Happily Ever Never

3. Brooke

3

brOOKE

I’m standing in a family-style restaurant. There’s a counter with spinning chairs on one side, and tables covered with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths on the other side. The décor is farm style, with pictures of roosters and cows on the wall, and salt and pepper shakers shaped like sheep. Very, very not Manhattan. I glance at the stack of plastic-covered menus resting on the counter and see that I’m at Velma’s.

All of the people here look like they live in a small town, unlike me. Men are dressed in jeans, women are mostly wearing skirts or jeans and simple blouses, and there are some older people wearing leisure suits sitting in a booth.

As for me, I’m wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit that Lucas bought me for Christmas. Lucas has a stylist send me my work outfits, saying that anyone working for Sheffield has to project a certain image. It’s a tradition that started with his father, a very flashy and overbearing man who dominated the company until he had a mild stroke and was forced to step down last year.

“Hey, you. You can’t be in the kitchen.” A man waves angrily from behind the counter. “Safety regulations.” He looks to be in his late forties, solidly built, with threads of gray running through his hair. He’s wearing a black work apron and an aggravated expression.

I flash him an apologetic look. “My bad! It won’t happen again.”

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I never got to finish lunch.

No, instead I got hit by lightning and ended up in this pretty-as-a-postcard town and ran off and ditched Lucas, and maybe I shouldn’t have? He and I seem to be in this together. I haven’t spotted any other bewildered Manhattanites stumbling around downtown, gawking at cute little shoppes.

My legs are shaky, and I collapse onto one of the spinning stools. Something is bothering me still. I feel like I’m missing something very important.

I grab a plastic-covered menu and order a roast beef sandwich and coffee. The waitress smiles at me. Her name tag identifies her as Brenda. Brenda looks close to me in age, probably late twenties, with a fresh-faced, rosy-cheeked prettiness and denim-blue eyes. Her honey-blond hair is pulled back into a neat bun.

There’s a handsome police officer sitting at the end of the counter. He’s got skin the color of cafe au lait, dreamy brown eyes that are fringed with lashes that any woman would kill for, and a thick shock of movie idol black hair. He glances at Brenda and lets his gaze linger just a little longer than a casual glance, then returns his attention to his meal.

“Well, welcome home! I almost didn’t recognize you,” Brenda says. “I love what you’ve done with your hair. Those big city salons are so fancy!”

I smile politely. I did get a few caramel streaks put in, to break up the dark brown. “Oh... thank you.” She’s the third person who seems to think she knows me. I must look a lot like someone from here. Susie, I’m guessing ?

“You’ll be stopping by the theater this week, I guess? We’re doing rehearsals nights and weekends. I’m making the costumes, of course, and they drafted me to do set design too, although it’s really not my strong suit. It’s probably going to be our last play, of course.”

What, and why? Although the mention of theater set design immediately piques my interest. “Uh... maybe?”

She gives me a puzzled look, as if that’s the wrong answer, and then hurries off to clear a table.

The restaurant door jingles, and I glance at it as someone walks in, half expecting Lucas. It’s not him, though. It’s a woman, petite and stylish, the only woman here who looks as out-of-place as I do. Her pale blond hair is glossy and cut in a razored chin-length bob, her pink A-line coat flares out stylishly, and her lip gloss matches the color of her coat perfectly. Her strappy alligator-skin sandals are Tory Burch, and she’s got a look of bewilderment on her small, pretty face.

And then it hits me so hard I almost fall off my stool.

It’s my favorite author, Serena Lovelace. I recognize her from her author photos, which are at the back of every book.

And she’s staring at me saucer-eyed, like I'm the long-lost relative who just showed up at the reading of a will.

I stand up and walk over to her. “Excuse me, are you Serena Lovelace?” I ask her.

Her eyes widen. She shakes her head and backs away from me. “It’s impossible,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry, I... I need a minute.” Her gaze lights on a newspaper sitting on the counter near my seat, and her eyes widen.

“I’m losing my mind,” she gasps.

Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around today.

Serena scurries away and sits in a booth at the far end of the room. She pulls a sketchpad from her purse, glances down at it, and then stares at me again. She shakes her head and pulls her cell phone from her purse .

I want to ask her a million questions, but she doesn’t look like she’s in any mood to talk, so I take my seat.

Brenda sets my food and coffee down, along with a little silver milk pitcher. Mechanically, I dump in some milk, stir, and take a sip.

After I’ve finished half my sandwich and all of my coffee, I’m starting to feel a little better.

There’s worry thrumming through my veins, though. I can’t stop thinking about my parents. My mother already feels so alone without my father in the house. What if I can’t get home? How would she survive that?

I glance at the newspaper. The Green Acres Gazette has an emblem of a weather vane up top. Southern Virginia’s finest small town newspaper is their tagline. The main story, above the fold, is about the Save Our Downtown Committee meeting tomorrow night at City Hall.

