“I think you have the perfect new owner, Hattie.” Eliza grins at me.
Is it strange that I’m so proud of myself for correctly preparing a package for shipping? Who am I?
“We’ll see.” Grandma’s brows draw together, but I see the smirk she’s trying to conceal.
“Presley, it was very nice to meet you. I hope we see you soon, maybe at the Summer Kickoff Carnival next weekend? My boys and I always run the caramel corn booth.”
How very quaint and adorable that sounded. And I had to bite my own tongue to keep from drooling when I thought about hot Dr. Nash and caramel in the same sentence.
“Sure, it’s not like I’ve got other plans in Fawn Hill.” I shrug.
She leaves after a brief conversation with Grandma, which I can’t hear since they’re by the door.
“Come on, chicken legs, let’s go get some dinner,” Grandma says, walking behind the counter to close the till and shut down the computers.
“Where do you want to go?” Picking up some scattered boxes and packaging materials, I help her clean and straighten so that we leave the shop pristine.
“Not even a question, we’re going to Kip’s. Can’t get a better slice of pie anywhere within a hundred miles. Plus, if you know who to ask, they have fresh-baked Amish bread behind the counter. Get ready for some carbs, my dear.”
Sounded like a great night to me.
After closing up shop, we walk the two blocks to Kip’s Diner, which is bustling even on a Tuesday night. When I walk in behind Grandma, almost every table turns to say hello, and there are a number of people who shout “Hattie!” across the restaurant. Families with little children, older couples, and throngs of teenagers fill the booths. Motown music puts a jovial tune in the atmosphere, and I’m instantly charmed. Plus, whatever that smell is coming from the kitchen, it’s making my mouth water.
We sit in a corner booth in the back, and I get the feeling that they keep this open just for my grandmother. Our waitress, a bright-eyed brunette teenager, greets her and asks if she wants the regular.
“Yes, dear. My regular cheeseburger with Colby-jack, extra pickles, onion rings on the side and a nice, cold glass of iced tea. And bring some of that Amish bread out before our meal, I want my granddaughter to try it.”
The girl nods and looks to me. “I’ll have the same.”
Whatever Grandma orders must be good, so I just go with it.
I look out the window as she collects the menus and walks away, watching the late May sun descend over the buildings on Main Street. It really is a cute little town, with its pretty storefronts and brick buildings positioned between rolling green hills and mountains.
“See something you like?” Grandma interrupts my thoughts.
I smile, shaking my head. “Just looking.”
“See anyone you like?” She winks, waving a hand over the diner.
I can’t help turning my head, looking around the diner to see if a certain pet doctor was there. “Subtle, Grandma. But no, I don’t have time for that.”
“A young, beautiful fox like you doesn’t have time for passion or love? Then I must have one foot in the grave if I see some faces I’d like to get to know.”
Rolling my eyes, I can’t help the laugh that bursts forth. “You’re shameless. But my life is all over the place, it would be unfair to invite someone into this chaos.”
Our waitress sets delicious-smelling bread down in front of us, and I drool at the steam coming off of it.
“Hmm, seems to me you might be able to find some roots here,” Grandma says this quietly, almost willing my thoughts to consider making this move permanent.
“Stop messing with me, you old coot.” I shoot her a perfectly practiced stink eye.
She chuckles and breaks off a piece of bread. “It’s fun having you around, kid. Makes me feel young again. Makes me feel like I might get you into some trouble.”
I had a feeling she might be right about that second part, and I was a little scared and a little excited to find out what said trouble was.
5
Keaton
Living in a small town has its advantages.
Everyone knows your name. People are friendly. It’s not hard to find anything. The taxes are cheaper. There is a sense of inclusiveness.
But with everything, there are disadvantages.
Everyone knows your name and your occupation. Which leads to many people thinking you’ll give them a discount because you went to high school together, or because their mother donated to your brother’s marathon fundraiser, or some other thing.
People are friendly, which leads to nosiness, which often means every single person in town will ask why you aren’t married yet. I won’t even tell you how many times I’ve been asked why I don’t just find a nice girl.
And that sense of inclusiveness? Sometimes, you just want to be alone. A nameless face in a sea of thousands.
I don’t mean to be a downer, because I truly love Fawn Hill and my friends and family, but it’s just been one of those days. I had a dog die on my table this morning and then got a call from a local farmer that his horse lost the foal she was carrying. To top it off, Dierdra forgot to make confirmation calls to today’s patients, so three out of my four wellness visits didn’t show up, and I spilled coffee in my car.
Which is why I did a stupid thing.
Generally, I am as in-the-lines as they come. I go to work; I pay my taxes early; I call my grandparents weekly and always use the crosswalk. I don’t color outsides the lines; I don’t break rules or promises, to myself or others. I’m predictable and boring, as I’ve been told a thousand times by Fletcher, and I like it that way.
I’d been good for two weeks about not allowing myself to go into McDaniel’s Books & Post. I already had a crush on Presley McDaniel, one that I’d been denying since she came into my practice. There was no good that could come from crushing harder on her. She was a nomad, and there was no way a woman like that was settling in Fawn Hill.
