Chapter 3 Lily
LILY
Ire-read the last paragraph of the romance book I started when I got home from work. Thankfully, I don’t have to travel far, as I live in the apartment above the bookstore. I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything since Heath showed up a few days ago, not even reading.
Books have always been an escape, especially romance books. They provide a way to travel to a world where fairy tales exist, good triumphs over evil, and true love wins. Who couldn’t use more of that in their lives?
Unfortunately, seeing Heath again has reignited my ridiculous crush on him. As if he didn’t already take up enough real estate in my mind. Only now it’s worse. Now, when I’m reading my steamy books, I have a more accurate picture of him.
He’s older, with a few lines at the corners of his eyes, but they make him more distinguished and mature. Something about Heath being a decade older than me makes me feel… safe, I guess. Then again, Heath has always put me at ease.
Growing up, it was just me, Hayden, and our grandmother.
She had to work a lot to provide for us, and Hayden got a job as soon as he could to pitch in.
Hayden and I did a paper route together on the weekends, even though I was technically too young.
He said if I helped him, we could do twice as much in the same amount of time.
One day, I was out on my Saturday morning paper route when the chain on my bike came off.
I remember the pedals jerking as I tried pushing forward, and then I teetered to the side and crashed into a tree.
I looked around for Hayden, but he was already several blocks ahead of me on the other side of the street.
Heath happened to be out on a morning run around the neighborhood when he came across me with my tear-stained face and bloody knee.
He cleaned me up, fixed my bike, and walked with me until we caught up to Hayden.
I was eight, and he was eighteen. Even though I wasn’t aware of any romantic feelings at such a young age, I was always drawn to him.
When my brother and Heath joined the military a short time later, my feelings only grew stronger.
Hayden often brought Heath along when the two had leave from the Army. While Heath was born and raised here in Hope Mountain, his mom left right after he graduated high school. I don’t think he’s ever met his dad, but it’s clear his relationship with his mother is rocky at best.
I loved having him over. Sometimes he’d stay at our house for weeks at a time. Those were some of my favorite memories, but now they’re tinged with sadness. My sweet, supportive grandma has been gone for years now, and Hayden came back from overseas a different man.
Sighing, I set my book down, admitting defeat for the evening.
I rub my temples, trying not to think about the heart-wrenching call I received three years ago from Hayden’s commanding officer.
They’re not usually the ones who contact next of kin in case of an emergency, but I guess my brother was an exception.
I’ll never forget the words he spoke that day.
Hayden is in critical condition. We’re flying him stateside for life-saving surgery.
My heart ceased beating, my breath stilled, and my whole world came to a crashing halt.
I felt so helpless and utterly useless. Our grandmother had just died a few years before, and I wasn’t in a great place emotionally.
And now Hayden might be dying, too? It was all too much, but I somehow got it together enough to ask where they were taking him.
Three surgeries and a year of physical therapy later, Hayden declared himself healthy and healed. He took off for a freelance security job the next week and has been bouncing around the country ever since.
I’m jarred out of my memories by a loud cracking sound, followed by a hollow thump. Standing from my comfy reading recliner, I make my way over to the window overlooking Main Street. I don’t see anything suspicious, but I can’t seem to get my heart to slow down.
It’s just the wind, I tell myself.
When I hear the cracking sound again, my head snaps to the door of my apartment, leading downstairs to the bookstore. Did the noise just come from inside?
Panicking, I look around for a weapon. Of course, I don’t have a gun or anything. Not even a baseball bat. I survey my options, passing over the remote control and an ornate hardcover anthology of Jane Austen’s greatest works. It would be a shame to ruin a special edition on a dirty thief.
I eventually decide to grab the lamp next to my reading chair.
It’s an old antique lamp I found at a thrift store in the town over.
It’s heavy as hell since the base is made of brass, and I’m guessing it could do some damage if wielded properly.
Not that I know how to attack someone, but I’m hoping an adrenaline rush will motivate me to learn quickly.
Armed with my art deco lamp and a fierce need to defend my property, I pull open my front door and head downstairs. I move as quickly and quietly as I can until I reach the back office. Standing in the doorway, I frantically look around in the dark in search of what made that sound.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I creep forward, into the main store. I tighten my sweaty grip on the lamp base and hold it out in front of me like a sword. Shuffling along the side wall, I stealthily make my way around the perimeter of the store.
When I get to the front, I peer out the big display window, hoping to catch sight of a raccoon or stray cat I can blame the noise on. No such luck.
I sigh and turn around, facing my dark, empty bookstore. I stand completely still, hardly even breathing, as I assess if I’m alone down here. My gut tells me there’s no one here, but my mind is swirling with worst-case scenarios.
An hour has passed, or maybe it’s only been five minutes. My arms are screaming from holding the lamp in front of me for so long, but I can’t bring myself to move. After long moments of silence, I eventually find the strength to take a step forward. And then another. And another.
Each movement loosens more of my muscles and joints until I’m able to search the rest of the store. I don’t find anyone or anything out of place, so I must just be paranoid. That letter from Top Spot rattled me more than I thought.
Just as I’m about to go back upstairs, my eye catches on a slip of paper on the floor in front of the checkout counter. A beam of moonlight catches the white paper, making it almost glow in the otherwise dark room.
I should leave it until morning. It’s probably nothing, just a piece of garbage. Then why is my stomach in knots? Why can’t I seem to take a full breath?
