swallowing the last of her coffee. “I need to get back.”
He nodded and took a step back. “Well, it was good to meet you, Cora Jean. Thanks for breakfast, and for saving me from scrambled sperm.”
She laughed and shook her head, flipping her braid over her shoulder as she stood. “Any time.”
Then she turned and walked to the diner without looking back, because her throat felt too tight to look at him again. As soon as she pulled the door open and stepped inside she let out a lungful of air.
Gray Hartson ate breakfast with her. If she told the story at Chairs they’d be talking about her for weeks.
Which was exactly why she wouldn’t tell a soul.
Chapter Five
“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d come to church willingly,” Aunt Gina said as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and they walked up the steps to the First Baptist Church right off the town square
“What else is there to do on a Sunday morning?” Gray shrugged.
“Becca and Tanner found things to do.”
“They aren’t even awake yet.” Gray smiled at his aunt. “And I’m all kinds of jetlagged. My body doesn’t know if it’s yesterday or tomorrow.”
“Well, you’re a good boy.” She pulled her hand from his crook and patted his face. “Though you could have shaved.”
“I’m hoping God’ll forgive a few hairs.”
He pushed open the c
hurch door and swallowed hard as everybody turned to look at them. The benches were full-to-bursting with worshippers, and what looked like some non-worshippers, too. He could see a few of the latter tapping furiously on their phones. He swallowed hard, hoping word about him being here wasn’t going to get out.
“It’s busy today,” Aunt Gina murmured, patting his arm. “A lot of younger folk, too.” She tisked as she saw the phones. As they passed one girl who was blatantly recording him, Gina glared at her. “Can you believe that?” she hissed. “They’re not even embarrassed about it.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“Well I’m not.” There was a deep ‘v’ notched into the skin between her eyes. “It’s so rude.”
Gray led her to a bench a few rows back from the front, and everybody shuffled across to make room for them. He recognized a few faces there – parents of his old friends and friends of his parents. Their faces a little more worn, their hair whiter than when he’d left, but still the same.
Somebody tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see a phone held out by a teenage girl. “Can I have a selfie with you?”
“Uh. Yeah. Sure.”
Before he could even get the last word out, she was putting her shoulder next to his and angling the phone at their faces. “Hey,” she said as she took what seemed like a hundred shots. “Are you going to sing today?”
“Of course he’s going to sing,” the girl next to her said. From the color of their hair and the similarity of their features, he assumed they were sisters. “It’s a church. We have hymns, you idiot.”
“I meant up front. A solo. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I could record it.” The first girl’s eyes lit up. “Do you have an Insta account? I’ll tag you in the pic. Oh, could you comment on it? That would drive Ella Jackson crazy. She says she’s your biggest fan, but she doesn’t even know all the words to Along the River.”
The organ blasted out, its deep notes stifling any possible reply. Not that he had one. Gray turned to face forward as Reverend Maitland walked in, his long white robe fanning out behind him.