Except, as I was walking back from getting a mid-afternoon coffee at Fawn Hill Java, my mind went haywire and threw my carefully constructed rule book out the window. Before I knew what was happening, the bell over the door was tinkling as I crossed the threshold, and then there she was.
Presley straightened up from where she’d been slouching over a book on the counter. Her sunset-colored hair was piled high on top of her head today, leaving her face unframed. I could see the high slant of her cheekbones and the way that all of those long lashes kissed her cheeks when they hooded over those green eyes. She looks comfortable yet put-together in her short-sleeved sundress, and I’m rewarded with a brief smile as I walk through the door.
“Reading on the job?” I hope that opening line is okay.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt the urge to flirt that I’m probably completely rusty.
Presley looks down at the book and flaps the front cover over to mark her spot, then closes it.
“It’s slow this time of day. The morning rush of postal carriers and UPS drivers is done, and the lunch chaos of workers trying to mail letters is over. Now I just have to wait for the onslaught of after-school mom’s trying to mail same-day packages, and it’ll be time to close up shop.”
I laugh at her accurate timetable of a normal day in Fawn Hill. “Sounds about right. Although dealing with animals is much less predictable than the Fawn Hill PTA. What are you reading?”
She holds it up so I can see the front cover, whose title is The Perfect Couple, written by Elin Hilderbrand. “It’s fantastic, a little mystery, a mega beach read. I forgot how much I like reading, how a story can transport you to a different place entirely. I lost my love for books when I moved to New York City.”
I walk farther into the shop and over to the counter to stand directly across from Presley. “I know what you mean. I’ll read two or three great books and then get so busy that new ones start collecting dust on my nightstand. But when I come back to reading, I always rem
ember how much I like it.”
Presley nods like I’m speaking the exact thoughts she’s thinking. “Yes! You’re so right.”
My fingers drum on the counter as I search for something to keep the conversation going. “Do you miss living in New York City?”
A thoughtful look passes over her face. “Hmm, well, I guess I miss the Chinese food you can order ’round the clock. And my yoga studio, gosh do I miss teaching classes. There isn’t even a gym in Fawn Hill.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes light up when she mentions yoga. “You should talk to Lily at the library. They host cooking classes and other courses during the week, I’m sure they’d love if you mentioned teaching a yoga class.”
Presley looks taken aback for a moment. “I … I could do that, yeah.”
Our conversation lapses for a moment, and I want to ask the obvious question burning in my throat.
“So is there anything else you miss?” There is no subtlety left in my voice. I am asking if she has someone she left back in New York.
She smiles like she knows what I’m trying to get at. “No, nothing else. I actually kind of like it here, which keeps surprising me. Oh, and I finally got a slice of pie at Kip’s. They’re either going to make me fat or take all my money. I’m not sure which will happen first.”
“I won’t tell you how many times I’ve had to loosen my belt on the afternoons I eat there.”
And now I’m telling her about unbuckling my pants. Great. I have absolutely zero game.
But, Presley laughs, a tiny hint of pink stealing over her cheeks. “I don’t doubt it.”
And here it goes. I take a breath, my brain shouting at me to definitely not pass go and collect two hundred dollars. But my heart and my mouth tell that useless thought center they’re doing it anyway.
“Maybe one afternoon I could take you out for a slice of pie? Or three?”
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I suddenly feel the need to drink a gallon of water. How stupid am I? I said I wasn’t going to let my crush on this woman tempt me, and not twenty minutes into my second conversation with her, I’m asking her out. In a totally cheesy way, let’s not forget. A slice of pie? I’m basically insinuating that I want to have sex with her. Which I do, but …
Shut up, doc.
“Um … yeah, sure. I’m kind of busy learning the ropes here, but maybe we could meet up in a couple of weeks.”
And the slap of rejection burns across my cheeks. Ever wonder what it sounds like when a woman politely turns you down? Presley just gave the prime example.
“Great.” I plaster a fake smile on my face. “That sounds great. Well, I’ve got to get back, have a guinea pig with a hiccup problem.”
I start to walk out the door, but her voice stops me. “Oh, was there anything you needed help with in the shop?”
Fuck me. I walked in here and didn’t even provide a cover for why I stopped in. I scramble, looking around, and pick up a random book off the shelf closest to me.
“I was going to buy this new book, but it will probably just collect dust on my nightstand. Thanks anyway!”
It’s not until I’m almost out the door and can feel her hiding a smile behind my back, that I realize I just put back a children’s sudoku puzzle book on the shelf.
6
Presley
Oh my, the vet is adorable.
I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips as I watch him speed walk back to his office, which is across the street and down three storefronts to the corner where the converted Victorian home sits. His deep breath before he asked me out. The fumbling, cheesy line about pie. The way his hands kept drumming on the counter. Keaton had been so nervous that I thought he might pass out before I could answer.
The sweet, vanilla Dr. Nash seemed like he’d make any number of these small-town girls the happiest person on the planet, but for me? We just weren’t right. I felt like a bitch turning him down, especially with the roundabout no I gave as an answer, but he deserves someone much more together than me. He’s a calm, blue-skied spring afternoon and I’m a tornado in the middle of a blizzard.
