by Maggie Ryan
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Don’t miss these exciting titles by Stevie MacFarlane and Blushing Books!
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Effie, Book Three
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Changing Her Mind
Little White Lies
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The Not-So-Lucky Bridget O’Malley
The Perfectly Naughty Bride
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A Timeless Woman
The Red Petticoat Saloon Series
Crystal’s Calamity
Sugar Babies, Inc. Series
A Sweet and Sassy Match, Book 1
Match Me if You Dare, Book 2
Matched for Keeps, Book 3
The Last Match, Book 4
4-Book Set
Anthologies
Sweet Town Love
Finding Sydney
By
Adrienne Blake
Chapter 1
Hearts and Gyros
Chandler dropped his brown leather bag at the ATM and punched in his PIN number. 0822. Her number. Well, her birthday anyway. Funny, he had first used it the year he met Sydney and in the last ten years had not seen fit to change it. He took the cash, slipped his card back in his wallet, and collecting his bag, sauntered over to the rental place. First things first—he had been traveling for two whole days now and he was damned hungry. The diner on Main Street had been pretty awesome in its day. He hoped it was still there, still serving the same Greek gyro and cheesy fries. He hoped a lot of things were just as they were back then. So many things had changed already.
He picked up the rental Beemer and stashed his gear in the trunk before setting off along the familiar road. Past the house his grandmother lived in. Past the drug store where he'd worked his first job. He wondered if Old Bones still worked there? It was the nickname they all used for his first boss. Hell, for all Chandler knew, he could be dead by now. He drove past the hardware store, the florist, and his dad's machine shop. He had mixed feelings regarding that. Even after all this time, he could still smell the machine oil on his late father's hands. He breathed in deeply as if he could still smell the old man on his skin. At times, his dad at been such a gentle man. Yet his preferred method of discipline was the belt. Even now, Chandler could still recall the sting of the lashes as his father had thrashed his backside raw. But he hadn't come back to relive that part of his past. He had come back for her.
And there it was, the silver diner, set a little back from the road. He parked the car in the rear and set the alarm. The high pitched beeps sounded out of place in this sleepy little backwater town. The car wasn't the only thing out of place. As he climbed the ramp to the diner entrance, he saw himself reflected in the windows. Westwood suit. Expensive haircut. Pricey-de-cologne. His shoes cost more than most people in this town made in a month. Things had certainly changed but he hoped the townspeople wouldn't resent him for it. So much had changed for him, and yet he'd never become ashamed of his roots. In fact, he was proud of them.
Nothing about the diner had changed. He suspected if he went back fifty years in time it would look exactly the same as it did now, though maybe with slightly fresher paint. The only thing special about it now were the multitude of tacky pink love hearts suspended from the ceiling. Tomorrow was Valentine's Day. He bit his lip. He had returned for the sake of the day after all.
He recognized the waitress as she sauntered over to the table. It was old Mrs. Pike, his former eleventh grade teacher. She was in her forties now; and her once sharp academic eyes had narrowed and dimmed—he'd heard about the premature stroke—someone had told him about it in a letter. Fortunately, her face showed no sign of it, but there was a tremor in her hands now. How well he remembered them.
She whipped out her order form.
"What can I get you to drink, dearie?" Her voice was scratchy and low from smoking one pack too many a day.
"A coffee will be fine. Do you still do that amazing gyro and cheesy fries combo?"
He stared straight at her but there was no glimpse of recognition in her tired eyes. Instead, she looked right through him; not even trying to put his face to her past. This town did that to some people. Others thrived in it. He hoped Sydney would be one of the latter.
"Sure. That all you want?"
"Please."
In the booth in front of him were a young couple, as young as he'd been when he'd first met Sydney.
"If I were on that dating show, would you pick me?"
"Course I would, babe."
"Fibber. You'd go for someone with bigger boobs."
"Maybe at first. But I'd come back to you in the end."
"Cheeky."
"You love it."
They were laughing and joking about some reality show they'd watched the night before on Netflix or cable or something. He rarely watched TV himself and they were discussing the very kind of show he took pains to avoid. He closed his eyes. Ten years before, he and Sydney had sat in that exact same booth, arguing over something just as banal. It wasn't the show that mattered, it was just the act of sharing something—an intimacy—a connection. And then they would go back to his place and make love like rabbits. Always his place—never hers. Eighteen years old and her parents barely let him in the front door, let alone allow him to go upstairs. He was never good enough for their darling baby.
A few minutes later Mrs. Pike deposited his order in front of him then sauntered off to serve the couple at the other table. Hungry, he picked up the gyro and tucked right in. Odd. It was good, but nowhere near as good as he remembered it. The cheesy fries were better. After chomping on a few, he pulled a napkin out of the cheap brown dispenser and dabbed at the corner of his mouth. The couple in front were kissing, but it was the vulgar, animal kind of kissing that reminded Chandler of the rhythmic spin-cycle of a cheap washing machine. Mrs. Pike watched them, order book in hand, with a resigned but bored expression on her face. He knew how she felt. Her current job sucked enough without being subjected to this kind of nonsense.
