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A month passes with us going on out-of-town dates, sexy trips to the car at the bar, dark-of-night bookshop meetups, and late-night house calls. Anyone paying attention would peg us right away, but aside from his family knowing most of his comings and goings, there isn’t anyone in town who would be keeping track of me.
The more time that passes, the deeper my feelings for Liam run. Underneath the grumpy, monosyllabic exterior is this thoughtful, protective, warm man. When we’re together, I feel like I’m one of the only people he shows that side of himself to, and in turn, that only makes me fall faster. It’s the way that he always has to be touching me, even if it’s just a hand on my arm, that makes me need to catch my breath. It’s the way that rugged face lights up when he flashes me a small smile as we’re huddled under the covers. It’s the way he always remembers to kiss me long and slow before we part.
This thing with Liam is quickly becoming something I don’t like living without, and the questions about where it’s headed seems to be on the tip of my tongue. But I won’t ask them; some type of self-preservation is still holding me back.
Other than the confusion with my love life, things in Hope Crest are panning out exactly as I planned them. Grandma’s shop is nearly empty, the rare editions of her books are on their way to collectors, I’m in talks with museum curators, and I am in the beginning stages of consulting with a realtor who can sell off the shop. Grandma bought the building some time ago, so it’s my responsibility to sell to the right buyer.
The same real estate agent also asked me about her condo, but that will take me longer to part with. Not only for sentimental value but because Grandma Lucy has a ton of mementos to go through. I’ve mainly been focused on the shop up until now, and between that and my theater job, I don’t have much time to go through the house yet.
Convincing myself of that isn’t hard because if I face reality, that’s a bit of an excuse. I’ve been here coming up on two years. Dragging my feet at the beginning gave me a slow start to everything that needed to be accomplished, but it all could have been well within this time frame.
If I were being truthful, I don’t want to sell it all off because I don’t want to leave.
Popping a piece of homemade cinnamon donut in my mouth, I realize that Hope Crest has come to mean home to me more than any other place I’ve lived in my life. The thought is bittersweet, as I’ve finally found a place I feel welcome, but my grandmother isn’t here to enjoy it with me. I would have loved to share this time together in a town that meant so much to her.
In the last few years, honestly the last decade, I felt untethered and adrift in my life and its purpose. Not until I established real relationships here had I begun to think that maybe I’d been looking for my path in all the wrong places.
Another bite of donut passes my lips, and I almost groan with appreciation. The sweet treat was made by an older woman who lives two houses down from Liam’s sister.
Alana came into the theater two days ago and basically gave me no choice but to attend the block party on her and Warren’s street. It’s the first year their neighborhood decided to throw one, and she insisted I attend. The wink she threw in wasn’t subtle whatsoever, and I realized that Liam’s family probably knew more about his connection to me than I thought they did.
Tons of people mill about on the street, sidewalks, and lawns out front of the neighborhood of cutesy craftsman homes. Neighbors chatting, children riding bikes or coloring with sidewalk chalk, babies gurgling as they munch on juicy watermelon. Younger couples, some even teenagers, seem to be sneaking off into the trees to do who knows what, while the older generations sit in lawn chairs they’ve dragged out to people watch and comment on everything.
I like to think that Grandma is looking down on me, proud that I came out to something like this.
“Those donuts are to die for.” Cassandra plops down next to me on the grass as I see Patrick walk off with their baby daughter, whispering in her ear as if she understands anything he’s saying.
“So freaking good.” I nod my head emphatically.
“I’m happy you came out tonight, this is fun. I needed to get out of the breastfeeding trenches, and you needed out of those musty bookshelves.” She’d come by the shop today to lend a hand with the last couple of boxes.
And, I don’t doubt, to make sure I actually came to the block party and didn’t back out last minute.
“Did you do a lot of partying when you were in Hollywood?” The question is out of the blue, but I don’t feel like getting into my personal life right now.
It’s still surreal sometimes that Cassandra Mauer, one of the biggest actresses of our generation, is one of my closest friends. Our friendship is still relatively new in terms of length, but she’s one of the kindest, most open people I’ve ever met. It’s influenced me to be more open with people around me. Back home, and all throughout my childhood, I didn’t have many close friends. My family’s expectations kept me closed off, and voicing my feelings was discouraged, so I rarely did so.
The moment I met Cass, though, she led me into this friendship with a caring hand and open dialogue. For being someone so watched by the media and public, I felt she’d never let any of it taint her view of life or others.
“In the beginning, I guess. It was a lot of industry events and I’d go to network, to meet people. I fell into acting, but after the bug bit me, I wanted as many projects as I could take on. So many people go to those parties to make connections and possibly land jobs, not just to be noticed and written about in the tabloids the next day. After a while though, it gets old. Not all that glitters is really gold. This is, though.”
She points in the direction of the sunset, but I know she’s talking about the small-town party on this street. Giving up fame and fortune for Hope Crest might seem ludicrous to some people, but Cass knows the special sauce this place possesses. And I’m not just talking about the sauce that Liam helps make on the farm.
There is something magical about this town.
“I can see that. You got the dream, Cass.” I elbow her, smirking.
“You could have that, too.” She looks at me, and I know she sees what I’m trying to conceal.
“You two want beers?” Alana passes us with a tray of sliders in one hand, a soccer ball in the other.
“Sure.” Cass nods.
“I’m okay, thanks.” I hold up a hand.
Just observing those around me, watching the Ashtons interact, watching the babies giggle, that’s enough of a high for me. Plus, I need to keep my wits about me if I’m going to stay away from Liam tonight. Getting drunk and handsy with my secret lover in front of his parents is probably a no-no.
“Hi, Ma.” I hear Evan Ashton across the party as he walks up to kiss his mother on the cheek.
