A Fairfield Romance Box Set 1

by Lydia Reeves

  “Sorry, Dana,” I said meekly. “I was hoping you were still an early riser.”

  “That was before kids,” she informed me with a yawn. “And never on weekends. It’s cool though, I need to get up anyway. What’s up, El?”

  I transferred the phone to my other ear. “I just wanted to let you know I was on my way again. My car is all fixed, and I should be there in a few hours.”

  “Okay,” she said with a laugh, and I caught an edge in her voice. “Should I expect you in about six hours, or two weeks?”

  I frowned. “I told you I was sorry. I really am on my way this time.”

  She sighed. “I know, El. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just get a new story every time I talk to you. Whenever you get here is fine, really. It’s no problem.”

  Something twisted in my stomach. I’d always considered my spontaneity a positive trait. It meant that I was flexible and always ready for anything. I’d never really considered that maybe I was just flaky.

  I put on a smile, hoping it would show through in my voice. “Well, I’m on my way now. Maybe we can grab lunch together? I’ve had a crazy week; I can tell you all about it.” It would be good to get another perspective on it all.

  “Can’t today.” Dana yawned again. “I’ll be out all day. But I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just make yourself at home.”

  I felt disappointment well up inside me, but reminded myself she hadn’t known I was coming today. It wasn’t her fault. It was my own. Again.

  Oh well, there would be plenty of time to catch up with her later. I’d be there for…well, who knew how long. Long enough to start on my book illustration project, but not so long that I was imposing on her. And then I’d be off again. To somewhere new. Boston, maybe. I’d never been there.

  The thought didn’t fill me with excitement like I expected. Oh, I definitely wanted to go to Boston. Or Rhode Island, or wherever I ended up. Maine, maybe. I just didn’t want to go there alone.

  I sighed as I signaled and merged onto the interstate, leaving Fairfield behind. It had taken such a short amount of time to fall for Sam. Why did I have the sinking feeling that it would take much longer to get over him?

  Chapter 12

  SAM

  I wasn’t surprised to find Ellen gone when I woke up. Disappointed, yes. Heartbroken, yes. But not surprised.

  I was a little surprised that she had managed to get all of her boxes out of the apartment without waking me, but considering how poorly I’d slept the night before, I imagined it would have taken a lot to wake me once I’d finally fallen unconscious.

  Waking in my bed alone felt so foreign, so wrong, as did eating breakfast alone hunched over the counter, and it amazed me how she had fit herself so easily into my life so quickly.

  I found her note on the counter, and after the sense of gut-wrenching loss I’d felt at finding the guest room cleared out that morning, I couldn’t suppress the jolt of hope that shot through me when I saw my name scribbled on the paper in her messy handwriting. I held my breath as I unfolded the paper, not even sure what I was hoping for. “Gone to pick up my car, back soon?” “Maybe we can make this work long distance?” Or maybe, “I’ve changed my mind and I can’t live without you; let me give up all my hopes and dreams and stay with you forever in Nowhere, Indiana?” I snorted humorlessly, opened the paper, and read:

  Sam,

  I’m sorry I can’t stay for the party today. I think it’ll be better if I’m not there. Tell Jeanne I said hi and tell Geoff I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long enough to say goodbye. And Sam, I’m sorry. Not about the party. But for everything else.

  Ellen

  I folded the paper again with nerveless fingers and let it fall onto the counter. She was sorry. For what? I wondered. For her hurtful words last night? For not even staying long enough to say goodbye? Maybe for breaking my heart?

  I guessed I would never know.

  I wasn’t sure it mattered.

