A Fairfield Romance Box Set 1

by Lydia Reeves

  I only had one thing left that needed to get done today, but I’d been unintentionally putting it off all day. That was the main reason I was working so late, long after the time I’d usually have locked up the shop and gone upstairs to my little apartment above the store. Every time I walked past the boxes stacked behind the counter and thought about setting up the display, I somehow found something else that needed to be done. My latest distraction came in the intriguing form of a soaking wet stranger, and was certainly the best distraction yet, but I really did need to get that display set up. I would have to make time for it later.

  Fortunately, the road was deserted, and we were able to make quick work of Ellen’s car.

  “Tell her I’ll call in the morning once I know what’s going on with the car,” Tony said, practically shouting over the rain.

  I nodded and waved as he ducked into the cab of the tow truck, and then he was off down the street, taillights bright in the darkness.

  Ellen glanced up when the door chimed as I let myself back in, shaking water off my jacket. She was perusing the shelves toward the back of the store and I headed back to join her.

  “Your store is lovely,” she said, running her fingertips lightly over the row of book spines on a shelf.

  “Thank you. Tony said he’ll call you in the morning when he knows what the problem is. Did you find somewhere to stay?”

  She shook her head and her brow creased. “Is there something going on in town this week?” she asked. “I called seven different places and they’re all booked up.”

  I looked at her in surprise. “No, it’s…oh, wait.” It was September; I tried to remember the exact date. “Yeah, it’s the fall festival. I didn’t think of that.”

  She raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “We’re only a few miles from the state park,” I explained, “and every year they throw a big festival when the leaves start to change. It’s pretty popular, and it can get pretty busy here in town.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. She looked small, dwarfed by the blue towels she had wrapped around herself. “Well, one place said they had a room open tomorrow, but that doesn’t help me right now. I guess if you took me over to Tony’s I could sleep in my car.” Her voice was doubtful and her nose wrinkled at the thought.

  Sleeping in a broken-down car in the rain sounded like a terrible idea to me as well. I had a spare room. I opened my mouth to offer it to her, then hesitated. A young woman traveling alone in the rain. Car breaks down. Moody shopkeeper takes her in. It was the setup for a million true crime TV shows. And she looked smart enough to know that. Still, I wasn’t sure what other options there were. “You can stay with me.”

  She looked confused, but at least she wasn’t screaming or calling the police. She glanced around. “In…the bookstore?”

  Her expression was adorably befuddled, and it startled a laugh out of me. “I live upstairs. I’ve got a spare room; you’re welcome to it.”

  Her confusion cleared, but she raised an eyebrow at me. “You know we just met, right? But you expect me to stay in a stranger’s home? A strange man’s home?”

  My mind started racing for a solution. Of course I didn’t expect her to stay with me. She could take the apartment, and maybe I could sleep downstairs. I could put a sleeping bag in the stacks. Or I could call Tony or Geoff and crash on one of their couches. Hell, my truck was big enough—I could probably fit across the bench seat.

  Before I could voice any of my thoughts, a smile broke across her face and she shrugged. “Sam, I accept your offer. Honestly, I really don’t want to sleep in my car so I guess I don’t have much choice. But just so you know, I’ve taken self defense. And you have to promise you won’t murder me in my sleep.”

  She raised her hands in a mock-threatening pose, and I couldn’t help but laugh. But instead of joining in, her expression turned to worry. “What is it?”

  She looked down at her purse. “My car’s gone…I wasn’t even thinking. All my stuff is in there.”

  That’s right. She’d said she was coming from Phoenix. “Are you moving?”

  She nodded.

  “Is there a moving truck following behind? Do you need to call someone?”

  She shook her head. “No, everything I own is in the car.” She laughed when she saw my expression. “I move a lot. I don’t need much. But it’s all still in the car. I don’t even have pajamas or a toothbrush.”

  “I can lend you those. Or I can give you a lift to your car if there’s anything you need tonight.”

  She paused, then shook her head. “I guess it’ll be fine ’til tomorrow. This isn’t the first time my plans have taken a surprise turn. Thank you, Sam.” She smiled up at me, the wide, bright smile of a person that had never known a stranger. It lit her face and I felt an answering warmth deep inside me.

  “Well, come on up and I’ll show you around and get you settled. Then I have to come back down and finish up a display.”

  “Okay. Let me call my friend Dana first and let her know what’s going on. She was expecting me tonight.”

  I gave her space while she made her call, then when she was done I led her toward the back of the store and through the door set into the brick wall. The narrow staircase there led up two flights and dead-ended at my apartment. I unlocked the door and let her go ahead of me. The space was small—two tiny bedrooms attached to a main living room and kitchen, but I’d moved in when I’d bought the building just over a year ago, and it was more than enough space for just me.

  She stopped in the middle of the living room to look around and I stepped up behind her. “Wow,” she tilted her head back to slant a glance at me. “It’s very...manly. Just like the bookstore. I can tell you own both.”