"Ahem."
The enchantment was snapped; the couple separated and continued with their order.
It had been a little like that with Sydney. Her mouth was a honeyed oasis in the desert; he couldn't help but be drawn to it. When he kissed her, he would fall into delirium, one he hoped never to wake from. Perhaps looking from the outside in, they too had been just as ridiculous as the couple in the booth. But it never had felt absurd to him. All he remembered was how good she made him feel.
Outside it was spitting. Oh well, it had threatened to rain all day. Sydney hated the rain. Not for its own sake—but she had a morbid fear of thunderstorms. He could still smell the apple shampoo in her hair as trembling, she'd clung to him during that first storm, her eyes wide with fear before she turned to bury her head into his chest.
He finished his meal and Mrs. Pike sauntered over. "Are you finished with that?"
"Sure. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know if the Miles family is still in town?"
Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him properly for the first time. "Who wants to know? Are you the police? You don't look like police."
He snorted. "No, I'm not the police. I'm an old friend."
She looked even more skeptical than before. But then there was the tiniest spark of recognition in her eyes. "Do I know you?"
"I think so, Mrs. Pike, though it's been a long time since you last saw me."
"You were one of my students?"
"Yes, but a very long time ago. You probably don't remember me. Chandler Kane."
She squinted, trying to find the boy in the man's face. "The name rings a bell, sure. But sorry—I forget a lot these days."
"I'm trying to find an old friend. Sydney Miles. We dated for a time
and I was hoping to catch up with her while I'm in town." He didn't tell her he came specifically to find her in case she thought he was a bit odd. A stalker or something detestable like that. Someone not to be trusted.
"Oh Sydney. Yeah, she's still in town. Lives over on Broad Street. Don't recall the number."
"She still lives with her parents?"
"Her parents? No. They passed away. She lives there all by herself these days."
"Thank you." How quickly she moved from distrustful to trusting. It was so very different up in New York City. But he wasn't there now, and his heart skipped a beat. He had just taken a step closer to finding her again. "May I have my check please?"
Mrs. Pike had it ready in her apron and she handed it straight to him. The couple in front of him had gone back to enjoying full-on-tonsil-hockey and it didn't look like they'd be coming up for air any time soon. He smiled, public displays of affection were not his thing but they were clearly enjoying themselves, oblivious to everyone else around them. He understood that completely. When Sydney came in a room, the rest of the world had always faded to gray around them. Would the magic still be there he wondered? He really hoped it would. He was counting on it. He dumped a crisp twenty-dollar bill down on the table.
"Keep the change," he said.
Mrs. Pike nodded, pocketed the money and began clearing the table.
It was funny he should run into her of all people. In a strange kind of way, Mrs. Pike was a prominent marker in a chain of events that had completely changed his life. He remembered it like it was yesterday. That particular summer had been so hot. School was almost over—he'd already been accepted into college—so what did it matter if he skipped a class or two? He was over eighteen now. What could anyone do?
So flushed with their own self-importance, he and a couple of friends had skipped her class to go skinny dipping in the local creek. It wasn't something he did often, even now his dad would have given him a good thrashing if he had—but it had been an especially hot year and the creek had become a haven for all his friends. He remembered strolling from the water, his skin drying quickly as he pushed forward to the bank.
"Holy shit!"
Mrs. Pike had stepped out from behind a tree, catching him in his full glory as the last of the water trickled down his young body to soak into the grass under his feet. Instinctively his right hand covered his manhood while his whole body flushed pink, in spite of the sun. The younger Mrs. Pike hadn't been fazed in the least by his masculine majesty. She looked right at him, then around him to his luckier friends, whose grosser anatomy was protected under the surface of the water.
"Detention, the lot of you."
He made no argument, what could he have said? Instead, the following Friday, as the principal had dictated, he arrived at her class after school, where he waited for the lines he thought she would give him. They were alone. Each of the boys involved had been set detention but on different nights, so as not to make some kind of camaraderie of it.
But there were no lines. After a few minutes, she had risen from her desk and was strolling from left to right at the front of the class. He watched her silently; he could tell she had something on her mind, though he had no idea what it could be.
After a few minutes, she stopped and pulled a ruler out from under her desk.
"Come here, boy. No one ever skips my class. No one. Bend over the desk."
Corporate discipline had been banned in that school for eons. But what was he supposed to do? He wasn't rebel enough to call out on a teacher. Awkwardly, he rose from his seat and sauntered up to the front of the class. He stood in front of her, not sure quite how to position himself for what she'd asked him.
"I want you to drop your pants and put your hands on the corner of the desk while I administer ten of the best."
"Drop my pants, Miss?"
"Yes. This is a punishment. It's supposed to hurt."