  Geoff was there when I came down alone to open the store. He didn’t say a word, but two cherry Danishes appeared on my desk half an hour later, along with a steaming mug of coffee. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

  The morning lasted forever, the interminable ticking of the clock on my office wall loud in the confined space. I stayed in my office, preferring the solitude there to the people that gathered in the store, eager to exclaim over the finished mural. I tried not to look at it. I loved it, and appreciated all the work she had done, for me and for my store; I just didn’t want to see it. Not right now. So instead I hid out in my office, letting Geoff and Rachel and Marian deal with the customers, while I sat in silence, pretending to work, vacillating between sadness and anger. Anger at myself for being right the whole time. I had known a guy like me would never be enough for a woman like her. I was no world traveler, no linguist, no adventurer. I wasn’t spontaneous or extroverted. Why had I thought I’d be enough to convince her to stay? No, I had known better from the start, and I’d let myself get hurt anyway.

  But I stared at my computer screen and tried not to think about how mad I was that I’d gotten myself into this mess. Or about how empty my apartment would be when I went upstairs, or about how she’d only been gone for a few hours, but I already missed her laugh, and her smile, and her presence so much it hurt.

  * * *

  The last thing in the world I wanted to do was go to the birthday party. But at the same time, I supposed it would be a reprieve from the mindless staring and churning thoughts that had occupied my day so far. So it was with a mixed sense of relief and foreboding that I left the store that afternoon in the capable hands of my employees—who gave me wary and sympathetic looks, but were wise enough not to say anything—and made the short drive across town to my parents’ house.

  They lived just outside of the suburbs, in the house I’d grown up in, a kind of modern-style farmhouse on a few acres of land. It hadn’t changed much since I’d lived there; the house was still largely a shrine to my brother, with framed prints of his paintings lining the walls interspersed with photos of the four of us together. Functionally, it had changed though, as for a few years now it had been occupied part-time by a rampaging toddler, and thus toys and photographs of Dylan were strewn over most surfaces. My brother and Jeanne had joint custody, and yet my nephew spent most of his daytime hours at my parents’ house. Or at least he had until he’d started kindergarten the year before. During summer vacation, though, all bets were off, and my parents’ house had turned back into Dylan’s personal play space once again. School had just started up again, but their house hadn’t yet recovered.

  It actually cheered me momentarily, seeing Dylan’s toys spread over the floor as I let myself in, and then the monster himself was on me, arms wrapped around my waist in a bear hug.

  “Uncle Sam! It’s my birthday!”

  “I know, buddy,” I said, dropping to my knees so I could hug him properly. “Happy birthday!”

  “Thanks! There’s gonna be cake. And presents, too! I know what some of them are, but not all of them. I don’t know what that one is,” he said suggestively, eyeing the wrapped package I held.

  “And you’re not going to until later,” I informed him. “You like surprises.”

  He considered this, his dark hair falling over his eyes. He looked so much like my brother, but he had Jeanne’s warm gray eyes. “That’s true,” he said after a moment. “I do like surprises.”

  And then he was off, darting into the other room at full speed.

  I rose to my feet, still smiling, and left my present—a jigsaw puzzle, one of Dylan’s current obsessions—on the table with the other wrapped packages by the entryway. I made my way into the kitchen where everyone was gathered, counting down the last few seconds before my family struck.

  They were efficient about it, at least.

  “Sammy, you made it. I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

  “Hi, Mom.” I dropped an obligatory kiss on her proffered
cheek and took a seat at the kitchen island. I had called during the week to tell her I was bringing Ellen with me, and while she’d had a lot to say about that at the time, she seemed to have forgotten now. Though to be fair, I much preferred it that way. I didn’t want to talk about Ellen. Or the mural.

  Of course, I couldn’t be that lucky.

  My brother Jeremy wandered into the room and gave me a slap on the back. “Hey man, I heard you got someone else to paint the wall of your store. How dare you?”

  He winked and grabbed a sandwich from the tray on the island, then settled into a chair next to me. I knew he was joking—my brother wasn’t a bad guy, and I knew he was aware of the way my parents compared the two of us, but I think he found it more amusing than hurtful.