  I tipped my head questioningly at her, and she gestured around with a vague motion. “All the leather, and dark wood, and exposed brick. And the books. It reminds me of, well, like pictures of an old eighteenth-century study in a manor house. All you need is a deer head mounted on the wall.”

  I’m not sure what expression she read on my face, but she laughed and patted my arm. “It’s a good thing. I like it.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I stepped around her and made my way down the short hallway. “Here’s the bathroom, if you’d like to take a shower to warm up while I finish up downstairs. Next door here is the spare bedroom. There’s a lock on the door.”

  She poked her head in and looked around while I went into my own room and grabbed some clothes from my dresser. Returning to the hallway, I handed her the pile. “You can sleep in these if you like, and leave your clothes over the curtain to dry.”

  She tipped her head at me and the smile she gave was more cheerful than I would have been had I been caught in the rain with a dead car and forced to spend the night with a stranger. But she just said, “Go ahead and finish up then. I’ll take a shower. Thank you, Sam.”

  I nodded and ducked back out the door and into the hallway, then made my way downstairs and back to the bookstore, trying hard not to think about the woman in my apartment, who would soon be naked in my shower. And then wearing my clothes. She would use my shampoo; she would smell like me. And my clothes would smell like her.

  She was the first woman, aside from my mother and Jeanne, who had set foot in my apartment since I’d moved in. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to share the space with anyone—far from it. But after enough bad experiences with women using me to get at my brother, I’d learned to be very protective of my space.

  But I liked Ellen. She was open, and friendly, and she seemed to like me. And most importantly, she seemed to have no idea who my brother was.

  At the front of the store, I ducked behind the counter and lifted the first of the boxes up onto the desk, then pulled the knife from my pocket and sliced open the packing tape. Time to finally get this over with.

  I ripped open the top of the box with perhaps slightly more force than was strictly necessary, and the stack of freshly printed books spilled across the counter. The f
ace on the cover looked up at me, Caroline’s face, a reproduction of the painting done in the thick, bold brushstrokes of my brother’s signature style. Her bright golden hair was depicted with a thousand different hues of yellows, oranges, and browns, and her eyes were a smudge of blue oil paint in a sea of colors that made up her warm skin. I hadn’t seen Caroline’s real face in more than a decade, not since college, when she was full of tears and explanations and apologies, and then at a few awkward family events when she’d made an appearance on my brother’s arm. And then she fell out of his life as well, replaced by him as easily as she’d replaced me. But I’d seen the painting many times since then, over the years, and while the pain was gone, the jealousy and resentment outgrown and discarded, I still never cared to see it.

  The title cut a bold swath across the top of the book: A Life of Color—and when I flipped it over, my brother’s smiling face, so like my own, looked out at me from the back cover.

  Hurrying now, I stacked the books around the register before ripping open the second box and starting to build a display on the nearby table of local authors. I wondered if he would ever come see the display—he’d not been here yet, despite currently living not twenty minutes away, but seeing his own work on display had always held strong appeal for Jeremy.

  I forcibly chased this thought away, and thought instead of the woman in my apartment. I’d much rather think of her—much rather be upstairs with her, than down here letting old bitter feelings get the best of me.

  I felt a sudden rush of gratitude that she’d picked tonight of all nights to show up on my doorstep, and that I’d answered the door at her knock, even though the shop had long since closed for the night. I was glad not to be alone tonight; just to have company, someone new to talk to, was a welcome distraction.

  And I liked Ellen. I’d liked her immediately, with her friendly, approachable smile and effortless charm. She seemed the kind of person who was friends with everyone, and took easily to strangers, with a kind of trust and openness that I didn’t have.

  I’d felt something, too, when she’d taken my hand. She had too, I thought. I’d seen the way she looked at me. I wondered, just for a minute, what it would be like to share more than just my apartment with her tonight. God knew I could use some companionship, and I wondered if she would be open to it. I thought there might be a chance.

  I sliced open the last box of books and slid a few into place on a shelf before taking the rest back to the storeroom. Caroline’s face stared up at me. Ellen really was just my brother’s type—bold, striking features, long, thick hair, a laugh lurking in her eyes. What would my brother do in my place? I didn’t even have to stop and think about it. He’d charm his way into her bed. He would paint her likeness, and sell it for more than my bookstore would make in six months. Or maybe he’d write a song about her, or she’d become a character in a book. Jeremy had many talents, after all. But either way, he’d get what he wanted, and so would she, and then she’d be on her way the next morning.

  And as much as I liked Ellen, and thought maybe she liked me, and maybe there was or could be something there between us...I would never be like my brother.

  Chapter 3

  ELLEN

  Sam was an enigma. Intensely attractive, with that thick dark hair and brooding eyes, that square jaw and full lower lip. He didn’t seem to like to speak unless he had something to say—a concept I admit I wasn’t entirely familiar with—but there was so much going on behind those eyes, and in that ready smile. He was like a lake, smooth and placid on the surface, but with God-knew-what lurking in the depths.

