Chapter 8
EIGHT
“ Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
~Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
E lle’s sling back sandals clacked against the pavement as she walked toward the front door of the Wine Down, the town’s only wine bar. The red brick building the bar now occupied had sat unused throughout much of Elle’s childhood. Just like many of the buildings along Main Street. After the textile mill, which had once employed most of the town’s residents, moved its operations elsewhere, many people moved to find work and the mom-and-pop shops that had inhabited downtown disappeared.
In the last eight years, revitalization pushed into the village with new businesses opened by Elle’s fellow Perry High School alumni. All spearheaded by the town’s mayor. Perry may not be home, but she was impressed with its scrappiness. The renovated and thriving downtown spoke of a feisty will to succeed.
As Elle walked through the bar’s wood framed glass door, a tall spiky red-haired man with a name tag proclaiming him Todd greeted her. With little ceremony, he presented her with a single-page glossy menu and motioned around the mostly empty bar.
“Good luck finding a seat,” he snarked.
It was seven on a Tuesday in Perry. There’d be none of the hustle and bustle of Long Beach. Despite the town’s rebirth, most businesses buttoned up by eight during the week.
Elle perused the menu. Everything originated in the area. She, of course, ordered the rosé from a small winery in the Finger Lakes.
“Rosé the night away,” Todd said, lips raised in a wry grin as he deposited the glass on the oval-shaped table Elle sat at. Like everything in Perry, there was something both familiar and new about him.
Elle sipped the sweet rosé and scanned the bar. The space was lit by a single chandelier and the evening sun streaming in from oversized windows. Todd stood flipping through a book at the mahogany bar. Silver framed pictures of Perry-ites toasting wineglasses in various locations around the village dotted the violet walls.
“Ms. Lucas!” Carmen’s musical voice waltzed into the quiet bar.
“Ms. Bennet!” Elle replied, using their old nicknames.
In high school, her two best friends, Carmen Herrera and Beth Lake, formed the Jane Austen Sisterhood. Their deep love of everything Ms. Austen led each to adopt the name of the character that best fit their personality. Carmen was the Jane Bennet to Beth’s Lizzie and Elle’s Charlotte. Jane Austen had both brought and kept them together. Anything Austen or Austen-adjacent facilitated a text, call, or email.
“I can’t believe you are here.” Carmen squeezed hard, swaying in a dancing hug, her floral scent twining around them.
“Ditto.”
Elle pulled away, examining Carmen. Dark curls tumbled over her slim shoulders and her brown skin glowed against a sunshine-yellow sundress. Carmen had always been gorgeous, even when nobody else saw it. She was also brilliant, skipping one grade in school and completing four years of college in three.
“I see you ordered the rosé. It’s very popular,”Carmen said, taking the chair across from Elle.
“It’s great. This place is adorable. So many new businesses in town. I haven’t explored much, but I saw a bookstore/coffeeshop and some boutiques when I drove in. You’ve done well, Madam Mayor.” She raised her glass in salute.
After earning her MBA, Carmen moved back to Perry and worked with businesses across the region. She worked her magic with local businesses and the entire community, organizing events and fundraisers. Eight years ago she was elected as Perry’s mayor, a role she’d maintained unopposed since.
“I am loving these photos.” Elle pointed to one of Janet taken at the Village Rose.
“Mathew took them.” Carmen’s eyes grew starry at the mention of her husband.
It still seemed unreal that the sweet and studious Carmen married the clownish Mathew Fischer, the same boy who had once run through a pep rally dressed in wings and bumble bee boxers over a black unitard. Like chocolate covered bacon they were an odd pairing, but they worked. Despite keeping Herrera as her surname, she burst with pride to be married to Mathew Fischer.
“Can I get you something, Madam Mayor?” Todd shouted from the bar.
“Rosé and the cheese board for the table. Thank you, Todd.” She turned back to Elle. “The cheese board is so good. All local cheeses and meats.”
“Remember how we’d drink Welch’s grape juice out of your mom’s fancy glasses with cheddar cheese, Ritz crackers, and Doritos? We thought we were so classy.”
“We were very classy teenagers. We watched PBS.” Carmen preened a bit, until interrupted by Todd bringing her wine to the table.
“Here’s to classy girls, who grew up to be badass broads.” They clinked their glasses.
“You look great. How are you?”
“I’m good. Work is good.” Elle shrugged.
“I know you’re good, but how are you, really?” Carmen leaned close, placing her hand on Elle’s.
“I hate that you know me so well.” Elle blew out a pent-up breath. “I’m not going to lie; it is weird being here. Like there are memories around every corner. Maybe it’s been too long or not long enough. I feel like a snow globe toggling between being shook and sitting still. It’s just…” Elle searched for the right word.
“Weird.”
“Weird,” she agreed.
“Can I address the Mommy Dearest elephant in the room? Will you be seeing her? How are you handling this?”
“Uncle Pete brokered a deal. He’s like Switzerland. We will remain on opposite sides of the room, for the wedding and for Pete’s birthday. She has been instructed to not cross the no-fly zone, to stay the fuck away from me.”
“Ooh, you said fuck.” Carmen lowered her voice as she uttered the vulgarity. “You mean business.”
The fidgety crossing and uncrossing of Elle’s legs was a poor attempt to self-soothe. Conversations about her mom were so much easier to have when the threatening thunderstorm of seeing her didn’t loom. It wasn’t just the guarantee of seeing her at Tobey’s wedding and Uncle Pete’s birthday but that each time she left the Little Red Barn, she played Mama Russian Roulette.
“Yes, I do,” Elle said, her tone slick as ice.
