Chapter 3
“That oughta do it for you, Miss Ivy. We’ve got you all fixed up with a brand-new tire, and I was even able to get most of that dent out of your front bumper,” Big Dan, the owner of Auto Shop, says as he wipes his greasy hands on a towel.
“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”
He brushes me off. “Oh, no, I should say the same to you. I can’t wait to surprise Susan with that dress you helped me pick out for our anniversary tonight.”
“Remember to call and make the reservation. Women love it when their partners take initiative. It’s the little things that’ll get you laid,” I say with a wink.
Dan throws his head back, letting out a roar of laughter, which makes me smile that much wider.
I took my grumpy hero’s advice and showed up at ten this morning with a warm pastry and a hot cup of coffee from Bakery. That was just about all the convincing Big Dan needed to push my car up to the top priority of his morning.
We were on our way to find my car when he got a call to pull old lady Marion’s car out of a ditch—apparently, it’s the third time this year. Dan thinks she’s got someone on the inside at the DMV helping her pass her driving tests, and after meeting her, I have to agree.
Then, he mentioned that tonight was his wedding anniversary, and one thing led to another, and I was helping him pick out a dress to surprise her with. Dan had recently picked up a few of her romance novels she’d left lying around and wanted to put some of his new knowledge to good use. I could only hope if I ever settled down with someone that he’d still be trying to woo me forty years later. Of course, that’ll never happen since I don’t plan on ever settling down.
I yank at the neck of my T-shirt and shiver, just thinking about it.
Me and commitment go together just about as well as baptizing a cat, and I don’t have any plans of changing my mind. I’ve seen what happens when people stay together for the kids, and I’ve experienced enough loss to last me a lifetime. It’s easier to be detached because if losing my sister taught me anything, it’s that everything comes to an end eventually.
So, why put yourself in a position to be hurt to begin with?
“Thanks for tagging along with me this morning. I enjoyed having the company, not to mention all those great date night ideas.” He taps his temple and gives me a wink.
“Anytime, Dan.” I pull out my wallet and reach for my credit card. “How much do I owe you?—”
He waves a hand and shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Ivy.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why not? I don’t expect you to do me any favors. Let me pay you?—”
“It’s already been taken care of. There’s nothing to pay,” he says like it’s the end of the discussion.
“By who?”
Dan just flashes me a shit-eating grin and motions like he’s zipping his lips shut. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but I reckon it can’t be too hard to narrow down, considering you just got to town last night. You must’ve made a good impression on someone.” He shrugs, then hands me my keys.
“Yeah, well, someone has a weird way of showing it.” I take my keys and tuck them into my pocket as I turn to leave.
“See ya around, Ivy! And please don’t go on any more nighttime hikes. I wouldn’t want the Phantom to get you!” Dan playfully calls from behind the counter.
“Maybe that’s just the kind of trouble I’m looking for!”
“Why do I not doubt that in the slightest? You’re trouble, Miss Ivy, and I think we could all use a little more trouble around here. Some of us more than others …”
I wave goodbye and thank him again as I turn the corner onto Main Street and take in the quaint little downtown before me.
Who knew an old coal mining town in West Virginia could be so … cute?
According to Dan, Ashford Falls was completely barren up until thirty years ago, when some bigwig billionaire family swooped in and bought the whole town. Frank Kingsley and his wife, Mary Ashford—whose family was founding members—and their five sons came in and started an international eco-friendly company, and set Ashford Falls as their home campus.
Since then, the company’s grown, and so has the town. They’ve personally subsidized everything from the roads to the schools and local businesses. As Dan said, they breathed life back into this little town. It’s an odd thing to think people that rich could care about other people enough to bring back local jobs, much less the environment, but if what Dan says is true, then maybe there’s hope for us yet.
Rows of colorful Victorian-style shops line the streets, and it feels like I’ve taken a step back in time or been transported somewhere else entirely. Everything here seems to be preserved to its original state but somehow better with an eclectic mix of old and new infrastructure.
I laugh to myself as I read the shop names, all in the same font and style—Bakery, Market, Bookstore, Boutique, and Auto Shop, where I met Dan this morning.
Whoever’s in charge of the city commerce either has a dry personality with no time for frills and fluff or they’re committed to the bit because this is hysterical. Fern would have absolutely loved it.
Across the street, on the corner, there’s Inn, and along the next corner, a large black building—the only black among the sea of bright colors—sits Restaurant.