In the seconds after he asked, I almost said yes. Going out with the sexy vet in my new town would be fun. Hell, even if he couldn’t hold a conversation, he was nice to look at. But he could hold a conversation, and a witty one at that. I think that’s what ultimately made me say no. I was going to convince myself that we wouldn’t fit because … what if I ended up really liking him? I had no clue if I was staying here, or where I ultimately wanted my life to go. Getting involved with someone, especially someone as steady as Keaton Nash, was just asking for trouble.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I lift it to see two messages waiting for me. I open the first.
Gwen: How is Grandma? Tell her I send my love, but I’m working this weekend so I won’t be able to call.
I roll my eyes. So typical of my older sister to “send her love” in a text message that isn’t even to our grandmother, and then casually drop in that she’ll be doing important lawyer things this weekend so don’t disrupt her. That’s basically what the message was saying, and it infuriated me that even after twenty-seven years of knowing her narcissistic ways, she could still get to me.
Presley: Grandma is good, I’ll tell her.
I left it short because I wasn’t going to open the door for her to brag about work more than she already did. After a minute of waiting to see if she’ll respond, and maybe ask about me, she doesn’t, and I open the second message.
Ryan: Hey, boo. How’s it going in bumblefuck? Miss you, just had an iced macchiato and it made me think of you. Come home and I’ll buy you one. I’ll even spring for a seventeen-dollar martini at Al Pucco’s.
The smile that stretches my face is real, and a homesickness for my best friend and the city hits like a tidal wave. Although, I’d forgotten how expensive it all was. Seventeen bucks for a martini? I’d seen a sign outside the only bar on Main Street advertising three-dollar beers every weekday.
Presley: Miss you more, lady. Surprisingly, bumblefuck ain’t so bad. Very quiet, but they have three-dollar beer and the best pie I’ve ever eaten. How’s the apartment? Your job? How’s Daniel?
Ryan and I lived together when I first moved to the Big Apple after college. We met at a spin class and fell in friendship love over organic avocado burgers. And now that I think about it, I kind of want to slap myself in the face for ever being that uppity. We shared an apartment for three years, until she moved in with her boyfriend, Daniel. He worked at a big Wall Street financial firm, and while I liked him okay, I couldn’t really understand what Ryan saw in him. She was a smart-as-hell coder at one of the biggest social media companies in the world, ran triathlons, and had lived in London for half of her childhood. Compared to her, Daniel was drier than gluten-free bread.
Ryan: Apartment is no more. Same with Daniel. He wanted to go to Florida for our summer vacation. I wanted to go to Madrid. It took me this long to see that the guy was dull as drywall. Who the hell wastes a year of their life for that?
Presley: Thank God, I don’t know how many more times I could point out to you that the man ironed his socks. Good riddance. So, Madrid it is, then?
Ryan: I leave in two weeks, can’t wait. My boss is going to let me work remotely for two months, so I’ll be there for a while. A tryst with a Latin lover sounds like exactly the right dose of medicine to heal my stupid heart. Care to join me?
Her life was so cool, and it made me jealous more than I wished to admit.
Presley: Gotta pass this time, love. Have to stay here to help Grandma out. You should come visit, though. You might get a hoot out of this place. Plus, I’m thinking about hosting a yoga class. They don’t have a studio here.
Ryan: Wait, you’re going to start your own class? That’s fucking awesome, Pres. Proud of you. Maybe I’ll journey to bumblefuck after my European tour. Gotta get back to work, can’t keep the masses from posting their most ridiculous inner thoughts. Lov
e you.
Presley: Love you, more.
Sighing, I set my phone down on the counter and start the procedure for locking up. I don’t know why I’d randomly told her that I might start a yoga class. Keaton Nash had only told me about the library offerings less than half an hour ago. But the idea was flicking me in the forehead now, and wouldn’t go away, like an annoying little brother.
I’d obviously noticed in the month I’d lived here that Fawn Hill didn’t have a yoga studio, much less a gym. I’d been doing my practice on a yoga mat in Grandma’s basement, and that was getting pretty old. It wasn’t relaxing or soothing to move through sequences in a dank, moldy, unfinished room.
Maybe I’ll check into the library classes like Keaton had mentioned. The worst the person running them could say was no. But, if they said yes, this might be something I could do for myself. It might be the start of something.
And wasn’t it strange that the idea of building something here, of putting down roots in this small town, didn’t have me sprinting in the other direction?
7
Keaton
Sun rays peak out from behind the clouds as my feet hit the pavement.
I rounded the bend on the far end of the lake at Bloomsbury Park, running steadily around the mile-long track paved into the shores of the town’s only body of water. Sweat trickled from my brows … for the first week of June, it was humid and hot even at eight in the morning. My calves ached and the knee I’d hyperextended playing baseball in high school screamed at me. But I kept going. The burn in my lungs felt cathartic, and running is one of the only activities that takes me out of my own head.
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