And my heart just leaped in my chest. He cares, and that’s really freaking sweet.
Should I thank him for his service? Ask him out? See if he wants to be my Tarzanlike nurse?
Slow down there, Ren. The man had to carry you out of your car today as you hysterically yelled you were going to die. Pretty sure the last thing on his mind is finding out your relationship status.
“I do feel really lucky.” Especially after what happened the last time I was in a car accident. “But the picture might be fun to look at sometime. I could stop by the station and thank you all properly for your help this week.” I try to put a light spin on the whole day. Honestly, if I think about it too much, I’ll start to have a panic attack, and that’s the last thing I need right now—especially in front of Griffin.
He rocks on his heels. “The guys would like that.” He nods toward the porch behind him. “Brought your luggage over. Your car has been towed to Brig’s, and if you need anything, I’m three doors down and across the street in that gray house with the shake shingles.” He leans over and points.
I follow his finger and spot a modest Cape Cod–style house with beautiful flower boxes, an American flag at a forty-five-degree angle, and a giant pine tree in the front, providing a blanket of shade beneath it.
“Wow, that’s a coincidence.”
“Yeah.” He eyes me. “Shouldn’t you have someone staying with you tonight since you have a concussion?”
I wave him off. “I didn’t get a concussion.”
“And yet the doctors thought you did.”
“I think they were trying to make things sound worse than they are. You know doctors, am I right?” I nudge him, and he doesn’t move.
Don’t touch him, Ren.
“Anyhoo, thanks for the ride up the hill and the luggage . . . how did you know I was living here?”
Bashfully he smiles. “News travels fast.”
I’m starting to learn that rather quickly. Which reminds me. I lean forward and look around to make sure there are no prying eyes or ears. “Is it normal for stories to be exaggerated in this town?”
He tilts his head back and laughs, the sound rich in my ears. “Yeah, the gossip train is a long one, so be careful what you say to anyone.” He pats me on the shoulder as he starts to walk by. “Welcome to Port Snow, Ren. Let me know if you need anything.”
With that, he takes off down the street, hands in his pockets, head tilted down. I take a few seconds to observe him, his long gait, the way his jeans fit snugly to his high, tight ass, and the broad shoulders that stretch his shirt wide, only to narrow down at his waist.
I might have entered Port Snow with a bang, but at least I was rescued by a man I don’t mind living a few houses down from.
Just as I suspected, there aren’t many kitchen supplies in the house, not even a coffee maker, just some furniture and a sleeping bag that will serve as bedding tonight. Not wanting to go out with a bruised forehead, I order a pizza, which is enthusiastically delivered by Bart . . . the other Uber driver. Looks like he does Uber Eats, too, which definitely gives him a leg up on his competition. Seems to me like Bart might have a better grasp on his business than Wallace does. I give him five stars because I can’t be partial.
After a long, hot shower, keeping the water away from my forehead, I dress in my comfy pj’s and plop myself on the couch with my computer and the pizza box, settling in for a Netflix binge. Thank God the Wi-Fi is already available.
And just when I’m about to cue my show, my phone buzzes next to me.
My mother.
I know I have to answer it, or else I’m going to have a situation on my hands, on top of a damaged car and a cracked-open forehead.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer.
“Ren Juniper Winters. Why on earth haven’t you been answering my phone calls?”
Because I was in the emergency room getting stitched up.
Because my car was lodged between two trees.
Because I was ogling my new neighbor and reminiscing about how he’d effortlessly carried me up a grassy embankment.
But I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to give her a heart attack.
“Sorry, Mom, I’ve been really busy getting settled and meeting some locals.” Not a lie. I met some locals for sure. The EMT ladies, doctors, firefighters . . . you know, the basics.
“Well, you could have at least texted me. I was worried sick over here.” My mom, worried? Nooooo.
“Sorry about that. I’m just sitting down eating some pizza now.”
“Oh, is it good? I bet it’s better than what we have out here. I heard New England has amazing pizza.”
“It’s pretty good. I’m impressed. Glad it’s a place I can rely on when I’m too tired to cook anything.”
“That’s wonderful, honey. How’s the house? An absolute dream like the pictures online?”
“And so much more. I can smell the ocean from the living room window, and I can hear the waves crash into the shore. The entire house is quaint. The walls are covered in white shiplap, and the floors are to die for. Seriously, I don’t know how I was able to score this place for so cheap. Seems like a miracle.”
My mom chuckles. “You’re just so used to Los Angeles prices that this is a shock to you.”
“It really is.” I pause and take in the charming little house, feeling more content than I’ve been in a long time. “I’m really happy I made this move, Mom.” Despite the suicidal moose that will not be spoken of.
My mom sighs on the other end of the phone. “Even though I wish you were still a stone’s throw away from us, I’m glad that you’re happy. It’s all I want for you.” She pauses for a second. “Now, don’t go falling in love out there, you hear me? I couldn’t bear if you had children so far away from me.”
Falling in love . . . pfft.
But then Griffin’s face pops into my head, his strong features and mesmerizing eyes, the color of the ocean. His sweet smile, his concern, his . . . body.