It’s got ornamental stained-glass windows and a steep-pitched roof. It looks like it used to be an old church that was converted into a restaurant, and I can’t help but think that of all the buildings in this little town, this one would’ve been Fern’s favorite. With the juxtaposition of timeless and modern, it captures the essence of this town perfectly.
I notice my stomach growling, just thinking about it, and I make a mental note to visit … after I take a better look at my bank account.
I cross the cobblestone street, taking in the elaborate displays set in deep bay windows, and even though it’s still very much summertime, a cool breeze blows my hair out of my face, giving me the slightest preview of fall.
It’s not hard to imagine the streets lined with pumpkins and sugared-up children running around in Halloween costumes.
If I were ever going to start a family, I’d raise my children someplace like this. Cozy, small, safe, and charming to boot, but with just enough of an edge to keep things current and fresh.
Maybe in another life.
I press my hand over the list I keep tucked in my overall pocket and take a deep breath.
“Okay, Ferny, you got me here. Now what?”
I don’t have to hear my sister’s voice to know what I need to do next because with Fern, the next right thing was always … ice cream. And what do you know? There just so happens to be an ice cream truck parked across the street, next to a line of food trucks.
She might not be much help in how to get from point A to B, but at least I know she’s still watching out for me, sending me ice cream trucks and hot, rich grumps to help me out when I need it.
What more does a girl need than that anyway?
Melted chocolate ice cream drips down my arm as I race to finish the triple-scoop cone before the sun melts it all over me.
I crunch the last bite of cone between my teeth and attempt to wipe my sticky arms in the soft grass. It doesn’t help. In fact, I just manage to make a bigger mess, sticky and covered in grass. Great.
I’m sitting under a large oak tree, people-watching—my favorite pastime—as birds chirp all around me.
Days like today make me nostalgic about my childhood. Back when my biggest decisions were what color friendship bracelets to make and if I could still beat Ferny in a foot race—spoiler alert: I always did.
Now, I’ve got much bigger worries, but I promised myself I’d only start thinking about them after I finished this ice cream cone.
My stomach churns in a tight knot, and no matter how hard I try to reframe it, there’s no shaking the panic gnawing at my stomach.
I’m broke.
It’s so much worse than I thought.
After I treated myself to an ice cream, I sat down with my new phone—thanks to my grumpy guardian angel last night—and nearly choked when I saw the balance.
Every time I look, there’s new charges from my mom’s facility—random fees or expenses I didn’t anticipate.
At this rate, I’ll be bankrupt before the end of the summer, and the worst part is, I was the one who encouraged her to go through with it. I assured her we could make it work and I’d be able to catch whatever expenses fell through the cracks.
I swallow a gulp and set a ten-minute timer to worry. It’s something Fern’s therapist taught her to help cope with her illness, and after she realized how stressed I was, she started making me do it too.
Sometimes, I think I’m too good at compartmentalizing my stress. I’ll do just about anything to distract myself from it.
Even dropping out of college and signing a one-year contract to work in Dracula’s Castle with barely enough money to get me through the next month. All while trying to cross off as many things on this list as I can. I’m living out of my car, and what little I have left in savings is rapidly deteriorating as my mother’s living expenses steadily accrue. I really should’ve read the fine lines before agreeing to cosign for her expenses, but attention to detail was never my strong suit.
Fern would’ve planned for this for years—hell, in a lot of ways she already did by making this list. But that’s how we were different. She was the planner, and I was the doer. It never failed that she’d have to bail me out of trouble, but we’d always walk away with a hell of a story to tell. That was what she always told me to make me feel better anyway.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s not like I have a home I can crawl back to, and I’ve already dropped out of school, lost what little scholarships I had, and used my savings to buy a nonrefundable plane ticket to Romania. It was Fern’s biggest dream, so I just need to figure out how to patch enough odd jobs together for the next thirty days, and then I’ll have the fresh start that I desperately need.
I twirl Fern’s plain silver ring as I try to think of a plan. Her fingers were thinner than mine, so I have to wear it on my ring finger. She was such a little weirdo, and I miss her so much, it hurts. As much as I want to live out all her dreams, the thought of not knowing what she’d do next eats at me more than I’d like to admit.
When I think of what I’m really here to do—find somewhere to sprinkle her ashes—it makes my throat tighten up and sends a cold chill up my spine. I’m not ready to say goodbye, but maybe finishing the list will help me to be.
There’s also the pressure of choosing the perfect resting place, and she certainly didn’t help me by asking me to do it before she died.