  My mother looked up at his comment though. “That’s right Sammy, you really didn’t consider your brother’s feelings.” Jeremy choked on his sandwich and coughed. “Is the mural done?” she went on. “You said you’d bring pictures.”

  “It’s done,” I said shortly. “And sorry, I forgot.” I had forgotten, but I probably wouldn’t have brought them had I remembered. The mural was a work of art, but I certainly didn’t need to hear the inevitable comparison.

  “Oh, Sam.”

  “You can always come to the store and see it,” I said mildly.

  My mother gave me a martyred look—her specialty—and bent to remove a pan from the oven. “Like I have time to come all the way into town when I’m busy chasing my grandson all over the house. I just wanted to see what you had done. It’s good that you’re trying to cheer up your store. I’ve always thought it was awfully—”

  My father poked his graying head into the room, effectively cutting her off. “Have you seen my newspaper—oh, hi Sam, didn’t hear you come in. Say, have you read Jer’s book yet? Real work of art.” He didn’t stay to wait for a response, just wandered back out in search of the crossword puzzle he had no doubt abandoned.

  “That’s right,” my brother informed me with a grin. “A real work of art.”

  “Now don’t be modest, Jeremy,” my mother started. “You know you—”

  At that moment a hand reached over my shoulder and a full glass of wine appeared on the counter in front of me. I grabbed it without hesitation and took a long drink, shooting a grateful look to where Jeanne was pulling out the chair on my other side.

  “Jeanne!” my mother exclaimed. “This is a child’s birthday party.”

  “I didn’t give any wine to Dylan,” Jeanne said mildly. “Just thought Sam might like a drink.”

  “Why would Sam want a drink?” my mom asked suspiciously, but her attention was captured a moment later by Dylan, racing through the kitchen and colliding with her legs.

  “So, where’s Ellen?” Jeanne asked in a low voice. “Didn’t you say she was coming?”

  “She couldn’t make it. She said to tell you she was sorry, and it was nice to meet you.” I worked hard to keep my voice and expression even, but I must not have succeeded, because Jeanne’s eyes widened.

  She lowered her voice further. “Is everything okay?”

  “She left,” I said tersely.

  “Like…left left?”

  “Yes. You knew she was only staying until her car got fixed.” I took a long drink of my wine.

  “Well, yes. But I mean…I thought that might change.”

  “Well, it didn’t.”

  Wisely, she let the subject drop, and after a minute I rose from the island and went to help my mom carry dishes into the dining room. I felt Jeanne’s eyes on me though, all through dinner, though I successfully avoided sitting next to her.

  The evening dragged. We ate dinner—all of Dylan’s favorite foods, which made for an interesting spread of macaroni and cheese, tater tots, French fries, and buttered noodles.

  Dylan had had another party earlier in the week with his friends, so this one was family only, and with just the six of us—my parents, Jeremy, Jeanne, myself, and Dylan—I had hoped the focus would stay on my nephew. And while he did command much of the attention, there was still plenty of time left over for my parents to question my life choices, for Jeremy to poke fun at me and graciously accept praise from our parents, and for Jeanne to send sympathetic glances my way. By the time we’d finished Dylan’s birthday cake and turned to opening presents, I wanted nothing more than to lock myself in my apartment, alone, and never come out. Well, maybe not alone, but that was the only option at present.

  I’d been filled in on Jeremy’s travel schedule for the year, his book signings, art exhibitions, and future plans, and every word he said just reminded me more of Ellen. They really would have been perfect for each other, I thought bitterly. They had so much in common—the love of travel, of art, and the willingness to jump into something new at the slightest distraction. It was a wonder my brother had stayed married to Jeanne as long as he had.

  I glanced her way and found her watching me, and she rose and crossed the room, finding a seat on the sofa by my side as her son ripped open presents across the room.

  “You look terrible,” she said bluntly.

  “Thanks.”

  “Seriously. You look like someone ran over your dog. I’m surprised no one has noticed.”

  I raised my eyebrow at her. “I’m not.”