I’m sure hordes of women throw themselves—
Something pops into my head, something Wallace said: that Griffin was given a rough hand at love. Is that what he said? I was so caught up in the swinging-from-trees story that I’m having a hard time remembering.
It doesn’t matter, though; I’m sure I’m not his type, especially given the way we met. I wonder what he truly thinks of me. Hot mess or genuine lunatic. At this point, I think I would settle for hot mess.
“Mom,” I say, chuckling, “that’s a big jump, don’t you think?”
“Never too early to warn you. Have fun, but not too much fun.”
“And what if I love it so much out here that I decide to become a true local? What would you do then?”
“Then I’m going to have to move in next door to you.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Helicopter mom.”
CHAPTER FIVE
REN
When I first researched Port Snow, I noticed the town is simply laid out, all roads leading to Main Street, where all the shops and restaurants are located beside a few random businesses on the outskirts. But its charm comes not just from this simplicity but from all the care its residents put into keeping it pristine. Details make the town so quaint and irresistible—from the hanging potted plants evenly placed over the sidewalks to the cobblestoned streets. Every shop is brightly colored, either with accents or with pastel facades. It’s a beautiful combination of Charleston, South Carolina, and New England.
Since I don’t have food, a car, or any kitchen supplies, I decide to venture out on foot to the local coffee shop, Snow Roast—where I’ll also be signing my lease!—and then to the auto shop to find out about the damage on my car.
Dressed in a simple yellow dress, my long brown hair tied into a bun on the top of my head, I lock up the house and tuck the key in my cross-body brown purse, ready for the short walk and my first full day in Port Snow.
The waves crash behind me, the ocean air whipping up the hem of my
dress, which I quickly push down before I give my new neighbors a show, making a mental note that dresses can be dangerous. As I walk down Seagull Lane, I take in the other houses, pristine and well cared for, with their shake shingles and wooden shutters. When I reach Griffin’s place, I can’t help but study it for a brief moment, in awe at how beautifully kept it is. The lawn trimmed and edged, the flowers in the flower boxes vividly growing to their full potential, and the shake shingles on the house perfectly sun bleached, giving the house that coastal charm without looking old.
It’s so—
The front door slams shut, and before I can move on, Griffin strides toward me, a smile on his face, seemingly pleased to catch me staring at his house.
“Hey there, neighbor.”
Embarrassment flushes over my face. Caught in the middle of staring. Great. “Uh, hey.” I shyly wave and then start up the street at a quick pace, power walking with a purpose. Could I be any more awkward around this man? He saw me in my bra acting like a crazed woman; I want to avoid all clumsy conversations.
“Hey, wait up.” Guess he has other plans. Griffin jogs after me, and within seconds, he’s walking by my side, pulling on my shoulder to slow me down. “Hold on,” he says, chuckling. “Glad to see you woke up and the concussion wasn’t too serious. How are you feeling?”
I slow my pace, realizing that he wants to chat and there’s no stopping the interaction. And even though he caught me blatantly staring outside his house, mouth open like a carp, I wouldn’t mind a little neighborly chat with him.
“There was no concussion.” I roll my eyes. “But I’m feeling better. I have a little headache this morning, but that’s to be expected, since I slammed my head on my steering wheel yesterday. Other than that, I’m doing well.”
“Glad to hear it.” He’s wearing the same white shirt as last night, his hair a little damp from a shower and his face freshly shaved. He smells of soap and laundry detergent, and it’s pulling me closer to his side as we walk down the street toward Main. “Are you headed to get breakfast?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting my landlord at Snow Roast to sign my lease, making me an official resident. Then I’ll head over to the auto shop to figure out what to do with my car.” It might sound silly, but signing the lease is like the final step of moving in; it’s a relief and makes everything feel so official. Like I’m finally a Port Snowian . . . is that what they call themselves? Hmm, I’m going to need to look into that.
Griffin nods. “Well, I’m headed to Snow Roast as well; we can walk together.”
“That would be nice. If you don’t mind, maybe you can point out some of the other shops to me, give me your opinion on them.”
“My opinion? Not sure if you want that.” He winks and then turns his attention back to the road. “I’ve lived here my entire life, so I might be a little jaded. I know too much about the people in this town.”
“So what they say about small towns is true? Everyone’s in your business?”
“Yup, and since you just moved here, be prepared to have a lot of people whispering behind your back, especially with the way you came screaming into town. The best story I heard last night was something about me swinging from trees to save you.”
“Ugh. The Uber driver told me that one too.”
He nods knowingly. “Wallace or Bart?”
“Wallace.”
Griffin shakes his head. “Wallace, the exaggerator. Watch what you say to him; he’ll twist it into his own story and then spread it around to every person he drives, and let me tell you, he drives a lot of people, especially the elders.”
“The elders?” I ask as we turn onto Main, the colorful buildings that line the street leading toward the boardwalk and the harbor, where fishing, lobster, and tour boats are docked. Tour signs placed up and down the street promise a great view of the trail of famous lighthouses surrounding Port Snow.
Abruptly, Griffin stops and leans in close, speaking from the side of his mouth. “To your left, at the corner, there’s a group of old people congregating in front of the general store. Those are the elders and the biggest gossips in town. Tell them something, and everyone will find out within an hour. Trust me on this.”