“You’ll know where to sprinkle me, Ivy. I trust you to find the perfect place.”
No pressure, right, sis?
I scoff a laugh at the absurdity of it all just as my timer alerts me that my worry session has come to an end.
So much for coming up with a plan. I guess I’ll just wing it, like I always do. I’ll keep my eyes open, and something will come along. It always does. It’s not like I’m afraid of getting my hands dirty with a little hard work, and I’m not above doing whatever it takes to make ends meet.
I’ve done just about any odd job you could imagine—from dog walking to food delivery to selling pictures of my feet to creepy guys online. For the right price, I’d be willing to try just about anything once. The important thing is flexibility with the freedom to pivot when I get bored, which makes short-term jobs ideal for my chaotic lifestyle.
“Okay, Ferny. You want me to check off this list for you? Then, I’m going to need you to help me find a job. Okay?”
No sooner do the words leave my mouth than I hear that deep, familiar voice that played through my dreams all night long.
I sit up in a rush, and immediately, my eyes land on his pristine white button-up shirt, stretched over his thick, broad shoulders. My stomach pirouettes, and I swallow a gulp.
I’m already walking toward him before I can even figure out what to say. Somehow, Thanks for the new tires, ’kay, bye, doesn’t feel like enough, but my mind’s drawing a big fat blank.
Since when am I, of all people, at a loss for words?
He’s talking on the phone, sitting on a park bench, eating a bowl of noodles. I pause when I get close enough to hear his conversation.
“No, Roman. I told you, you can tell Mom I will not be wearing the bow tie she crocheted for family portraits.”
Consider my interest piqued. I move a little closer.
“No, he’s not my brother. Do I seem like someone who knows where to find a last-minute Siegfried and Roy impersonator for a cat’s birthday party? Listen, I’m trying to eat my lunch in peace. Can we talk about this later? Fine. Bye.” He hangs up the phone and shakes his head.
Have my prayers been answered? So soon?
Feeling a renewed sense of hope, I step behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you …”
His eyes widen in recognition, and he chokes on his bite of noodles.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” I give his back a little pat as he coughs into his elbow. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and?—”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin, then coughs some more before nodding his head. “You nearly blinded me with a fistful of rice. That’s not exactly a first impression one easily forgets.”
It’s then I notice his left eye is red and swollen. I purse my lips, feeling awkward. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you can only tell if you’re looking at it.”
“Great. Just what I was hoping for.” He dabs his forehead with his napkin and coughs again. “Is there something you need, or did you just want to come by and insult me?” He rakes a glance up my body like he’s taking inventory of every detail.
I don’t know why, but heat pools in my belly, and I have to squeeze my legs together to distract myself from the physical effect his gaze has on me.
What the hell is with this guy?
I wipe my sticky, grass-covered hands against my shorts, suddenly feeling insecure about my dishevelment. I knew he was hot last night, but seeing his striking features in broad daylight is something else entirely.
His jaw is sharp and peppered in the faintest day-old stubble, like he was too tired to shave when he got up for work this morning, and his wavy brown hair is styled to perfection. He’s got his white button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick, corded forearms that are almost too indecent to be waving around without any warning. The faintest dusting of chest hair peeks out where he’s loosened his tie and the top button of his dress shirt, and my fingers itch to touch it.
I consider myself to be a fairly confident woman, but I’ve never felt more out of my league than standing next to this extremely grown man.
He’s got to be at least ten years older than me, and judging by his fancy car and tailored clothing, he’s clearly got his life together—unlike me.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. What did I come over here for again?
Oh yeah, the birthday-party gig …
“So … I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re in need of a performer for a birthday party?” My voice pitches up an octave making it come out more like a question.
Why does this guy make me so nervous? Probably the suit or the scowl, or maybe it’s the glare he’s shooting in my direction with his one good eye.
“You’re a magician?” He quirks a brow, then takes another bite of his noodles.
“Well, no. More like an opportunist,” I say with my best charming smile. “I’m in need of work, and I have a large enough skill set to do just about anything decently enough.”
He shakes his head and almost smiles. “Why am I not surprised by that?” He goes back to eating his lunch, then pauses. “Sorry, but I don’t think you’re what my brother has in mind. Maybe check out the job boards posted around town, or better yet, keep driving east until you hit some bigger cities.”
I nervously twirl my sister’s ring around my finger, my eyes falling in defeat.
Silence spans between us, and when I look up, I expect to find him wearing a look of sympathy or even concern. Instead, his face is flushed bright red and sweaty.