Carmen squeezed Elle’s wrist. “I know she hurt you, and I’ll never understand how you feel. But is there any part of you that misses her?”
“Colin Firth.” It came out almost as a croak.
It was their safe word. Beth had come up with it after seeing Bridget Jones’ Diary . It was the signal that someone didn’t want to talk about something. No questions would be asked, they’d simply repeat the safe word and change the subject.
“Colin Firth,” Carmen sighed.
Elle offered a grateful smile.
“What are you wearing for Tobey and Jerome’s wedding? If your social media and this outfit are any indication, you will be the best dressed. It’s so funny to think that the girl who lived in hoodies and sneakers wears dresses and heels.”
“I even wear sexy lacy panties these days.” A prideful smile formed as Carmen’s eyes widened with mortification.
Elle startled at the masculine clearing of a throat behind her, confirming Carmen’s “clutched pearls” face was not at Elle but for Elle. She said a silent prayer that Clayton’s gray eyes wouldn’t meet hers as she turned around. Although maybe she wanted him to know about her sexy underwear.
Oh no! Turning, she did not find Clayton. Rather, Noah Wilson stood, hands in the pockets of his well-fitting jeans, bemusement glinting in his blue eyes. A smirking Mathew Fischer beside him.
Elle’s pulse thrummed at the sight of Noah. A red T-shirt stretched over a broad chest. Its short sleeves showed off his defined biceps and forearms.
God, what is it about forearms that gets me going?
Noah slipped into the seat beside her. “Eleanor, it’s been a long time. How are you?”
Light revulsion churned in Elle’s belly at the use of her birth name. To so many in Perry she was still Eleanor. Even to her family.
“I’ve been good. How about you?” she asked nonchalantly, trying to avoid Carmen’s “OMG!” gaze.
“Todd, can we get the usual?” Noah called to the bartender.
“Oh, did you order?—”
“The cheeseboard? Of course,” Carmen interrupted her husband with a sweet smile.
“Such a boss!” Mathew fist pumped the air.
Noah tapped his fingers on the table. “Mathew mentioned that you’re in town for a while.”
“Remember Elle is Coach Coates’s niece. She’s in town for Tobey’s wedding and Pete’s fiftieth birthday,” Carmen explained.
“I heard you’re staying at Clayton’s.” The corner of Noah’s mouth curled almost in accusation.
“I’m not staying at Clayton’s. Like, I’m not in his guest room but renting the Little Red Barn.”
“I’d bet he’d let you if you asked. Just that kind of guy… Always ready to help.”
Elle’s lips pursed at Mathew’s words. She wasn’t sure why Clayton doing something for her out of pure kindness instead of because of her caused a twinge in her chest. Open kindness shouldn’t be frowned at, but she was frowning.
That was who Clayton was, a nice man that helped others. The running invitations were just an extension of his do-gooder nature. The thought deflating something in Elle’s chest.
“What have you been up to, Noah?” Elle sipped her wine.
“Oh, bossman here owns this place,” Todd snarked, placing the cheeseboard and two glasses of red wine on the table.
“Bossman?” Noah’s eyebrow quirked. “You never call me Noah. It’s Wilson or some sort of nickname.”
“Save it for my performance review. Yell if you need anything.” Todd sauntered away.
“You own this place?”
“Yup.”
“It’s amazing. The vibe, the wine, and the cheese board.” Elle gestured around the space with a piece of gouda.
“Yeah. I can’t take credit. I’ve had a lot of support.”
“Don’t be so modest. This is your baby. Noah is Perry’s very own Mark Cuban, only minus the billions, basketball team, and TV show.” Mathew paused, with a pained look on his face.
Elle had no doubt that his sweet-smiled wife had kicked him underneath the table.
Undeterred, he continued, “He owns this place and the bakery. He’s also opening a brewery.”
“You are kind of a big deal.” Elle’s smile widened.
“ Hardly .”
Elle nudged Noah with her shoulder. “Nothing wrong with celebrating your accomplishments. It doesn’t mean you don’t acknowledge the help from your team. They wouldn’t help you if you weren’t worth it.”
“Elle’s accomplished too. She’s an executive with Sloan-Whitney. They have hospitals and clinics across the country.” In an uncharacteristic move Carmen bragged.
They’re trying to Cupid us! Elle’s eyes narrowed, noticing Mathew mouth nice to his wife.
“Your turn to take a bow.” Noah winked.
Elle replied with a quick head bow.
Shortly after nine, the humid summer air their only companion, Elle strolled with Noah down the empty street. Teenaged Elle would have died, flattened by hormones exploding, from being alone with him. An ease settled inside her at his proximity.
“I’m just here. You really don’t need to walk me.” She pointed to her car down the street.
“It’s not a problem.” He placed a protective hand on her lower back, guiding her to the crosswalk. “So, what should I call you? I heard Mathew and Carmen call you Elle.”
“Elle. Most people here still call me Eleanor, but my friends call me Elle.”
“Elle it is.”
The streetlight highlighted Noah’s defined features, the dusting of dark stubble accentuated his strong jawline and reassuring warm eyes. A dimple still punctuated his smile. Noah Wilson was the quintessential leading man from any romcom.
Not handsome enough to tempt me. Mr. Darcy’s words about Lizzie Bennet whispered in her ears. Unlike Mr. Darcy, who was lying to himself and everyone else about his feelings for Lizzie, this was Elle’s truth. The smile and eyes that ignited a flutter in her belly did not belong to Noah Wilson. Not anymore.
“Goodnight, friend.” Her words were a simple declaration.