From the corner of my eye, I take in the group of older gentlemen huddled around a newspaper stand, canes and walkers in hand. They look innocent enough, but I can see how they could cause a stir.
“Okay, noted.”
He nods in the other direction. “Come on, this way.” He heads toward the end of the street, where there’s a giant white building covered in shingles and red trim with a bright teal door. It grabs my attention immediately, and I smile at the store’s sign.
“The Lobster Landing. That’s what’s on your shirt, right?”
“Yup. My family owns the business. If you’re looking to gain a few pounds, come to us; we’ll fill you up with fudge and pastries, dress you in all the lobster gear, and send you on your way.”
“Fudge and pastries? Uh-oh, that can’t be good for my hips. So do you go there often when you’re not working at the station?”
“I actually volunteer at the station and work full time at the Landing. I’m in charge of all the day-to-day business. My parents semiretired and have casually been stepping aside.”
“Really? Wow, you must be busy, then.”
“You can say that. I enjoy the work, though.” He points to the other side of the street. “We can cross here.” Since the roads are still pretty clear, we make it across without having to pick up our speed, which I’m grateful for. I’m finding myself savoring his company, wanting to draw out our conversation as much as I can. “Up that little hill over there is the school, K through twelve. I’m assuming that’s where you’ll be working. Not much of a walk from your house, but during the winter, I would get your car running; the windchill alone might freeze you in place.”
“Moving here, I realized I might suffer the first couple of winters trying to get acclimated, but I’m ready for the challenge, ready for the seasons. Southern California doesn’t provide you with much change when it comes to seasons, so I’m kind of excited to see what a real New England fall is like.”
As we arrive at the coffeehouse, Griffin reaches out and opens the door for both of us. Such a gentleman. We step inside, and I’m immediately hit with the sweet scent of freshly brewed coffee and then taken aback by the exposed brick, plank hardwood floors, and exposed beams in the ceiling. Decorated in earthy tones, the coffeehouse somehow manages to pull off a country-industrial feel.
“The fall will blow your mind, trust me. Unlike anything you’ll ever see. And even though the winter will freeze your eyelids shut, it’s still beautiful.”
“Hey, Griff,” the lady behind the counter calls out. “Heard you rescued a damsel in distress yesterday. Did you really scale a tree with just a rope to get to her?”
Chuckling and shaking his head, Griffin walks up to the counter. “Come on, Ruth, you know better than to believe that crap.”
“I know,” she says wistfully, rolling her pretty brown eyes up to the ceiling. “But it’s fun to think about. Let me indulge.”
“No,” he answers, smiling. “Not when the damsel in distress is standing right next to me.”
Ruth blushes, standing upright and smoothing down her dress. She can’t be much younger than me, her blonde hair just touching her shoulders and her lips beautifully wide like Julia Roberts’s. I bet she has a great laugh just like her too.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Ruth. I own Snow Roast. Welcome to Port Snow.”
“Thank you.” I take her hand, give it a shake, and then release it. “I’m Ren, the new algebra teacher.”
“Oh, algebra, huh? I was never good at math, couldn’t quite get a handle on it like my brothers. Pure geniuses, those guys.” She tosses a towel over her shoulder like a bartender. “What can I get you two? The usual for you, Griff?”
“Yeah, that would be great.”
As Ruth starts m
oving around, I take in the little case of food in front of me, full of breakfast sandwiches and pastries. “Uh, can I have a turkey-bacon-egg sandwich and a black roast?”
“Sure thing.”
Griffin nudges me with his elbow. “Black coffee? Got some hair on your chest?” he teases.
My cheeks heat up as I think about my chest, the one he clearly got a good view of yesterday. “It’s always been my goal to grow hair on my chest. But no matter how much coffee I drink, I can’t seem to sprout a single one.”
Silence falls between us as Griffin’s brows pull together, my face once again heating up in embarrassment. Sometimes I forget how quirky and awkward I am in front of extremely attractive men. It’s bad enough he’s already seen me in hysterics, but now I’m morphing into an uncomfortable teenager.
I say weird things.
Things I should probably keep to myself.
Things that would make you cringe if you were watching me on the big screen, slowly shaking your head and whispering under your breath, Why, why, why?
It’s been that way ever since I can remember. I’ve never been smooth around the opposite sex, always stammering over my words and sweating enough to put a major-league baseball team to shame. I’ve had a boyfriend here and there, but nothing ever long lasting, and nothing that truly grew into anything more than teenage puppy love (or just plain lust when I got older).
I shouldn’t be surprised that my awkward tendencies are quickly transferring over to my new town. And here I wanted a fresh start, a new beginning, to become someone independent and strong.
But I guess you can’t squeeze the awkward out of the girl.
Before I can embarrass myself further, Griffin chuckles, disbelief written across his features. “Don’t give up on your dreams. You never know: you very well might sprout that hair one day.” Ruth sets his drink on the counter, and grabbing it, he leaves behind a tip and gives her a quick wave before heading for the door. “See you around, Ren.”
That Second Chance Page 5