He coughs several times into the crook of his elbow.
“Uh … are you okay? Do you need some water or something?”
He waves me away and holds up his water bottle, but continues coughing. When he pulls away, I notice the bright red stain of blood on his pressed white dress shirt.
My eyes go wide. “Are you sure? Because it doesn’t look like it,” I say as I point out the blood.
He jerks back in surprise and goes into another coughing fit, groaning and holding his stomach. The noodles drop to the ground, and I look around in panic, but there’s no one here but me.
“Call … 9 … 1 … 1 …” he croaks out.
Oh shit. Okay. I can do this.
I look around to assess my surroundings and see my car parallel parked just a few feet away.
“Come on. My car’s right here. I can get you to the hospital faster than an ambulance anyway.”
I tug him up, but he pulls away and shakes his head.
“No way. I’ve seen the way you drive. Just call an ambulance.” He shrugs me off, then groans again as he doubles over, a streak of blood at the corner of his mouth.
“Stop being such a baby and come on. I promise I’ll drive safely, but you’re wasting time here.” I pull him up again, and this time, he relents.
I lead us to my car, and it’s only when I’m opening his door that I remember all the shit I’ve got stowed in here. This guy’s got to be at least six-three, maybe even six-four.
I shove the passenger seat back as far as possible, tossing piles of books and a box of my bathroom things loosely in the back seat, carefully unbuckling Fern’s ashes and moving them to the box.
“Sorry about the mess.” I help him into the seat, bending his legs before tucking them inside.
It’s almost comical the way his knees stick up like he’s completely folded in half. If this wasn’t a medical emergency, I’m sure we’d both laugh at the absurdity of how crammed he looks right now—well, maybe not him, but I sure would.
I run around to my side and slam the door behind me, throwing the car in drive. My tires squeal as I peel out, the smell of burned rubber filling the air. So much for my new tires.
We fly down the narrow city street. Luckily, the hospital is close enough to see from here, and thanks to Dan’s tour this morning, I’ve gotten well enough acquainted with the town.
Adrenaline floods through my system as I maneuver my little car through the town’s two-lane streets. When we come to a Stop sign, I turn left on a one-way in the wrong direction.
“You’re going the wrong way!” he yells before gripping the oh-shit handle with a white-knuckled grip.
“Just for a sec.” I turn into an alleyway, weaving around dumpsters and piles of crates like a street racer fleeing from the police. My heart kicks up a beat as panic rises in my chest.
“Let me out! You’re going to get us killed.” He braces himself before going into another coughing fit and wincing.
“Just hang on. We’re almost there.” I whip the car left across two lanes of traffic and straighten out just as someone behind me lays on their horn. I wave an apology.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to kill me?”
I ignore him as I ramp over a speed bump and fly into the hospital parking lot, straight into one of the several empty handicapped spots right by the front door.
“You can’t park here. This is a handicapped spot,” he says, shaking his head.
I shrug. “There are plenty of them. Besides, this is an emergency. I’m sure they’ll understand. Now, let’s go.”
He starts to protest, but another wave of coughing has him too winded to argue. I don’t know what’s going on with this guy, but I know one thing: I can’t sit back and not help him.
Especially after what he did for me.
I hate hospitals. I hate the overly sterile smell. I hate the way it makes my throat burn. I hate the fluorescent lights that illuminate the stark white hallways and make you feel dizzy. I hate the noises of machines beeping and Velcro from blood pressure cuffs. I hate the palpable mixture of fear and hope mingling in the air as people wait to find out the answer to the very same question—Will they be all right?
I hate the cracked plastic seat cushions that pinch my legs as I squirm, watching the minutes on the clock tick by.
And I especially hate the way time seems to slow down and the way I haven’t been able to take a full breath since I walked through those sliding glass doors.
So, why am I still sitting here, six hours later, waiting to hear about a stranger I hardly know?
I wish I knew myself.
But I don’t know if I could leave if I tried, it’s like I’m frozen in place by a magnet.
It’s pathetic really … or maybe it’s a trauma response left over from all the times I did this exact same thing when my sister got sick.
All I know is, I haven’t been that afraid in a very long time.
After Fern died, I didn’t think it was possible to be afraid. Living through your worst nightmare does that to you. You realize there’s nothing else that can be taken away.
I certainly don’t plan on tempting fate again. It’s why I don’t do relationships and I’m not afraid of change. I don’t stay in the same place very long or even the same job. I don’t have close friends. I’m the most extroverted loner to ever live, and that’s exactly the way I like it.