  “Okay, I’m not either,” she conceded with a smile. “Seriously though, tell me what’s going on.”

  I’d only had two glasses of wine, and I wasn’t drunk, far from it, but the combination of the loose feeling from the alcohol and the sympathetic ear of someone who actually cared drove me to honesty.

  “I can’t believe I messed up so bad.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  I sighed and leaned back against the sofa. “I knew what Ellen was like from the beginning. She’s adventurous and independent. A world traveler. Spontaneous. I mean, those are all things I love about her, but she was never going to be happy with a guy like me. I just didn’t expect to fall for her the way I did.”

  Jeanne narrowed her eyes at me. “What do you mean, a guy like you?”

  I waved my hand vaguely. “You know, someone…I don’t know. Boring. Quiet. Whatever the opposite of spontaneous is. Someone who hasn’t accomplished anything.”

  “Oh, you mean like getting the first master’s degree in his family? Or buying a building and opening a successful business by age thirty?”

  I shook my head. “You’re missing the point.”

  “No, I’m not.” She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and fixed me with a stare. “You’re not boring, and there’s nothing wrong with being quiet. And you’re spontaneous. You invited Ellen to stay with you two seconds after meeting her. That’s not only spontaneous, but kind, too. You let her paint the entire back wall of your store with barely any consideration. I think you two have more in common than you think.”

  I shrugged. Dylan had finished opening his presents and was now elbows deep in a train set. My father was down on the floor, reading the instructions while Dylan spread the pieces out in front of him. My mom had vanished back into the kitchen, and my brother had taken over Dad’s crossword puzzle. No one was paying any attention to me and Jeanne.

  “She needs to be with someone like Jeremy. Someone on her level.” I sighed, draining the last of my wine, and cast a glance over at my brother. “At least that way when one of them moved on to something new and sparkly, no one would get hurt.”

  Jeanne laughed. “It’s true, your brother’s attention span was never his strongest attribute.”

  I glanced over at her. It had been nearly six years, and both she and my brother seemed fine with the roles they had, but still, I could sometimes see the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” I said. “I don’t think I ever told you that.”

  “Oh, Sam. I appreciate that. But that’s not why Jeremy and I didn’t work out.”

  “No?”

  “No. Jeremy and I just weren’t right for each other. He would have stayed wi
th me, I think, if I’d pressed it. But we weren’t good together. But you and Ellen—you were. I know I only met her once, but you two were good together, you really were.”

  I looked down into my empty glass. “It didn’t matter in the end.”

  “I’m sorry this happened,” Jeanne said quietly. “I really am. But if she left, it was because of her issues, not because of you.”

  We were quiet for a long moment, until finally I said, “You know, I never even got her phone number. It never occurred to me, and she left so fast.”

  Jeanne put an arm around my shoulder. “I know it’s cheesy, but it’s true. If what you had was real, she’ll come back on her own. And if she doesn’t…well. I guess you won’t be any worse off than you are now, huh?”

  Chapter 13

  ELLEN

  Interstates all looked the same. Especially in the Midwest. Just long expanses of flat, endless pavement, cornfields only broken by small, identical towns stretching to the horizon, which never grew any closer. There was nothing new to look at, nothing to grab my attention, nothing to keep me from thinking about Sam. From remembering how he’d looked the first night I saw him, tall and broad-shouldered, emanating an aura of calm competence. I missed his soothing energy. His dark eyes and the intensity of his expression, which made me feel like when I spoke, he was really listening.

  For the first hour or two, every time a thought of Sam entered my mind, I pushed it away. I blocked it out, and filled it instead with thoughts of the future, of Dana, of my mom, anything. It didn’t work. So instead I gave in, and I wallowed. I pictured him in my mind, his dark hair, the slow curl of his mouth when he smiled. I pictured waking up next to him in the morning, his sleepy protests when I tried to get out of bed, his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. His lips on mine. His lips everywhere.