"This has been my house far longer than it has been yours," I point out calmly, even though my racing pulse says otherwise. Still, I stiffen my spine and stand my ground. "I'm keeping this room."
"You are such a spoiled, princesslike brat," he snarls at me as he comes up full on the bottom step, which puts him face-to-face with me. "Nothing but a diva, although frankly, I didn't expect any different."
I suck in a harsh breath, his words slicing deep. When I force the air back out, I snap back at him, "You know nothing about me."
"I know plenty," he says with a grimace, clearly showing his dislike. "I know you never bothered to come back here to see Valeria except for her funeral. That she died a lonely old woman. You turned your back on your heritage and your family business and your hometown because you were too good for all of this."
His words almost cause my knees to buckle, as I'm weighted down with guilt and regret, and my nose starts to sting. But there is no way in hell I'm going to let him see me cry, and the only way I know how to stave off the tears is to defend myself. "You know nothing of Valeria or what we were to each other. You may have seen a lonely old woman, but I was her granddaughter and I was nothing to her. She was emotionally closed off and distant. She was controlling, and when she didn't get her way, she cut me out without a backward glance. She never called me. It was always me calling her to check in, but fuck, Coop...You can only reach out so many times and get the door shut in your face before you eventually give up. She never once said she was proud of me. Never acknowledged my accomplishments. Never offered support when I was down. So don't give me this shit about her dying a lonely old woman. She apparently had you, but I've had no one."
During my rant, I saw the heat start to cool in Coop's eyes as he considered my words. I'm not sure of the depth of talks that he had with Valeria as they got closer, but I can tell he really doesn't know anything about me as a person.
I barrel down the next two steps and push my way past him. He moves easily to the side and I cling to the railing so we don't touch.
Marching to the bathroom, I almost stop when he says, "I just stopped by to grab a quick sandwich for lunch, but I want this shit cleaned up and my room put to rights by the time I get home tonight."
He gets nothing but my back and my silence as I stomp into the master bath and slam the door shut. I'm going to take a nice long bath and then perhaps I'll go into town for lunch myself. I'm on vacation. I have no agenda. I can do what I want.
And I absolutely do not want to put Coop's room to rights. Too bad for him, I'm staying right here.
--
I pass by Goodnight Textiles as I head into Newberry. It's the largest textile plant in the South and third largest in the United States. A certain fondness for it warms me because my dad put his blood, sweat, and tears into the family business he inherited. It's now being run by his brother, who moved from CFO to CEO after my parents died. However, he runs the company from his home base of Chicago, as he's a city slicker to the core. Of course, Grandmother sat on the board of directors and had a lot of input about how to run the empire she'd also helped to create. I'd heard through the cousin grapevine that she actually became more involved after her fourth husband died and she gave up on remarrying. I suppose it was a way to occupy her time when she wasn't traveling.
Regardless, the family business was never for me. Even before I fell into modeling, I was considering a career in law. I wasn't sure why or if that was really what I wanted, but it's one of the things I was greatly interested in. I figured I'd be exposed to a lot of things in college that could lead me in a different direction, and ironically, that's exactly what happened to me. Things changed radically when Carlos Sanchez walked into my life, and my education sort of became moot.
Newberry hasn't changed much that I can see. It would be considered a small town with a population of close to five thousand, even less when I lived here. Most of the businesses are independently owned, and everyone knows everyone.
It's been fourteen years since I've surveyed the town streets, and I feel like a stranger now. Even though I see the same old storefront signs on the businesses bordering the main square, for a moment I feel discombobulated as I drive into town. Like I'm seeing it for the first time.
I find a parallel parking spot in front of my first destination, which is the local diner called the Pit Stop. I'm starved and I didn't even bother to see what type of food Coop had in the house. He could have had a fully stocked pantry and fridge, but I wasn't touching any of it. So I'm going to eat lunch and run to the grocery store so I have my own food.