Well, that’s... more than a little odd. Serena Lovelace sets a lot of her stories in a town called Green Acres, and I know from reading interviews with her that she only sets her books in fictional towns.

So we’re all in Green Acres, Virginia... a town that shouldn’t exist.

Did that lightning strike send me to a hospital, and I’m in a coma now? Am I hovering in between life and death?

My hand trembles as I reach for my sandwich and take a bite. Tangy horseradish stings my mouth. I wash it down with coffee, savoring the milky, bitter flavor.

This is real. I can taste, see, touch, smell, hear... I’m not unconscious in a hospital ward somewhere, with oxygen hissing into my nose and saline dripping into my veins.

With every sip I ground myself.

Okay, I need to go find Lucas, and not murder him, and then the two of us need to find a way out of this. That’s the most important thing .

I reach for my pocketbook, and then it hits me. I don’t have it, and I don’t know where it is. That’s what I felt I was missing.

Earlier, I shoved my book into my jacket pocket because I didn’t have my pocketbook. I don’t know how I could miss that. Like most women, my pocketbook is like an extension of my body, but I guess I was so distracted that I didn’t notice.

Which means I don’t have my wallet. Or cell phone.

Panic swells up inside me. Brenda flashes me a worried look. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t have my wallet,” I say, frantically patting my jacket pockets. Nothing in there but the book.

That catches the attention of the scowly guy behind the counter... and the police officer at the end of the counter. His deep brown eyes are now laser-focused on me. Oh, no.

The apron-wearing guy frowns even harder. “You need to pay your bill,” he tells me.

“Can I use your phone? I can call my mother, and she’ll pay with a credit card.”

“This isn’t a public pay phone,” he scowls, but gestures at an avocado green phone on the wall, and I hurry over.

I dial quickly, and I’m so stressed that I dial the number wrong. “I’m sorry, you have reached a number that’s not in service...”

My stomach is wavery with stress as I dial again, slowly and carefully this time.

“I’m sorry, you’ve reached a number that is not in service...”

No. That can’t be.

I hang up, my hand shaking. I know my home phone number, damn it! It hasn’t changed in twenty-eight years!

The scowly guy folds his hairy arms across his chest.

“Theodore, calm down,” Brenda says.

“Zip it, Brenda. It’s none of your business.” She shoots him an indignant look, and honestly I want to smack him for talking to her that way, but I’m already in enough trouble as it is. The police officer is standing up now.

I’m going to get arrested. This can’t be happening. I’ve never gotten so much as a jaywalking ticket.

“Um... can I wash dishes?” I say desperately.

“Wash dishes?” Theodore scoffs. “This isn’t the movies. Either pay up or you’re going to jail.”

“Jail? That’s a little much,” Brenda protests. “I’ll pay for it.” Everyone in the restaurant is staring at us, and my cheeks are red-hot with embarrassment.

“No, you won’t!” Theodore barks at her.

Wow. Theodore is a little bitch. Telling him that probably won’t help matters, though.

The door swings open, and Lucas walks in. Everyone’s attention instantly turns to him, which always happens when he enters a room. He’s tall, handsome as Apollo, and walks with an air of impatient command. Men straighten up and square their shoulders as he walks by, and women simper and flip their hair.

Please, go work for him for a week and then tell me how you feel, I silently telegraph at the ladies who have turned all gooey in his presence.

He crosses the room in a few short strides and his gaze roves from Theodore to me to the police officer and Brenda.

“What’s going on?” he asks me. “What kind of trouble are you causing now?”

Theodore directs his scowl at Lucas. “What’s going on is she tried to do a dine and dash, and now she’s going to jail.”

“I did not!” I say indignantly. “I didn’t try to dash. I ordered lunch and then realized I don’t have my purse. I lost it somehow when I got zapped here.” That last bit is directed at Lucas.

“Zapped here?” a white-haired woman in a pink jogging suit wonders aloud. “That’s Susie McGillicuddy, isn’t it? Going to the big city scrambled her brains, wouldn’t you say, Ruby.”

“Oh, yep, yep,” agrees her companion, an older woman with a tropical-print muumuu-style dress and hair dyed a fiery red, nodding vigorously. “Sure did, Edna. Going to the big city will do that for you. Remember Silas’s sister-in-law’s cousin? She went absolutely cuckoo, I hear. She’s in one of those asylums now.”

Forget Silas’s sister’s cousin. What’s with this Susie business? How strongly do I resemble this woman?

I shake my head in exasperation and look at Lucas. “I will need an advance on my last paycheck, please.”

He strokes his chin, pretending to think. “Last paycheck, last paycheck... hmm. I don’t think that you actually quit, did you? I think you’ve come to your senses and realized that Sheffield Properties treats you very, very well.”

The nerve.

“ Sheffield Properties can stick a pinecone up the wazoo. I need twenty dollars.” I hold my hand out.

