Chapter Four
Just as I make it to the front door, my phone rings. It’s Elle.
“Are you with Anne right now?” I answer the phone with a snap.
“Well, hello to you too. And no. It’s Memorial Day. I like my job, but not enough to spend a day off with my boss.”
“Oh right,” I mumble. I toss the house keys onto a small table in the front entrance and drag my suitcase in as I nestle the phone between my shoulder and my ear.
“What’s the matter?”
“ What’s the matter ? Well, I’ll tell you! Our boss is a sociopath, that’s what.”
“What did she do now?”
“She has me so paranoid about this book idea that I just accosted her in-laws’ neighbor!”
“I have to say, that sounds more like your fault than Anne’s. Why did you accost said neighbor?”
“Because he’s my love interest. Right there, directly across the street. How convenient is that?”
“Hmm, so he’s cute?”
“Fucking gorgeous.” I sigh.
“Richard Madden cute?”
“His eyes are bluer.”
“Idris Elba gorgeous?”
“ Absolutely .”
“God, it’s like Anne planted him there.”
“That’s what I said! So, I basically accused him of that.”
“Lucy!”
“It was fine. I rolled with it. He might think I’m nuts, but it’s not like he’s my actual love interest. I’m meant to be outlining a romance, not starring in one!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Elle murmurs, her voice teasing, but I do my best to ignore her comment. I’m here to do a job, and the blue eyes of the man across the street are not going to distract me from that.
If preparing for this trip the past few weeks has taught me anything, it’s that the idea of love is a dream. It’s something we chase because fairy tales and movies and books push us to look for it in our daily lives. Isn’t that why I love romance novels so much? Because they’re an escape? They take me away from the ordinary and let me live in the world of extraordinary for a little while—a world where Prince Charming exists, or at the very least a charming neighbor in a small town. But despite the situation I find myself in, that’s not real. That’s why it’s called fiction.
“Tell me about the house!” Elle pleads in my ear.
“I just walked in,” I reply, closing the door behind me and taking in the impressive foyer. “I’ll call you later and we’ll FaceTime.”
When I hang up with Elle, I decide I need to make a plan. Arriving has me feeling a bit overwhelmed, and so I press my hand to my heart to try to steady it. I’m alone. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone. Maybe at the gym in the early morning, but only for a few minutes before other people trickled in? Maybe when Elle visited her mom for Christmas before I headed to my parents’ place? But that wasn’t for more than a few hours.
This is crazy!
Would it be more exciting if I was renting a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side with a view of the park and the entire city as my domain? Yes. But for now, Main Street U.S.A. will have to do.
When I finally make it more than two steps through the doorway, I realize I can see straight through to the back of the house, which is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows providing a gorgeous view of the lake. The kitchen is a small, galley-style with retro blue appliances. The countertop is a taupe linoleum, and a small bar top opens up to the living area. While the house clearly hasn’t been updated since the seventies, it has a unique charm and vintage vibe that feels incredibly inviting.
I step outside to the raised back deck with a long staircase that leads down to the lake. There’s a rickety dock at the bottom of the hill, and a swing hanging from a large tree on the downward slope.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. And just like that, I feel peaceful. Five minutes in the country and I already feel rejuvenated. Not least of all because when I close my eyes, I hear nothing. Perhaps in the distance a child is screeching with excitement or a boat’s motor is running, but other than the soft hum of the wind through the trees, I’m alone with my breath.
I take a photo of the view and forgo the filter before I quickly post it to my Instagram.
Away from the city for a few weeks doing something super exciting for @HeartwarmingRomance. More info to come, but a more pressing question: Do we think the merman of my dreams will emerge from this gorgeous lake any minute? I’ll keep you posted!
I started posting about books when I first came to the city and was trying to “explore” or whatnot, as opposed to being curled up in my apartment with a book. So, I wandered around taking photos of what I was reading. It was a great accompaniment for my hopeful publishing career, and even caught the attention of my now-employer. Since then, I’ve kept posting about Heartwarming books along with others. I’ve reached about five thousand followers and counting as @lucyloveslove.
Back inside the house, I find a small bedroom and bathroom off the foyer. Behind the kitchen is the master suite, with a large king-size bed and a bathroom with a soaker tub. That’s my evening sorted. But first, snacks. I Google the closest supermarket and find that the small convenience store I passed earlier is my best bet.
So back down the Highway to Hurling I go.
The main street of Hudson Hollow is quainter than I originally gave it credit for. I’d say the storefronts run about the same length as eight city blocks, and they are all covered in beautiful red brick. The name of each establishment matches one another in muted gold lettering. It looks like a scene from a catalogue.
Or an episode of Virgin River .
The only sign that sticks out is the one for Liz’s, which I now assume to be hunky Liam’s place. Hudson Hollow’s very own Jack Sheridan. I can’t pinpoint the exact scent coming from its open door, but it smells like a mixture of maple syrup and French fries. Maybe he is an excellent chef after all.
Lucia Brothers Fine Foods looks more like a deli you might find on a corner in Manhattan, but when I see a sign promoting fresh coffee, my nose perks up.
The store is small but has most of the staples—water, bread, milk, eggs, and wine—so I stock up. I don’t find many of the ready prepared meals I’m used to eating, so I try to recreate them from the meat selection that they have. I quickly realize that this may be a terrible plan because even though my mother is a fantastic cook, I haven’t inherited her skills.