Almost everyone turns in their seats when I walk in. The large windows bordering the sidewalk made my entrance public, and while I'm used to people staring at me because of my fame, this is different and weirdly disconcerting. These are my hometown folks and I don't want them looking at me as if they don't know me.
There are a several people I don't recognize but who clearly know who I am. Some of them look awestruck, and I hope that doesn't lead to someone tipping off the paparazzi that I'm here. One woman gives me a hesitant smile, but the others look at me like I'm a stranger.
And really...I am.
I see Mason Woodard, who graduated a year behind me, sitting with Debbie Hemp. I smile at them, but they just look at me with blank stares. As I make my way to an empty booth--because at the Pit Stop, you seat yourself--I smile and nod at others I know. George Molton, who owns the local garage, and Suzanne Daly, who owns the hair salon I used to go to. They're older by fourteen years, but they're still the same people.
I smile at them and they don't smile back. This is disconcerting, but I figure perhaps they are nervous or shy around me since I've become a celebrity. I hope they get over that fast, because I have never wanted to be treated that way.
As I slide into the red vinyl booth and grab one of the menus, I catch the eye of Bonnie Ventura, who I'm surprised to see is still a waitress here. She was old when I'd left town, but she hasn't changed that much. Her iron-gray hair is still short and permed, and her face is overly powdered. She stares at me a moment before she goes back to filling coffee cups at a table, and I assume she'll be over soon to take my order so I give a quick perusal of the menu.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm still waiting on Bonnie to come to my table. I've tried to catch the other waitress's attention, but she won't even make eye contact with me. It's only when Bonnie has to pass me to bring food to the table beside me that I finally get her to stop.
"Bonnie...I'm ready to give my order," I call out, and she ignores me.
She doles out plates of food, sweet talking up the group of guys in for lunch. She calls them "sweetie" and "honey pie."
Finally, she straightens, pulls her order pad from the pocket of her apron and her pencil from behind her ear, and turns to me with a huff. "What do you want?"
Her voice is cold and unwelcoming, and I am completely flummoxed. "Well, hello to you too, Bonnie. It's good to see you after so long."
She just stares at me, tapping the end of her pencil against the pad.
"Okay," I say as I look down to the menu. "I'll take a burger and fries, and some ice water."
Bonnie jots a few notes and doesn't say a word as she turns her back on me. I watch her with my mouth hanging wide open, completely stunned by her rudeness. I look around the diner and no one is looking at me anymore. In fact, I'd say I'm being patently ignored.
This is just weird, and I know there's clearly something wrong when it takes almost half an hour for Bonnie to serve my burger, which is cold, and my fries, which are oversalted. I never did get my glass of ice water.
I eat a few bites, but the food and the reception are unpalatable. I throw a twenty down on the table and walk out, my head spinning over the way Bonnie treated me.
Still starved as I walk back to my car and a little depressed over my homecoming so far, I spy a new business that wasn't here last time I'd been in town. It's called Missy's Cupcake Gallery, and well, the word
cupcake garnered all my attention. I walk down to it and open the glass door, immediately assaulted by the wonderful smells of chocolate and cream and strawberries and cinnamon. I inhale deeply as my eyes immediately start roaming over a huge glass case of cupcakes on display.
"Well, if it isn't Eden Goodnight returned to town," I hear a soft, feminine voice say from behind the counter. My head pops up and I look at a petite slender woman of about my age. She has strawberry-blond hair worn in a chin-length bob and beautiful porcelain skin made more beautiful by freckles. She's giving me a genuine smile and I absorb it deeply, so bad had been my experience at the Pit Stop.
I assume the woman recognizes me from the movies I've done, so I put on my most gracious smile. "Those cupcakes are calling out to me."
She nods knowingly, her eyes sparkling. "What's your poison?"
"Chocolate first and foremost," I tell her as my eyes go back to the case. Rows upon rows of cupcakes with different colored icing and sprinkles. "But honestly, anything sweet is good by me. My sweet tooth has always been a problem."