Lucas lets the moment drag on for far too long, with a smirk playing on his full lips and an evil gleam in his eyes, before he finally reaches into his wallet. He pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and hands it to Theodore.

“The change goes to Brenda,” I say.

Brenda’s eyes widen. “Well, thank you, Susie. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Who’s Susie?” Lucas asks me. “Why is she looking at you and calling you Susie?”

Before I can reply, a woman with a frosty blond hair-helmet stomps up. She’s angrily waving a newspaper, and she shoves it in front of Lucas’s face. Looking at that front-page article, I realize there’s a picture of Lucas right next to it.

But the picture identifies him as a Jasper Whitfield, owner of Whitfield Development, who is going to... demolish downtown Green Acres?

“It’s you! I knew I recognized you!” she snaps. Then she slaps him in the face with the newspaper.

“Excuse you?” Lucas grabs the newspaper from her and looks at the picture. “That’s not me! I mean, it looks like me, but I’m not Jasper Whitfield. I can show you my ID” He opens his wallet, looks inside, and pulls out his license.

He looks down at it and his eyes widen in shock.

“No. What the hell?”

I lean in to look.

It identifies him as Jasper Whitfield.

How did that happen? How did that license get into his wallet, and why does it have his picture and a New York address that’s not his?

“Jasper Whitfield?” Theodore spits out the words. “Of course it’s you. Haven’t seen you in ten years, but I see it now. You never were any good. You and that no-good drunk father of yours.”

Genuine anger flashes across Lucas’s face. “My father is not a drunk. My father is the hardest-working man I’ve ever met.”

Lucas has complicated feelings about his father, not that he’d ever talk about it with me.

When his father calls, I always put the call through instantly, no matter what Lucas is doing. When I try to place calls to Lucas’s father, half the time the nurse who answers for him says he can’t come to the phone.

On the rare occasions that Lucas’s father comes in to visit at the office, leaning heavily on a cane and accompanied by a nurse’s aide, I can hear angry voices from Lucas’s office, and Lucas’s mood is ruined for days after.

“Work? Are we talking about the same Herman Whitfield?” the hair helmet woman smirks at Lucas. “Herman wouldn’t have recognized work if it bit him in the butt. ”

“Get out of my restaurant,” Theodore barks at him.

Lucas gives him an exasperated look. “But I’m not—” he starts to protest.

I grab him by the arm. Everyone is on their feet now, glaring murderously at him. Whoever this Whitfield guy is, he is apparently going to destroy this lovely downtown somehow, and he is not a popular man. I feel like I’m about to see what tarring and feathering looks like, and mad as I am at Lucas in general, I’m not quite mad enough to want to witness that.

“We should go. Fast. Thank you, Brenda!” I cry out, and Lucas lets me drag him towards the door.

As we hurry out onto the sidewalk, I feel a weird, violent vibration coming from my jacket pocket. Odd. I thought my cell phone was in my purse, and also, it’s never vibrated like that before.

“So, everyone in this town is crazy, including us, because this can’t be happening,” Lucas says, throwing his hands up in the air as I reach into my pocket. “Who put that license in my wallet? People think I’m Jasper Whitfield, and someone called you Susie. Two people called you Susie, actually. What the hell?”

“I don’t know. Hold on.” I pull my book out of my pocket. As I do, the vibration stops.

“What?” Lucas asks.

“My book was vibrating. I swear I’m not imagining it.”

He takes it from my hand. “Hey, this is not the craziest thing that’s happened today. I believe you.”

I manage a wry smile. “Well, look at you, taking me seriously.”

Lucas gives me a puzzled look. “I always take you seriously. Why do you think I always have you around? I value your opinion.”

I blink several times in shock. “A compliment? Is there something I should know? Are you dying?” I peer at him closely. He looks healthy as a horse, and not just any horse, because this is Lucas Sheffield—if he were a horse, he’d be a Triple Crown winner.

I clap my hand to my chest. “Wait, am I dying?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Obviously, I value you your opinion or you wouldn’t still be working for me.”

I shake my head slowly as he starts flipping through the book. Well, this is something new. Lucas Sheffield never gives compliments. Ever.

And it honestly never occurred to me that Lucas actually valued anything about me, or that he wanted me around—me, personally. Not just any assistant, but me.

I didn’t know that Lucas cared about me in any way at all, the way I care about him.

Well, that makes it sound like I care about him romantically, which I definitely do not. I just care about him as a person, sometimes, when I’m not in one of those moods where I want to push him out his fifth-floor office window to see if he’d bounce.

“Why does your book only have two chapters?” Lucas asks. “The rest of it’s blank.”

He hands it to me, and I flip through it. “You’re right. Weird.”

“You two!” a woman shrieks at us, her voice edged with hysteria.

Serena Lovelace is hurrying towards us, her eyes wide and frantic. She’s got a notebook in her hand, and she’s waving it.

“I demand that you two tell me what’s going on here, before I have you arrested for kidnapping!”