He knew then that she was breaking a gazillion rules and laws but none of that mattered now. He was suddenly as stiff as a board; and though she was the opposite of hot, this whole spanking thing had fired his imagination to the point of hysteria. He'd been reading about it online—and now—here he was—about to experience it first hand. Without a word of complaint, he dropped everything to his ankles as she delivered ten of the best. It was a turning point in his life—and though she had never touched him again, he always looked back on that afternoon with the affection of nostalgia. That had been the beginning of it all for him. A part of him was a little disappointed that she couldn't remember him now. Oh well, perhaps it was for the best. And he hadn't returned to this sleepy old town to rekindle a memory of his latter-day teacher. No. The focus of his heart was somewhere else. He opened the door to the diner and returned to the Beemer. Somewhere out there, Sydney was waiting for him. And the sooner he found her the better.
Chapter 2
Love At First Sight
The speed limit on Broad Street was twenty-five miles per hour. He sauntered along about ten miles slower than that. This was not a street to be rushed. There were fond memories in every weed-infested crack in the sidewalk. Under the light of that lamppost he had stolen a kiss from her for the first time. They were on the corner of Broad and Maple Street, a few minutes shy of nine o'clock—the curfew her parents had set for her. He could see her clearly like it was just last night. Her gentle, blue eyes searching his. That mouth—a ripe strawberry—demanding to be tasted. It was a mouth to keep a poet busy for a lifetime. She had slapped him at the time.
"You should not have done that, Chandler!"
And then she'd run away.
Of course, she was still a virgin then. And later, no matter how many times they made love—in his heart she remained a virgin still. Nothing could taint the memory of her early loveliness. How cliché it was to say every time with her was like the first time. And yet it was. He had been mad to leave her behind. Totally off his rocker. And yet leave her he did.
He pulled up on the pavement outside her house which was built on a slight incline so he applied the parking brake. Now he was here, his nerves kicked in. Hell, it had been three years. Sure, she wouldn't have forgotten him, any more than he could forget her—but what if she'd moved on—found another man to take his place in her heart? After all, they had parted in anger, hadn't they? And she hadn't responded to any of his letters. Not one. In a way, it was probably foolish to think someone else hadn't snapped her up. What wasn't there to love with her braided hair and heart-shaped ass—a combination that could stop a man's heart from a thousand feet away? And he was the one to leave, so it would serve him right if she hadn't waited for him to return.
Still, he wasn't going to get any of the answers he sought sitting behind the wheel of his rental car. His logic didn't stop the palpitations as he walked around the back of the vehicle and up the steps to her old carriage home. But at last, here he was. Sydney, the woman he had loved for as long as he could remember would be on the other side of this door, just a few yards away from him. Would she have had any premonition of his coming? Women were said to be intuitive after all, maybe the sorceress had willed him here. He took a deep breath, raised his hand to the doorbell, and pressed the button.
Nothing.
He waited a few seconds and tried again.
"There ain't no one home."
The voice had come from his right and he turned that way now. "Excuse me?"
Of course. He recognized the skinny owner of the voice at once. He had gone to school with Sean Collins, even shared a few classes with him, but that alone didn't make them friends. He was sitting in a rocker on his porch, partially concealed by the shadow of a maple tree. He had probably been watching him from the second he arrived. As the scrawny man scratched his chin, Chandler saw the glimmer of recognition spark in his eyes.
"Oh, it's you," said Sean without enthusiasm.
"Hi, Sean. Yes, I'm looking for Sydney."
"Well, if you knew anything about anything, city boy, you'd kno
w she's not likely to be at home at this hour."
Of course! She would be working. How foolish of him not to think of that.
"Oh, thanks, Sean. Guess I can catch up with her there."
"Yeah, most likes." He got up from his rocker and leaned on the porch railing. "So where have you been, city boy? I heard you skipped town years ago. Must say, I'm surprised to see you back here. We all figured you were fast-tracking now."
The last thing in the world he wanted was a trip down memory land with Sean now. Now or ever. His dad had given him a job back in the day, doing this and that down at the shop. But Sean stole as much money as he ever made, and probably more. But though his own father had been hard as hell when it came to disciplining him, he'd had a soft spot for this asshole, and had made excuse after excuse for the boy. "He ain't got nothing; he doesn't know any better; the good Lord set him off to a bad start." But the more his father gave to him, the more Sean took. Well, he might have pulled the wool over his dad's eyes, but Chandler didn't have to buy into his bull. And he had other reasons for disliking the man. He'd always had a thing for Sydney. That alone assured their animosity forever.
"Well, I'm back now."
"Long visit? Or just long enough to break Syd's heart again?"
There was so much venom in the man's words—and yet they gave him pause. He hadn't thought much beyond what he wanted to do today. Hell, he hadn't thought much about anything besides gratifying his own needs. He had no intention of breaking Syd's heart, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. Whatever happened, he would have to tread carefully.
"Long enough, I should think. Where are you working these days?"