"I remember," the woman laughs, and my head snaps back up to look at her again. "Our National Honor Society bake sales were never that successful, because you tended to eat half the product."
I can't help the subtle narrowing of my eyes and the tilt of my head as I try to place this woman. But nothing's coming to me and I have to concede defeat. "I'm really sorry...but do we know each other?"
The woman grins big. "I'd hope so. We graduated high school together."
My brow furrows deeper and it's clear I'm blanking. I feel horrible that I'm blanking, because it seems rude, and I am not a rude person.
With a tinkling laugh, she says, "Time to let you off the hook. I'm about a hundred and fifty pounds lighter than when you last saw me."
And then it hits me all at once. "Missy Chambers," I exclaim. "Oh my God...look at you. You look amazing."
"Yeah, the double chin look didn't earn me any favors in high school," she says amicably.
Immediately a wave of guilt slam into me as I realize I wasn't friends with Missy. Sure, we'd say hello if we passed each other in the hallway, but we didn't hang. She was never invited to the parties I went to. She wasn't in our social circle. With a gut churning feeling of dismay, I realize she ate lunch by herself an awful lot.
"It's okay," she says immediately, and I'm embarrassed she was actually reading my mind. "I wasn't the most socially outgoing person back then, and I know it's wholly ironic that I own a cupcake shop after losing all that weight, but still...it's good to see you again."
My cheeks turn red. "You're kinder than I probably deserve."
Missy gives an impatient wave of her hand at me, then points back at the case. "So go on, pick one. It's on the house."
And with a grateful smile that there is at least one person in this town who isn't displeased to see me, I choose a chocolate cupcake with white icing. I latch on to that cupcake and the kindness that Missy's showing me. It's the first really nice thing that's happened to me in a few days, and I might be glorifying her and the cupcake just a little. I eat my treat right there as Missy fills me in on everything she's been doing the last fourteen years, which includes a bad marriage that led to a hardcore devotion to healthy eating and exercise.
And some things are coming back to me. "Didn't you go to school up north?"
She nods. "Yup. And let me just say, winter in the north sucks. But I met my husband there, and despite the fact he's an asshole, he did give me two great kids."
My smile is big and genuine with interest. I've always wanted kids, but maybe that's not in the cards for me. "What are their names?"
"Layna is seven and feisty as the day is long," Missy says with a proud expression on her face. "And Thomas is five, and he's sweet and loving. A total mama's boy."
"They sound wonderful." A twinge in my chest tells me that my prospects for having kids must not be very good since I can't even get love right.
"So are you staying at Goodnight House?" Missy asks with mischief brewing in her eyes. "And if so, I'll be nosy and ask, how awkward is it?"
"Pretty awkward," I admit, but don't elaborate. I'm not surprised by the question. This is a small town, and it would be widely known that Coop was living in my house before I came back. Our history is well known too. "But I think we'll be just fine if we stay away from each other."
"Your house is certainly big enough," she quips, and I can't help but laugh.
"Speaking of which, with Coop at Goodnight House, at least I wouldn't run into him if I drop by his family home to say hello to his dad. I'll try to do that this weekend."
Missy's eyes go round and then soften. "You don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" I ask, but based on the empathy in her voice, dread fills me.
"His father died a few years ago," she says quietly. "The middle school caught fire and he was there with his ground crew mowing. He went in to help get the kids out and saved several before he died. Big news around here."
And yet it didn't reach all the way out to LA, I think bitterly.
Grandmother didn't let me know, and I didn't have one single friend I'd left behind that I kept in touch with. I think it was easy to cut Newberry out of my life because my grandmother gave me no incentive to keep it. I know at this moment, given the treatment by the folks at the Pit Stop and the fact I didn't know Coop's dad died, I should be feeling like a stranger in a foreign town. Oddly, though, I actually feel just plain old homesick and I have no idea why.
Chapter 6
If it's war you want...
