Remnants of Riley

Chapter 1

I’m not the type to pray. Not recently, anyway.

Let’s face it, life can be a real bitch, and praying hasn’t gotten me anywhere so far.

Though, I guess that’s not entirely true. I have a friend I love more than life itself, a decent job, and I’ve started to find a little bit of peace again these last few months.

So life hasn’t been all bad recently. Maybe I went through all my trials and tribulations early so the rest will be smooth sailing.

Still, I can’t help but throw up a quick one to whoever the big man upstairs may be when my phone rings and I see that it’s Tracy.

“You want the good news or the bad news first?” she asks before I even have a chance to say hello.

“Good.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement. I don’t know if I can handle any more bad news from Tracy.

“We are clear to close!” she squeals into the phone.

I let out a sharp breath and drop the pen I didn’t realize I”d had a death grip on. After months of searching and weeks of issues once we were under contract, this is finally happening. I’ll own a house. A house.

Holy crap.

It feels weird thinking about it. Even more weird saying it. If you had told me six months ago that I’d be buying a house, I would have looked at you like you were crazy.

“I was afraid we’d never hear those words,” I confess to Tracy, my chest finally feeling lighter. “So, what’s the bad news?”

“This pushes the closing date into my vacation time. I won’t be able to make it to the final walk-through or closing.” Her voice is full of regret as she says this. “But I promise I’ll have someone from the brokerage there to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Tracy and I have been best friends since we were kids, and she’s been busting her ass trying to find a house for me and my pathetically small budget. I was basically a charity case for her, though she’d never admit it. She works for the top luxury real estate brokerage in the tri-state area, and most of her clients make more in a month than I do a year. Still, she refused to let anyone else help me with this.

“That’s okay,” I assure her. “We knew this could happen.”

Getting up from my desk, I walk to the front door of the office, locking it and turning the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’. Outside the large windows facing the street, the sun is already getting low over the city skyline, making shadows streak across the pavement and casting the street in a somber light. The leaves on the trees show the faintest hint of yellow, a reminder of the blur the last few months have been now that fall is almost here.

I was supposed to close on this house three weeks ago, but a title defect nearly stopped the deal in its tracks. The fact that we are finally on our way to closing is a miracle in itself, and I never would have been able to do this without Tracy’s help.

Sinking back into my chair, I kick off my shoes. “You know I love you and appreciate everything you’ve done when you didn’t even have to take—”

Tracy cuts me off. “Yeah, yeah. I know. But I wanted to take you on as a client. It humbles me.”

I scoff. “Glad I could bring you back down to earth, big shot.”

Her laughter fills my ear. “I love you too. And you know as soon as I’m back from Europe we’ll be throwing a housewarming party.”

I hold back a groan. Tracy knows I’d rather crack a bottle of wine and watch Netflix in my pajamas than throw some big, elaborate party. Which is exactly the kind of party she’ll be throwing. One with fancy bite-sized dishes that are somehow supposed to pass for food, expensive alcohol, and all kinds of over the top decorations. I’m sure it will have a guest list a mile long, of which I’ll probably know approximately ten people.

It’s one of the reasons she’s so successful, though. She screams luxury. She can hit it off with anyone and exudes the kind of confidence I can only hope to have one day. At only twenty-seven, she’s sold more real estate than some of her colleagues who have been in the luxury market for decades.

“Just promise me you’ll keep the invite list small,” I nearly beg. “My thousand-square-foot cabin won’t hold that many people, anyway.”

Not to mention my friend list is admittedly small. I’ve barely lived here long enough to settle into my apartment, much less make friends. Granted, part of that could be my hermit lifestyle. Work, home, work, home, hang out with Trace, home.

I’m a simple creature of habit.

“That’s what those gorgeous ten acres of land are for. I could get a tent and we can host it outside...” Tracy rambles on about creating an elegant evening in the woods while I wrap up the last of my work for the day. By the time I have everything prepared for tomorrow morning”s meeting and grab my purse, Tracy has worked out damn near every detail of my housewarming party.

“Please, Trace,” I plead as I lock up the back door to the building and head to my car. “Just keep it small and casual.”

“Ugh, fine. But at least let me have food and drinks catered. Oh, and we’re getting some of those pretty outdoor string lights.” She pauses. “And a DJ.”

Laughing, I tell her, “Spotify can be the DJ, and your commission won’t even cover the party at this rate.” She cut her commission in half to keep the sellers from backing out of the deal, much to my dismay. I’d have rather lost out on the property than Tracy sacrifice her paycheck. But she wouldn”t hear it.

