Chapter Three
Operation Small Town, Day 1
Hudson Hollow, New York. Population 1,500.
So… this is happening.
After three hours on the New York State Thruway, I was elated when I saw the exit for Hudson Hollow. I thought I might stop in Starbucks on my way to the house, refuel, grab some snacks, etc. Except the last Starbucks I saw was at a rest stop 80 miles ago.
There are a few people moseying up and down the main street, and almost all of them don’t try to be subtle about gawking at me in Anne’s BMW. As I drive through at the mundane speed of 20 mph, I see a sign for a library, a corner convenience store, the post office, and a restaurant called Liz’s. So far, Hudson Hollow doesn’t have me feeling so good.
I take a few deep breaths and continue driving. The mindful breaths serve two purposes.
To remind myself that I’m here to do a job. Unless the photos Anne showed me of the house were fake, it looks really nice. I’m trying really hard not to judge the book by its cover, or the town by its three storefronts.
If I don’t take deep breaths, this road may make me hurl.
Finally, the winding road ends and I follow Siri’s instructions into a more residential area. I turn onto Joan Street and pull up to the second house on the right. I immediately spot the lake, which is right smack behind the house. And boy, is it some view. Even from my seat in the car, I can see mountains in the distance. Like… actual mountains. At that moment, I realize that I may have never seen a mountain before in my life. Shit, Anne was right, I am the only viable candidate for this trip.
I quickly text my mom to tell her I’ve arrived and that I will call her once I’ve settled. Saying the phone call with my mother explaining this assignment didn’t go well would be putting it mildly. I had to refuse to give her the exact address because she would not stop saying she was coming with me.
“ I don’t see how this is getting you a promotion ,” my mother had said, her tone irritated on the other end of the phone. “ I don’t see how you can prove yourself out in the boonies .”
“ Mom, you live in the boonies ,” I reminded her matter-of-factly.
“ And I always wanted more for you !”
“ Mom, will you relax? I’m not going to step foot in a small town and turn into a pumpkin .”
“ That reference doesn’t even make sense .” I rolled my eyes at how quick-witted my mother was.
“ You work hard, I just want your boss to see that .”
I could hear the worn-out sigh in her voice when she said that. My mom is tough, tougher than I’ll ever be. She’s a small Italian woman, with a Pixie cut and glasses that take up half of her face—a middle-aged Rita Moreno who went gray early. She is small and she is fierce, no buts about it. She doesn’t take anyone’s shit, and she’s fiercely protective.
When I was diagnosed with dyslexia, she told me things might be hard for me, not just in life, but in school. I would have to be the student who worked twice as hard as everyone else. I would have to use the tools my teachers gave me and make them work to my advantage. And if I worked hard, I could have the same opportunities as everyone else. After all, for her, a second-generation immigrant who was the first in her family to go to college, education was everything.
My mother never wanted my dyslexia to prevent me from being successful. So, to her, working in Manhattan was the kind of success she and my father didn’t have. And she was so proud of it. Of me.
“ Anne knows I work hard, Mom. And with this trip, maybe she’ll realize just how much she needs me ,” I reassured her.
“ She better. Because you haven’t worked this hard just to wind up in another small town .”
God Forbid , I thought to myself. But I wouldn’t dare say it out loud.
I pull down a gravel road and stop when the navigation announces that my destination is on the right. I get out and try to shake the feeling of anxiety that has suddenly crept up in my chest, accompanied by my mother’s foreboding voice .
I can do this.
Anne’s in-laws’ house is a small ranch style. It sits on the side of a steep hill that leads down to the lake. The front of the house is lined with horizontal logs, and a beautiful wood door is framed by two tree trunk-looking columns. If I really was a character in a small-town rom-com, I might call it inviting, quaint, adorable. Definitely different from what the houses looked like in the town I grew up in. Maybe I should tell my mother that not all small towns are the same.
I jump when I hear crunching gravel behind me. I quickly turn around to see what everyone might expect me to find at this point in a romance novel: the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in real life.
I put my hand over my forehead to block the sun. Nope, I haven’t fallen out of my car and smacked my head open. There is actually a real-life small-town version of a romance heartthrob standing in front of me.
Shit , maybe this whole thing has been a dream. Maybe I finally got hit by that bus on Sixth Avenue and I’m in a coma. And since my job is my life, my coma dream is some alternate version of reality where a book that I’m working on comes true. That’s the only explanation for this guy standing in front of me right now.
“Um, hello,” his deep voice snaps me out of it. He’s not Australian. That must mean this is real life. If I was having a coma dream, my love interest would most definitely have an accent.
“Hi,” I say in a shaky voice. Through squinted eyes, I make out shaggy blonde hair and a lean, tall frame. He’s a blonde, beautiful boy, there’s no doubt about it. He’s broad-shouldered and good-looking in a way that suggests he is also charming as all hell.
The thing that strikes me the most about this man, though, is the strange look on his face. He’s looking at me… like I’m… crazy ? As if I have something offensive written on my forehead? I attempt to inconspicuously run my hand through my hair to make sure it’s not too dishevelled from the car ride. His eyes are piercing, serious, and intent on me, and his gaze starts to make me squirm. I feel heat rising on my neck, and I take a step backward because—I don’t know why—it seems like the right choice. This guy is either about to tell me I have something in my teeth… or murder me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “You look very familiar, er, you remind me of someone.” He takes a step back as well, trying to collect himself. I let out a small exhale, accepting that I probably won’t die on this cul-de-sac. Thank goodness this beautiful man isn’t a serial killer. That would have been so disappointing.