My mind immediately thinks of Liz’s, and I wonder if I’ve embarrassed myself too much to step foot in there. I evaluate my cart of mac and cheese and bagged lettuce and consider that my pride may lose out to my stomach pretty quickly.
As I’m evaluating the differences between two instant brownie mixes, I notice someone has gotten uncomfortably close to me—New Yorkers usually make it a point not to stare. We tend to keep our heads down and our earphones in and avoid direct eye contact.
Not my new companion.
I turn my head to find a little boy sitting on the bump-out shelf of the produce wall behind me. I estimate him to be about three or four. Of course, that could be completely inaccurate. I’ve never really been around kids. I have no siblings and only one cousin who is a year older than me. For all intents and purposes, I have always been the baby of the family. What do four-year-olds look like these days?
I smile weakly at him and return to browsing. But his stare does not waver. His eyes are brown and beady, hidden just barely behind a curtain of straight blonde hair. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck. Where is the adult to go with this small person? Don’t they usually come in a package deal?
I turn around and smile again, subtly looking around to see if there is a blonde woman or man who might match this child’s fair complexion.
“Your mom ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?” I say, raising my brow at him. He scrunches his face in one motion, his eyebrows meeting his eyelids, and his lips touching the base of his nose. Even I have to admit, it’s cute.
“Robbie!” The boy’s head snaps up at what I assume to be the sound of his name. I follow his gaze to a woman standing at the bottom of the aisle. She looks to be somewhere about my age, maybe a few years older. Her platinum blonde hair is a mess of pin-curls and her blue eyes stick out like gems on her face. Yep, she goes with this kid.
“Sorry about him,” she says with a smile.
“You’re fine,” I say, batting a hand.
I refocus my attention on the shelf when she says, “You must be from out of town.” I tilt my head, somewhat surprised she’s still speaking to me. Wow, maybe I really need to get out of the city more often. Manhattan has turned me into a robot.
“Guilty,” I say. “I’m renting a lake house for a few weeks,” I reply, tossing both of the brownie mixes into my cart.
“Oh, how nice! You must be up at Al and Mella’s place.”
“That’s me,” I say. I love that everyone can spot the newbie in town, and that they also happen to know exactly where I’m staying. Awesome. I’ll be having nightmares about being slashed in my sleep tonight.
Maybe I watch too many scary movies.
“You may have met my brother, Liam, he lives across the street.”
Of course he does.
“Ah, yes, we met this morning.”
“He’s the friendly type,” she says with a laugh. “You have to try his cooking, it’s just the place next door,” she gestures. “Best food in town,” she says.
“He said as much himself, actually,” I say. She laughs, and a lightness touches her eyes.
“Sounds like our Liam. Anyway, sorry, so rude of me! I’m Jillian, and this is Robbie,” she says, squeezing the little boy to her side.
I smile at him. “We’ve also met. Nice to meet you formally, Robbie. I’m Lucy.” Jillian gives him a nudge and he steps forward, begrudgingly.
“Nice to meet you, Lucy,” he mutters.
“We won’t keep you, but I hope you have a great time in Hudson Hollow. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” she says with a wave.
“Thanks,” complete stranger in the store , I finish in my mind.
When I go to check out, I choose to ignore the raised eyebrows over my five family-size boxes of mac and cheese.
“Having a party tonight?” the man behind the register asks, smiling as he scans the boxes.
I give him the same smile I gave Jillian. Maybe fake smiling should have been part of my small-town training. “Nope, just me.”
“You must be Al’s and Mella’s guest,” he says, his bushy gray mustache bouncing up and down as he speaks. I confirm that I am and have the same conversation for the third time today. “Well, welcome!” he exclaims.
“Thank you, it is certainly a welcoming place,” I reply, trying to mask the sarcastic tone in my voice.
“I’m Maximus Lucia, pleasure to meet you,” he says, sticking out a large, calloused hand. I shake it with a smile. He’s an older man, short and plump, with a bald head everywhere but above his ears and around the back. His most defining features are his aforementioned mustache and James Earl Jones-like voice.
“Maximus? Wow, that’s quite a name,” I blurt, quickly regretting it. I close my eyes and scold myself. “Er, I mean, I’ve never met someone with such a prestigious name before.”
“ Prestigious ? Well, that’s a first!” he says with a big belly laugh. He goes back to scanning my items.
“I’m Lucy,” I offer. Maximus hands me my bags with a grin.
“I hope to see you around, Miss Lucy.”
Even though I was slightly anxious about being the new girl, I feel more confident having met Maximus, Jillian, and Robbie. Anne said I needed two characters with lead potential and maybe five prominent side characters—I think I may have just met a few of them.
I mentally scold myself for not bringing my notebook with me on this expedition into town, so I could jot all of this down. I bought a new notebook just for this trip and I am low-key fangirling over it. Aunt Josie always used to tell me that one way to spot a writer was their love of a new notebook. Whereas my mother drilled me in schoolwork, Josie loved to encourage my writing. And I loved her for that.
As I drive back up to the house, I reflect on my day so far and mentally draft my email to Anne. Day One Summary: met two townies, embarrassed myself in front of an actual small-town romance hero, and pumped gas at the creepy gas station without being murdered.
I’d call that a success.