“You know I didn’t do this for the paycheck, Riley.” Her voice grows serious. “I’d do anything for you, and that includes throwing you a housewarming party. I know how big this is, and I think you deserve to celebrate.”

She’s right. This is a big deal for me. I don’t let my mind wander to the hell the last few years have been when I respond, “Okay, let”s plan it when you get back.”

Her excited squeal fills my ears again as I get in my car. “I promise you’ll love it! Now I gotta pack. Love yooooou! Bye!”

She disconnects before I can even respond, but I find myself actually looking forward to the party. Her excitement must be contagious. Like a virus.

Tossing my phone into the cup holder, I settle in for the drive back to my apartment. Traffic is always bad in the city at the end of the day, but tonight is exceptionally terrible. After twenty minutes and little progress, I pull off the freeway and start cutting through back roads in the hopes of making it home quicker.

I moved to the DC area six months ago. After I’d left my ex, Trevor, I was in desperate need of a new start. I bounced around for a year before finally deciding to come back to the east coast.

It wasn’t my plan to settle here, but I had found a decent paying secretary job and Tracy worked relentlessly to convince me to stick around. She’s the reason I considered buying a house to begin with. It was a miracle I was even able to qualify for a mortgage given my spotty work history and not-so-hot credit, and I sometimes wonder if I’ll wake up at some point and realize this was all a dream.

I grew up poor. My parents grew up poor, and so did their parents. They dedicated their lives to the coal mines in West Virginia, and all for nothing.

Six years ago, Dad got laid off. He took a gun to his head. Mom followed by taking a bottle to hers. I moved away a year later, after trying and failing over and over again to get my mom into a rehab facility. She instead put down the bottle, only to pick up painkillers and overdose. I left the day after her funeral.

I bury the thoughts, not wanting to relive them again, and swing into the grocery store a few blocks from my apartment. I spy a parking spot near the front of the lot and pull my old Subaru Forester into it. Throwing the car in park, I flip down the visor and use the tiny mirror to throw my hair up into a messy bun before heading into the store.

Jeremy flashes me a warm smile as soon as I walk through the door. I see the quick scan of his eyes from my feet up to my face.

“Hey, Jeremy,” I say, mustering up a smile and grabbing a shopping basket. I’m tired and had hoped to sneak in and out of the store without being noticed, but I should have known better.

“Hey, yourself. Just get off work?” He saunters over, and I give him a quick nod while absent-mindedly smoothing out my emerald green, knee-length dress.

Jeremy’s hot as hell, I’ll give him that much. He’s got this golden boy look to him, with his dirty blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes. He’s wearing his usual khaki pants and polo with the company brand on it, and it does nothing to hide his obviously fit body.

His parents own a chain of grocery stores in the state–Holsten’s Market. He’s the chief logistics officer, and responsible for the delivery and distribution of all the store”s products. I first noticed him at the store a couple months ago and got the scoop from the checkout lady as to who he was. Since then, he’s been a constant presence here.

“When are you going to let me get you that cup of coffee?” he asks, as I head toward the produce.

This has become our thing. He greets me when I walk in, follows me to the produce section, and asks to take me out to coffee. I would say yes–I should say yes–but every time I think about dating again, I get a sick feeling in my stomach; the fear coiling itself around me tighter and tighter.

“Don’t you have something more important to do than ask me out? You know, like work?” I tease, keeping my tone light. I actually do like the guy. I’m just not ready to date.

“Believe me, asking you out has become work,” he teases back, offering me a mischievous smile. That gorgeous dimple in his left cheek makes an appearance.

Heat rises in my cheeks and I turn toward the bananas, grabbing a bunch that’s still green and tossing it into my basket. Just say yes. It’s only coffee. But anxiety swirls in my gut at the thought.

“I’m sorry, Jeremy, it’s just—”

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” he cuts me off, as if reading my mind. “Just two people having coffee, getting to know each other outside of a grocery store.” He gestures to the general area around us and the smile he gives me has my cheeks heating even more.

I feel myself softening. Maybe it’s time to give him a chance. To give me a chance. It scares the hell out of me, but Jeremy seems like a safe place to start, as far as dating goes. He’s attractive, charming, and has always been kind to me. Plus, he’s been really patient so far.