  I snorted to myself at my own foolishness and leaned back into the spray of the shower, rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. I was being an idiot, I knew it, but it was hard not to get carried away when I was standing here, in his shower, surrounded by the scent of his soap and shampoo. The man had a presence, that was for sure, and I could feel it just by existing in his space, solid and tangible all around me.

  Ugh. Maybe I’d just been single too long. Hell, I’d only met the guy an hour ago.

  I shut the water off and helped myself to one of the fresh towels he’d left for me on the rack. Thick and blue like the ones he’d brought down to the bookstore for me, though I could smell him on this one—laundry soap and the faintest hint of cologne. I dried myself with it then wrapped it around my hair, before retrieving his clothes from where I’d left them on the counter. I debated for half a second whether to put back on the underwear or bra I’d been wearing, but they were both still damp from the rain.

  His clothes were enormous on me. I had to roll the sweatpants at both the legs and the waist, and the long-sleeve t-shirt came down nearly to my knees. But the fabric was well worn and soft against my bare skin, and I immediately didn’t want to give them back.

  Sam was still down in the bookstore, so I took the opportunity to wander through the tiny apartment. The space reminded me of the man—quiet and simple, but warm and solid. It was sparsely furnished, but everything there was sturdy, made of solid wood and thick leather, with soft lighting and warm plaid throws on the sofa. It was homey. I’d never lived in a place like that. Hell, aside from San Diego, I’d never stayed in one place long enough to buy real furniture or decorate. Just one of the byproducts of my nomadic childhood.

  I turned when I heard the door open, and then the man himself entered, stopping when he saw me. His eyes were unreadable, but I watched as his gaze moved over me and his mouth opened slightly. I held my breath, but he just closed it again and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it.

  “Did you finish your work down there?” I asked to break the silence.

  He just nodded and brushed past me into the kitchen, where he filled the kettle that sat on the counter and switched it on. “Would you like anything to drink? I’m making tea. Or eat?” he added belatedly.

  “I’d love some tea, thank you. And thank you for letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”

  He nodded again, and I could almost feel the warmth of his eyes on me.

  I lingered in the kitchen doorway, watching as he moved easily around the small room, pulling mugs from the cabinet and teabags from the pantry. We were quiet while we waited for the water to boil, but it was an easy silence, not awkward or uncomfortable, and I was too preoccupied watching the contrast between the delicate patterned mugs and Sam’s large capable hands to want to fill the space with chatter.

  It wasn’t until the tea was poured and steeping and we’d settled on opposite ends of the large living room sofa that I finally broke the silence.

  “So, how long have you owned the bookstore?” I asked, tucking my feet underneath me and turning to face him.

  “It was a year last month,” he answered.

  “Did you always want to own a bookstore?”

  He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess so. It wasn’t something I really planned on, but I went to school for business, and moved back here after, and when the building came up for sale, it seemed like a logical step.”

  I leaned toward him, wrapping my fingers around my mug. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who liked to talk about himself, and I found myself feeling unaccountably pleased that he was talking to me.

  “Did you grow up around here then?”

  He nodded again, his voice low. “Yeah. About twenty minutes away. My parents are still there; grandmother too. And my brother has a house up on the ridge.”

  I looked at him questioningly and he grimaced. “Fancy part of town.”

  I hadn’t realized this little town was big enough to have a fancy part. I wondered what that would be like, staying in one place your whole life, with the same people and your family just a short drive away. I started to ask, but he changed the subject before I got the chance. “What about you? Are you moving for work?”

  I untucked my feet and stretched them out in front of me, and noticed that his eyes followed my movements. “I guess so. I’
m a freelance illustrator. Children’s books, advertisements, a bit of everything. I can really work anywhere. I had a job in San Diego that kept me there, but I decided to go back to freelancing when I moved to Phoenix.”

  “So, what’s in Ohio, then?”

  I took a sip of my tea. “My friend Dana lives there. I’ve known her since college, and she’s going to let me stay with her for a bit while I figure out where I want to go next. Maybe out east? I’m not sure yet.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not sure yet? Where have you lived so far?”

  I gave an involuntary laugh. “What, altogether? Or just since college?” I thought back, ticking each place off on my fingers. “Since college I’ve lived in Georgia, San Francisco, Texas, a handful of places in Europe, New York, San Diego, and Phoenix. Ohio next, I guess.”

  His eyes were wide, like I wasn’t what he expected and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. “And how long has it been since college, exactly?”

  I counted back. “Um, eight years? Yeah, I think that’s right. I didn’t graduate though.”

  He paused, looking at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to piece together. Finally he said, “Where did you grow up then?”

  I snorted before I could help myself, and his mouth quirked up on one side. “Add another fifteen or so places to that list. I don’t think we stayed anywhere more than a year or two.”

  “Army family?” he asked, and I shook my head, taking a long drink of my tea. “No, my parents were…’free spirits.’” I made air quotes around the words. “They thought culture and worldly experience was better for a child than a stable location and standard education. I think I spent the majority of my childhood in a van. But, on the plus side, I guess I’ve been about everywhere and experienced a lot of things I might not have otherwise.”