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Am I flirting with Ben? I can’t help but laugh. He was inside me and I’m melting over a winky face from him.
I clutch my phone to my chest and stare at the dress.
Phoebe: What are your thoughts about coming a day early?
Ben: I’m happy to come any day of the week…
Phoebe: BEN!
Ben: Friday sounds great.
Chapter Six
Ben
I set foot in North Grayslake early Friday morning. So early, in fact, Phoebe is still in school.
After depositing my things in her room—thanks to a snarky looking woman who keeps asking me if I’m really Ben Steel—I figure I’ll walk around the town to acquaint myself before Phoebe is done with her last class for the day.
Wrapping my coat tightly around myself, I duck into the first interesting looking building I come across—North Grayslake Historical Society and Museum. It’s deceptively small looking from the outside, despite its long name.
As soon as I step inside, I realize what I thought was the entire building is only the entryway. It’s a dark hallway with gallery style lighting illuminating blown-up black and white pictures of the town’s history.
A sense of peace settles over me as I read the plaques next to each one. Every picture tells some part of the story of North Grayslake and, by the time I get to the end of the entryway, I know this town better than I know Clover Creek.
Why don’t we have one of these at home?
In my freshman year, we were tasked with writing a brief history of Clover Creek, complete with an interview with the eldest resident we knew. My friend Luke’s great grandma fit the bill and we all interviewed her. Mrs. Landon passed away a couple years ago while I was in California, and the pain of not being there still stung.
She would have loved a place like this at home. I would, too. Writing that history report had been fun. No one else in class had been excited, but I had. The teacher used my paper as an example for the rest of the class. She had explained I went above and beyond, while they missed the mark. Mine was an essay, while theirs were all scant timelines.
Being called out for doing so much had embarrassed me, but now I’m wondering if I should have taken that interest and run with it. History has always enthralled me. Phoebe’s the reason I started reading Regency books, but I’ve kept reading them because I enjoy immersing myself in the past. Putting myself in the shoes of someone who came before me and imagining what life would have been like.
What would have happened if I had followed through with something I wanted to do instead of following Liam to California? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so lost and unsure right now.
I meander through the exhibits showing what the area could have looked like before recorded history and the results of dirt samples that provide the best pre-historic picture of the land possible.
The displays progress through time until I’m in front of a projector screen looping a video about the town’s tricentennial celebration last year.
“Three-hundred years,” I mutter.
“Yes,” a bright voice startles me out of my thoughts. “It was quite the festival.”
I smile when I turn around and see an old man, a head shorter than me, stooped from decades of life. “Wish I could have been here.”
“We started organizing the whole thing five years ago.”
“That long?” I marvel at the commitment.
“Only because he’s a perfectionist.” A gray-haired lady with glasses on a chain around her neck materializes next to the man.
He scoffs and waves her away. “Someone has to be.”
“How long have the two of you run this place?” It’s more than obvious they’re the ones in charge. One of them more than the other.
“How long’s it been, Nelson?”
Nelson squints and stares at a spot on the ceiling. “Nigh on forty years, Val.”