“Why don’t you come to my housewarming party instead?” I spit out before I can overthink it and change my mind. That will be easier. Getting to know him with a group of people around. Low pressure, easy to escape if I need to.

Jeremy gives me an amused look. “I didn’t know you bought a house.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did. I mean, I just got the clear to close.” I nibble on my lip to stop my rambling.

My palm is sweaty around the basket handles so I shuffle the basket to my other hand. Why am I so nervous all of a sudden?

Jeremy laughs and leans against a pistachio display, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’d love to. When is it?”

“Umm, I don’t know,” I admit with a laugh. “My realtor, well, friend. Friend first, realtor later.” Seriously, Riley, what the hell is wrong with you? It’s like you’ve never talked to a guy before. “She wants to throw one for me when she gets back from her trip to Europe. So it will be a couple of weeks out.” I pull out my phone and open my contacts, handing it to him. “Give me your number and I’ll text you when I have the details.”

Jeremy takes my phone and makes quick work of adding his number. Handing it back to me, he adds, “I’ll be watching for that text.”

He gives me a wink before turning and heading back toward the front of the store. I glance down at my phone and see he’s added himself as Jeremy the Hot Grocery Guy.

I smile, the first genuine one I’ve had because of a guy in a long time.

The stove timer dings and I set my glass of wine down on the end table. Pausing my re-watch of ‘Friday Night Lights’, I slide into my slippers and get up to pull the pizza out of the oven. I’ve just loaded a plate with three slices when my phone vibrates on the kitchen island behind me.

Tracy:Closing is scheduled for next Thursday. 2pm. Walk-through Wednesday at 3pm.

Me:Thanks. Have you found someone to cover for you?

Tracy:Emmett Raythorne

Tracy:Some big shot realtor who recently moved down here from New York.

Tracy:Haven’t met him in person yet, but holy shit is he hot.

I’m about to reply that she better not be trying to set me up with someone when another text comes through–this one with a photo attached.

I open the text to see a screenshot from their brokerage website. Emmett Raythorne’s headshot is pictured between some of the other realtors. I stare at the dark-haired man staring back at me. She wasn’t lying. He is hot.

The headshot ends at Emmett’s chest, but that alone is enough to tell the guy is built. Wide shoulders hide beneath what I’m sure is a designer suit, and dark stubble graces his strong jaw. I can just barely make out the tips of tattoos at his shirt collar. Dark eyes match his short, dark hair, and I can tell from the smirk in his photo that the guy is aware of just how attractive he is.

Me:Ok, he’s hot. But he looks like he knows it.

Tracy:And…?

Me:So he’s probably an arrogant, self-absorbed asshole.

Me:And how did you convince him to help you with this if he’s such a big shot?

Tracy:Stop finding a reason to hate every guy I send your way.

I knew it! She was trying to set me up. It’s not the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last, but I wish she’d just back off for a little while.

I’ve told her every detail of my relationship with Trevor, hoping she would understand why I needed more time. But instead, her response was to work harder to set me up with someone. ‘It’s been a year and a half, Riley. Just fuck someone already so you can move on,’ she’d told me the last time we debated my love life.

Before I can draft up a heated response to her, another text is coming through.

Tracy:And I didn’t convince him. He offered ;)

The winking face at the end of her text has me groaning. I can only imagine what she’s already told this guy.

Forcing down the sick feeling in my stomach, I make quick work of ending this conversation before she meddles even more.

Me:Thanks for finding someone to cover. Send me his contact info.

Tracy sends me Emmett’s info and I make my way back toward the couch. Setting my pizza aside, I grab my glass of wine, fill it back up to the rim, and hit play on the remote. ‘Friday Night Lights’ resumes, Coach Taylor giving an impassioned halftime speech, but I don’t hear a word he says, my mind too preoccupied with someone else.

Grabbing my phone from the side pocket of my yoga pants, I pull up Emmett’s photo again. It’s like Tracy planted a seed, and now I can’t ignore the fact that Emmett is so attractive. It’s honestly unfair. I didn’t ask for this kind of distraction, especially when he’s someone I’m supposed to work with.

I should have known Tracy would take advantage of this opportunity to try to introduce yet another man to me. I love the girl to death, but she doesn”t know when to quit. Then again, it’s not like wallowing around my apartment by myself every night has been helping me move on, either.

I down my glass of wine, and one more, before I’ve got a good buzz going, my now cold pizza still sitting on the end table untouched. I’m still staring at Emmett’s headshot when I decide to be brave for the second time tonight.