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But I wasn’t, and I’d come to terms with that long ago. I went on to coach kids in sports and drama programs alike while working for my father’s website design business as my nine-to-five, and nothing even remotely close to Liam ever happened again.
No, the universe royally screwed me up by sending him to me at that point in my life. When I couldn’t start anything, when it would have been wrong, when we both would have been crucified for it. Twelve years later, I realize I’ve never been in love the way I’ve dreamed of being, and only late at night do I allow myself to ponder if maybe that’s because I should have just waited it out to see if I could have found that with Liam when the timing was appropriate.
Those thoughts have never buzzed around in my head more than when I moved back to Hope Crest a year and a half ago. Coming back here was never the plan, but that was before my grandmother Lucy left me everything when she died two years ago. To say it was a shock to get that phone call would be an understatement. While the rest of my family went through her funeral and the consequent planning of it with subtle sadness and reverent glad-handing, I was beside myself with grief.
Our time together during those three months of my living here as a fresh college graduate was some of the best of my life, and even after I fled because of extenuating circumstances, we kept in touch frequently. She never put up a fight when I quit after my first year of teaching and didn’t pry when I took off like hell was on my heels. Grandma Lucy was an understanding, wise, tough-as-nails woman who kept to her own business but was a supportive shoulder when I needed one.
Even though it was a pain for her to travel, she made the effort to visit me a few times in Charlotte, North Carolina, after I moved. It was like she knew I couldn’t step foot back in Pennsylvania, so she came to me.
Being who she was, it wasn’t a surprise that she hid her cancer from everyone while also refusing treatment; my grandmother had been certain it was her time and was ready to see my grandfather. Or so she’d written in the letter she left along with her will that instructed me to return to town, sell her bookshop, and donate all the paperbacks to various charities.
So back to Hope Crest, the place I swore I’d never return to. I went because I couldn’t not fulfill her last wishes. Deep down, I think she plotted to get me back here. My grandmother always had that hint of a twinkle in her eye that betrayed just how much she really knew. All that was required of me was giving my job two weeks’ notice, breaking my apartment lease, and delivering the news to my parents and siblings.
They all thought I was insane for temporarily moving back, but what the hell else was I doing? I was a thirty-five-year-old woman stuck in a rut, unhappy with my life, not in love or raising the family I wanted, so it made sense to make a major change.
And somewhere, on the edges of my mind, I wondered if I’d run into him. Liam Ashton. In twelve years, I hadn’t let myself look for him. Ever. I had no clue if he even still lived in Hope Crest.
That question was answered the first time our gazes collided at a town festival, and his face turned red with surprise and anger. Mine? It felt like I’d been shocked by a thousand static burns. Like my world had been jagged puzzle pieces that hadn’t fit together in twelve years, and all of a sudden, they came flying back together and almost bowled me over. Looking into those brown-gray, so dark they almost looked black at times, eyes made me feel like the calm in the midst of a chaotic storm.
Liam looking at me made my axis adjust itself, and I knew, right then, that I’d been a fool to run for this long. That I’d been avoiding my destiny, too scared of it to find out if it was real. The truth was, I had nothing I wanted because I didn’t have him.
All these years later, and I still can’t deny love at first sight.
Yet, I am still skittish about it because it has been eighteen months since I stepped foot back here, and we still can’t seem to have a conversation without it being awkward, painful, and avoidant.
Case in point, we’re both kneeling on the rough concrete of Newton Street at seven a.m. on a Sunday, collecting my spilled groceries, and Liam can barely acknowledge my presence.
The long cream-and-coffee-colored locks at the top of his scalp spill onto his forehead, and those black lashes flutter down to his cheeks to evade my eyes. In the twelve years since I’ve last seen him, his muscles have grown muscles, the long, lean tapered shape of his body resembling that of a man who earned an Adonis title working outside with his hands rather than with manufactured machines in a gym. Dark stubble constantly shadows the strong jaw and rugged cheekbones he sports, and I’m not sure when dirty boots and thigh-hugging jeans became porn for me, but on him, they are.
The man is a woman’s fantasy, a well-honed ride I’d like to take, and yet the other affect he’s adopted since we last saw each other is a mean streak and a horrible attitude.
Liam Ashton is the grumpiest, growliest man I’ve ever encountered, and part of me knows I instilled that in him.
“You don’t have to act like we’re archenemies every time you see me. I’ll be in town for a prolonged period of time; we could at least be cordial.”
Seeing as I’ve already been here a year and a half, which has flown by. I might have used the excuse of slowly cleaning out grandma’s store as my reason for staying, but I obviously could have sold and emptied it in about six months. Instead, I used the first six months of my time here getting a part-time job at the Hope Crest Playhouse assisting Wilson, the manager, by doing just about anything. Set design, instructing child acting classes, returning phone calls, and even selling tickets on busy nights. I was grieving, and adjusting to being back in this weirdly comforting but strange place, had thrown me for more of a loop than I bargained for. So I put it all off, moved into my grandmother’s condo, and began working at the playhouse. Being in the theater, a place I’ve had love for since I was a child, made me feel a sense of happiness I hadn’t in a very long time. Twelve years, to be exact.
After about half a year, I was brave enough to read through the terms of my grandmother’s will. I’d blown through the meager savings I’d come here with, only to be surprised that my grandmother left me a hefty sum in return for coming to act out her wishes. So, for the last year, I’ve been moving at a snail’s pace to fulfill them while sorting through my own baggage. It’s been like therapy, albeit I haven’t addressed the elephant in the room.
Or, well, the insanely handsome grump of a man who’d once been off-limits but is now the most eligible bachelor in town.
Liam looks so irritated at me outright addressing the tension between us, and he shifts until he’s standing over me.
“Just giving you the same medicine you dosed out to me all those years ago.” It’s a fucking petty thing to say, and he knows it by the look on his face just split seconds after he delivers it.
But then the mask is back in place, and he’s glowering again.
In my chest, a twinge of guilt spasms. I spent so much time avoiding him when I moved to town the first go-round as a new teacher, and when I left, I’m sure it upset and hurt him. Definitely hurt his pride, and maybe something deeper, not that we ever talked about it. It would explain him acting like a bratty child, though.
Part of me thinks he wants me to notice his shitty attitude because bickering about what fault is whose is better than silence.
I begin walking, because I can’t stay rooted to the spot with my arms heaving with groceries any longer, and I feel Liam following behind me.
“You know there was nothing I could do,” I finally say, admitting out loud for the first time in years that there was a conflict and connection between us.
We walk along silently, the downtown still sleepy as birds sing above our heads. The weeping trees that line the back of the canal towpath shadow us, the red dirt under our shoes shuffling softly. I love it here, in the “secret-garden” esque setting of my grandmother’s condo. She lived in a different house years ago when I’d been a teacher here and moved to downsize but also be closer to the store. The row homes are done in white stucco and brick, with black roofs and wrought-iron balconies. They look like something out of a quaint French village and take my breath away each morning I look out the bedroom window. It’s an odd realization to feel like you’re at home in a place you barely spent time, but I do.
“As you’ve said.” Liam’s deep voice hits the back of my head once more. “Thing is, I’m a grown man now, Gabrielle. And it seems like you’re no longer running from this place.”