The sliding doors open, sending a gush of hot air swirling around the too-cold waiting room. The warm air soothes my chill-bump-covered skin like a soft blanket straight out of the dryer. I look up to see a group of people walking in, all wearing the familiar look of worry.
My eyes land on the only woman in the group. She’s old enough to be my mother, maybe even my grandmother, not that she looks it. Rather, her platinum-white hair is cut into a stylish bob, and she’s dressed cooler than any older woman I’ve ever seen with wide-legged trouser pants and a denim sleeveless top tucked into it.
She’s cute, and there’s something about her vibe that makes me instantly like her—not that she needs my approval but, hey, I’m bored. What else am I supposed to be doing while I wait to hear if my grumpy stranger is okay?
My eyes catch on the book she’s holding, and a strange sense of recognition comes over me. Then, it clicks. It’s been a long time, but I remember that book. Fern used to be obsessed with it.
What are the chances that more than one person shares my sister’s obsession with this Phantom creature?
Maybe it’s the triggering hospital noises, but suddenly, I feel like I need to talk to her, to tell her that my sister also loved those books. I don’t know why, but I need to tell this kind-looking woman about my sister.
I walk up to her and clear my throat.
“Excuse me. I’m so sorry. I hate to bother you, but are you … I noticed the book you were reading and thought, What a coincidence. My sister used to love that series?—”
She spins to face me, and I’m struck by her mysterious forest-green eyes, the beautiful smile lines that frame them, and the familiar shape of her sharp nose. She’s beautiful and somehow so familiar …
Her lips curve into a warm smile. “Oh, I just love hearing that. You know, the author’s a local. Word around here is, she writes under a secret pen name.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “Isn’t that exciting? I suppose I could be talking to her right now and not even know it!”
It’s rare, meeting anyone as obnoxiously enthusiastic as me. I want to be best friends with this lady, and I’ve only just met her.
I laugh and shake my head. “Trust me, I’m no secret monster romance author, just a regular hot-mess express, trying to figure out my life as it comes.”
Is it weird that I’m having a full-blown conversation with this complete stranger in the middle of a hospital room waiting room? Absolutely. But stranger things have happened.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you while you’re waiting. I guess I just felt like I needed to meet you,” I say with a smile, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.
She extends her hand in greeting, sandwiching mine with her other palm. “Well, it was very nice to meet you …”
“Ivy,” I offer, shaking her hand.
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Did you say Ivy?” Her voice hitches.
She looks at the older man beside her, and they share a glance.
“Yes?” I ask, feeling like I’m missing something.
“Oh my God. I’m Mary. It’s so good to finally meet you.” She opens her arms wide before pulling me into a firm hug and smashing my face against her cheek. “Frank, did you hear that?! She’s real! And so … young.”
My whole body goes limp with confusion, letting her squeeze me.
She’s real?
I don’t know what I was expecting from a beautiful stranger with kind eyes, but consider me pleasantly surprised. Though I don’t know why. Everyone I’ve met in this town has been kind and welcoming. Apart from the grumpy guy I’m still here for, but I think I have enough evidence to prove he’s the exception.
“Would you look at that? No wonder he waited so long to tell us about you—probably knew he’d never hear the end of our teasing,” the man says, clapping me on the shoulder. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ivy. I’m Frank.” He points to the three other men in their group. “That’s Roman, and Luka, and the tall, ginger on the end is Guy. I’m sure Leo’s told you all about his brothers?—”
My ears perk up, and my brain does acrobatics, trying to make sense of all this new information.
“Holy shit. I could’ve sworn he was lying,” Roman says before shaking my hand.
“He must’ve wanted to surprise us for Bartholomew’s birthday party!” Mary claps her hands in front of her face, her green eyes filling up with tears.
And that’s when the final puzzle piece clicks into place.
This kind-looking woman is none other than my grumpy stranger’s mother … and for some crazy reason … it seems like she knows me.
Just then, a nurse comes through the mechanical double doors, holding a clipboard. “Leo’s in the recovery room. I can take immediate family members to go back and see him now.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Mary hoists her purse strap on her shoulder and tucks her arm around mine.
She moves to pull me forward, but I stop.
“Uh, you go ahead. I’m not … I’m not family.”
“Of course you are, dear. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that ring on your finger? You’re as much family as any of us now.”
I swallow a gulp and grit my teeth and follow her into the sterile hospital room.
What the hell is going on?