Inching my way closer, I reach the slip of paper and snatch it up as if it might jump away at the last second. It’s a square piece of cream-colored stationery, folded in half. I’m shaking so hard I can hardly grip the edges to open the damn thing. When I do, my heart drops to my toes.
It was all too easy to get in. Next time, we’ll leave more than a note.
It’s handwritten in black ink, but other than that, there are no other clues as to who the note is from.
My mind immediately goes to Top Spot, but that’s just absurd.
Right? Surely, they have better ways to conduct business than threatening the owner.
Then again, if it is them, it’s working.
I’m freaked the hell out, yet I don’t have anything to bring to the cops.
The note in and of itself isn’t a direct threat, nor is it an admission of guilt.
Also, I have no way to tie it back to the real estate company.
But I know. And that’s all they want.
I take a deep breath and debate whether to toss the note or keep it.
Ultimately, I shove it in my pocket before going up to my apartment and locking the door.
I even shove a dining room chair under the doorknob for an extra layer of protection.
I have no idea if it’ll work, but I see people do it on TV. Can’t hurt, right?
My phone rings, and I yelp as I drop the lamp. Get it together!
I take a calming breath, and then another, until I feel a little more in control. My phone rings again, and I grab it, smiling when I see the caller ID. Even though I’m still anxious about the incident in the store, talking to my brother is always a highlight.
“Hayden,” I greet. “It’s so good to hear from you.”
“How are you, Lily? Staying out of trouble?”
He’s trying to tease me, but I hear the weariness in his voice. It kills me to know he’s so unhappy and hurting, but I don’t know how to help. He doesn’t seem to want to stay in one place for long, and I have to be here to run the bookstore.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You know as well as I do there isn’t any trouble to be had here in Hope Mountain.”
This earns me a chuckle, even though it sounds a bit hollow. “I was thinking about you,” he tells me. “I realized I hadn’t checked in since I left last week. This job has kept me busy, but I’ll be starting a new one soon.”
“Where to this time?”
“Texas. Some big music festival needs extra security. Sounds like it’s going to be a lot of babysitting drunk hippies, but it pays well.”
“Maybe you’ll like the music?” I suggest, trying to help him see the silver lining.
My brother grunts, which is about what I expected.
“Or try some weed to chill you out?”
Hayden scoffs, which makes me laugh. I cannot picture my stoic, brooding brother getting stoned and dancing to trippy synth music, though the thought is very entertaining.
“Are you planning to come home before your next gig?” I ask.
I’m met with silence, which means no.
“I… don’t think I’ll have time, Lils.”
He’s lying, but I can’t be mad when he uses my nickname.
My brother sounds almost as heartbroken as I feel, but I don’t understand why.
He can come home whenever he wants. I have a second bedroom in my apartment, and now that Heath’s in town, I’m sure he’d let my brother crash there for a bit while getting his bearings.
As it is, Hayden keeps himself in isolation.
I’m starting to think he’s punishing himself for something, but whenever I ask, he shuts down the conversation.
“That’s okay,” I tell him cheerfully, even though my chest feels like it’s caving in from loneliness. I don’t want him feeling guiltier than he already does.
“It’s not,” he replies. His words are a bit muffled, and I can just picture him scrubbing a hand down his face. I’ve seen him do it so many times over the years when he’s stressed out. “I’m… I’m sorry I’m not… I’m sorry I can’t be the brother you need,” he whispers.
“Hayden, you know I love you. I’m just worried about you.”
“You don’t have to–”
“Worry about you, I know, I know. But guess what? I still do. I miss you, and I want you to be happy.”
Hayden takes a few measured breaths while he considers my words. “I miss the old me, too,” he finally says. His voice is so quiet, I almost don’t hear it over the phone. “I’m trying to get back there; it’s just… complicated.”
I want to ask him a hundred questions and then slap him upside the head until he sees he belongs right here in Hope Mountain, where his friends and family would welcome him with open arms. I won’t pretend to know what he’s been through and what still haunts him, but I know he’s never going to process it all if he’s distracting himself with work.
“Tell me about you,” Hayden says, switching topics. I let him have this out. I’m just happy to hear his voice after finding that note a few minutes ago. “And all the happenings in the bustling metropolis that is Hope Mountain.”
“Oh my gosh, well, I can’t believe I didn't tell you this while you were here, but you know Sullivan?” He grunts a yes. “He went and found himself a beautiful woman who lives with him now at Willow Tree Inn. Oh! And Cutter is engaged!”
“That grumpy bastard convinced a woman to marry him? Are you sure she’s not there under duress?”
I laugh at his joke, loving this lighter side of him. I don’t see it very often. “Sadie is head over heels for him, don’t you worry. They’re kind of adorable.”
“I don’t know if I’d ever describe Cutter as adorable, but I’ll take your word for it.”
After a few more minutes, we say our goodbyes.
I fling myself into my comfy recliner and let out a deep breath, wondering if I should have told him about the note.
My fingers find the slip of paper in my pocket, and I pull it out.
There’s nothing to tell him, really. And even if there were, it’s not like he can do anything about it when he’s hundreds of miles away.
Besides, maybe it fell when I was cleaning up the counter earlier today. Just because I found the note tonight doesn’t mean it was left there tonight. Maybe it’s been there for days or weeks. Maybe it’s not for me at all, but for the Fosters.
Keep telling yourself that, my inner monologue unhelpfully adds.
Eventually, I find the strength to peel myself off my comfy chair and drag my ass to my bed. I grab the lamp I dropped earlier and set it on the floor next to me in case I need to use it later. That thought sends shivers down my spine, and I know I’m not going to sleep a wink.