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Is this your first time in Hudson Hollow?”
I let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “It is, yes, I’m more of a city dweller. Small towns make me somewhat claustrophobic.”
He scrunches his face for a moment, and I realize that might have been insulting. “Erm, not that this town isn’t beautiful. It is! From what I’ve seen, anyway.” Why am I rambling? Stop talking, Bowen. I quite literally smack my hand on my forehead, wishing I could redo the last two minutes of my life.
“Well, hopefully, Hudson Hollow will change your mind about small towns.” I doubt it , I answer in my head. Good job not opening your mouth on that one, Luce. “Anyway, I’m Liam. Liam Miller. That’s me, just across the way.” He gestures to the two-story cottage that sits on the other side of the road. Unlike my accommodation, his place looks statelier, with rustic wooden siding and accents of color on the shutters and doors.
Maybe he’s a plant. Maybe Anne planted him here to give me inspiration and mess with my head. It seems extreme, but that’s what makes it even more likely. It also seems extreme to threaten to staple someone’s hands to a wall, but she threatened to do that once as well.
And no, being in labor was not an excuse.
“I’m Lucy,” I say at last, offering him my hand. Liam and Lucy. I could gag right here and now.
“Al and Mella mentioned a new renter would arrive this week. Although—” he stops himself. I raise my brows, curious about what the rest of that statement might be. “It’s just—I wasn’t expecting someone like you.”
“Someone like me ?”
“I don’t mean it like that,” he says, the words rushing out of his mouth. He raises his hands in defense. “I just mean, most of the renters around here are fifty-year-old fishing enthusiasts. They don’t look like they just stepped out of a magazine.”
I look down at myself. I’m wearing Vans sneakers, yoga pants, and an off-the-shoulder light sweatshirt. Grocery store chic, as Elle would say.
“What kind of magazines do you read?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously.
“You just look very Manhattan, that’s all,” he says. “Not that that’s a bad thing.”
I let out an awkward laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong, I am from Manhattan. And clearly I look very out of my element here. Which I am.”
“Right,” he says, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “So, what brings you to town?”
“Oh, just a little vacation. Taking some time away from the city.” Anne’s voice echoes in my head. Stay as close to the truth as possible without revealing too much.
Anne and the team prepared me for weeks before I left. They insisted that no one in the town know why I was really here. I thought it was a bit silly, but I’m determined to be successful on this project and give Anne no reason not to promote me. I’m realizing now that I maybe should have taken more notes.
“Nice. Well, welcome. I’m just across the way if you need anything. And I work at the café in town as well.”
“The café in town?”
“Yep, we just have the one. Well, unless you count Stewart’s. But they’re mostly good for root beer and ice cream.”
“You work at the café?”
“Yes ma’am. Well, I own it.” His cheeks flush as he says this.
“Of course you do,” I grumble.
“Sorry?” He frowns.
“Let me ask you: Are you also a single dad? Did you marry your high school sweetheart but something went wrong? Does the name Anne Turner ring any bells?”
Liam looks at me like I have gone mad. He opens his lips as if he wants to speak, but quickly decides against it.
I may have misread this situation.
When several seconds of awkward silence pass, he says, “I really don’t know what to do with that.” He laughs.
“I am so sorry,” I mumble, covering my face with my hands. “I have this habit of not thinking before I speak. Or more accurately, my thoughts and words form at the same time. It’s hard to separate them sometimes.” I’m babbling so fast that I’m sure this will go down as one of the worst meet-cutes in history. “I’m working on it,” I finally say.
Liam smiles. Only one corner of his mouth picks up but his whole face changes. It makes me smile as well.
“That’s all right. To answer your question, no, no ex-wife, no kids. No criminal history. Excellent chef. Best in town.”
“Very humble too, I see.”
“Ha ha!” He laughs loudly. The sound reverberates in my chest. “I have to get back to work, but it was a pleasure to meet you, Lucy...”
“Bowen.”
“Lucy Bowen.” He repeats with a somewhat bigger smile. “I’ll see you around.”
As he begins to walk away, he puts two fingers between his lips and whistles. I follow his gaze to his house. A large black and brown German Shepherd emerges from the backyard and, in three long strides, runs to Liam’s side.
“And who’s this?” I ask, smiling at the dog.
“This is Blue,” Liam says, patting the dog’s side.
“Friendly?”
“Massively. He’s a big goofball.”
I take a few steps and squat down to the dog’s level. I outstretch my hand and let him give it a proper sniff. When he gently bumps it with his nose, I pet him under his neck and he licks my face.
“Oh, sorry!” Liam says, reaching for Blue.
“Don’t be,” I say, standing up. “I love dogs. I wish I could have one, but it doesn’t really mesh with city living, you know?”
He studies me for a moment, and the look on his face transforms again. His eyes look… concerned ? Like he’s trying to place me? I wonder if I have the same look of suspicion on my face.
But how can I look at Liam and not think, really ? This is the first guy I meet on this small-town adventure? The literal poster child for what a small-town romance protagonist should look like?
Serendipity like that doesn’t just happen to me.
And this isn’t actually a small-town rom-com.
Liam snaps at Blue and the dog quickly ditches my pets and looks at his owner. “Up, up,” he commands, pointing to the car. Blue smoothly jumps into the passenger side of the truck.
“See you around,” I say.
I wave as he jumps into his white Jeep Wrangler and takes off down the road. Way to make a first impression, Lucy.