Coop
I finish reading the article about Eden before sitting back in the kitchen chair. I'm the first to admit, in addition to riling me up, she's got me curious. She said things to me today at lunch that made me take stock of all the things I'd believed about her, particularly about how she ignored Valeria throughout the years. There are things about Eden that I thought were a sure bet, and that's based on local gossip, her actions, and her inactions. But I never did stop to think about it from her side.
After I'd stormed out of the house at lunch, went back to the office to finish the 3-D renderings, but I couldn't concentrate. So I packed up my laptop, brought it back to the house, and set it on the kitchen table, intent on working from this new location. I sometimes work from home, as doing the landscape design is the one part of my job that can be done on a laptop from anywhere.
But working on the 3-D design was not the first thing that I did when I got back to the house. The minute I realized Eden's car was gone and the house was empty, I decided to rectify some things.
Namely I dragged every bit of clothing, makeup, shoes, and hair-care products out of the master suite and dumped them in the hall. I have no shame in admitting I admired her lingerie, which was sinful in an unexpected way. Eden's body has graced Sports Illustrated in a string bikini, and I've seen her completely naked, so I know how sexy and erotic she can be. But her panties and bras were all in soft pinks, blues, and sea greens, made of lace and sheer silk. I think most would assume Eden would be a black bustier with red satin trim type of woman, but the pastel colors are far sexier to me for some reason. I guess that softer side to a woman is what gets me, especially since I tend to be a little rough and controlling in bed.
After ogling her panties, I dragged all my stuff back in, but I didn't have it in me to refold and hang all my clothes, so I stuffed them in the closet. The last thing I did was rip her rose-colored bedding off the mattress, also dumping it in the hallway, and put my manly green comforter back where it belonged.
I trotted back down the stairs with every intention of getting to work, but somehow I found myself surfing the Internet to learn more about the woman I've tried to forget for fourteen years.
I knew the basics. She went from an elite modeling career where most of it was spent in the major fashion houses in Paris, Milan, and New York to a breakout acting role eight years ago that earned her an Oscar. Eden was a fucking inc
omparable beauty, which earned her lots of money with that gorgeous face and body, but if anyone doubted she could make the jump to serious acting, they were wrong. I happened to know how savvy Eden is, and she put her smarts to work to build an incredible career that's left her famous as well as mega rich, independent of her family's wealth.
I do wonder, though, if her career is fulfilling to her. I get why she went for it. At eighteen, why wouldn't she try? Why would she let a silly thing like a boyfriend hold her back?
Or perhaps I didn't try hard enough. Maybe I shouldn't have let her go. I wonder how things would have turned out had I done that.
It did no good to speculate, so I focused on the recent news about Eden, and there was a ton of it. I popped her name in Google and got a slew of articles and social media posts about what happened earlier this week with her fiance. I had not known she was engaged, and it was a bit of a punch when I found out from Ashley. But after watching the video of what went down outside that movie theater, there's no doubt that Brad Wright is a complete and utter douche. Not only did he fuck around on Eden, but he's since been spreading nasty lies about her, and because he's one of the world's biggest action stars, he's got a legion of female fans posting brutal and vicious things about Eden. Granted, she's got a big fan base too, but Eden's movies tend to attract tamer fans, and they're not as riled up as Brad's are.
I saw tweets and Facebook posts about Eden and I was stunned to see how hateful they were.
Eden Goodnight's a cunt. Brad deserves better.
Someone should stomp her ass into the ground. Wish it was me.
Just a two-bit no-talent actress who tried to ride coattails. Go to hell, bitch.
Jesus, these people were brutal. All women, who apparently feel they have some masterful connection to the prick, but whatever. If Eden was reading this stuff, no wonder she's here in Newberry hiding.
The thing that disturbed me the most was speculation by the press as to where Eden was hiding. They're focusing on the fact that Eden is supposed to be filming a new movie with Brad in a little over four weeks from now, and people are going crazy wondering how that's going to play out.
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