2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Emily
T he heavy bass vibrating my ceiling was the exact reason why I spent several hours a day in the library. As I walked into my apartment, my upstairs neighbor’s music was pounding away like clockwork. In about thirty minutes, the music would turn down to a more acceptable range, before it would turn off entirely. But then the other noises would start up.
I didn’t know what her night job was, but she sure as hell wasn’t an accountant, not with those types of noises. But hey, to each their own. Besides, I wasn’t in any place to judge her for making money. I made mine from Sci-Fi Romance novels.
Placing my laptop bag on my black computer chair, I laughed to myself. Sci-Fi Romance Author sounded so much better than alien smut writer. Both were true, and, unfortunately, neither would be acceptable in a place like Maple Creek. At the very least, I didn’t want to risk the town reading the explicit sex scenes I wrote and then wanting to talk to me about them. Or, for some people, trying to scold me for it being "inappropriate."
I did well for myself as an indie author. It afforded me this apartment in my home town plus all of my necessities. I had spent a lot of time turning this place into my creative haven, too. It was a smaller two bedroom apartment with an alley kitchen, a small eat-in, and one bathroom. I transformed it into my own small library by adding bookcases along one wall in the living room. I had a modest TV in the center, but every other shelf was packed full with books.
Most authors read a lot, and well, I was one of those hundred-plus-books-a-year readers. It was a hobby I never quit from my youth. If my nose wasn’t stuck in my laptop writing, it was in a book escaping into a world not my own.
An emerald green velvet sofa sat on the wall opposite of the book shelves, and an off white plush rug covered most of the dark wood flooring. I left the walls white and added a mixture of eclectic art prints and black and white photos - all in second hand frames I’d found at Trudy’s Timeless Treasures.
Trudy was in her fifties and moved here some fifteen-ish years ago. She started her little antique shop several years back, and a few people claimed she was the reason the town started gaining a bit of a tourist appeal. She was extremely kind, but along with Betsy and Ruby, she was a part of the gossip brigade. Still, she had a fantastic eye for unusual and unique items. I visited her store often to see what I could find.
Most of the town’s business was in vacation rentals and bed-and-breakfasts. We had a few fun quaint activities like apple picking, fishing, or camping but for the most part people came in to take a week or two of enjoying small town life before disappearing back to their big cities with their big lives.
We were about to head into tourist season again, which meant more people milling about and commenting on how old fashioned or adorable our town was. They didn’t know about the insane rumor mill, or how every single move someone made was noticed by at least two or three people, who would tell everyone else.
Which was why absolutely no one knew about my crush on Ryan Carter. Ever since he moved into town, I had an eye for him, but I kept my distance despite him being close to Meghan’s brother, Trey. Could I have asked Meghan about him? Yep. Did I? Nope.
That was the problem with small towns. If you approached someone you had a crush on, and they didn’t feel the same, there was no escaping the embarrassment of it. To make matters worse, everyone in town would find out about it, too, which would cause people to pick sides at least until a new piece of juicy gossip came around.
Being the center of attention in this town was a special kind of hell with the whispers and accusations. Living my whole life here, I’d experienced it a couple of times and had zero intentions of going through it again. For instance, my last boyfriend, Nick, was in construction and worked on a couple of the new bed-and-breakfasts that were being built here. When he moved after the work was done, a whole mess of rumors started about our “break up.” This went on for months. It was part of why I’d remained single for the last couple of years.
I didn’t love Nick, and he didn’t love me. I was under no illusions he would have stuck around for me. We had fun while it lasted, but everyone in this town was sure we were going to get married and have babies or something. It wasn’t something either of us wanted.
Ryan was here to stay, so I kept myself as far away from him as I could. It wasn’t until I was forced into going to the library daily, to escape my loud upstairs neighbor, that I even saw him more than once every couple of weeks or months. Previously, I’d write from home and avoid most social interactions.
Grabbing my pre-made dinner, I popped the lid off the glass pan, and placed it in the microwave to heat up. On Sunday and Thursday nights, I would cook extra and meal prep dinners for the week. If I didn’t, I’d be at the diner or the bar every single night to eat. And being in public where that bitch, Rose Hill, would make some sort of comment about my supposed lack of self control being why I wasn’t a size two.
“I’ll take it into consideration, Rose,” was my standard response to get her to back off.
I was happy with my body, it got me from point A to point B, and did a lot for me. Was I skinny? No, not even “average,” whatever that meant, but I was happy with who I was. It took me a long time to be comfortable in my own skin. I’d be damned if I let anyone try to make me feel bad because I had jiggly parts.
“Hey girl!” Meghan shouted from my doorway, pulling me from my little pep talk.
“In here,” I shouted back from the kitchen.
Meghan had a key, not that my door was locked when I was home during this time of year. Once tourist season started, I’d lock my door when I was home, too. But in the off season, I left it unlocked until I went to bed - especially when Meghan was off work.
“Did you hit your word count today?” She asked, dropping into a chair in my eat-in kitchen.
“I did.” I nodded once.
No one but a few select people knew the truth about my career. My two best friends, Meghan and Poppy were the only ones outside of my parents. Meghan was my developmental editor and Poppy was my cover designer. Poppy lived in Chicago with her husband and worked as a freelance graphic designer. Meghan worked as a freelance editor during the day and a couple nights a week at the only bar in town.
When questioned about my job, we all claimed I was a freelance writer in order to avoid judgment. My parents were proud of what I did, but there were quite a few religious people in this town who wouldn’t be as cool. So, we kept it a little family secret.
“Awesome, then I think we should celebrate, and you should come out with me.”
“Can’t we ‘celebrate’ here?” I whined as I pulled my food from the microwave and joined her at my four seat table.
“No, you haven’t left your apartment in months unless it’s to go to the library. You need to go out and people watch,” she said, her russet brown eyes twinkled at me.
She was an inch shorter than me at five-seven, and she had dark brown hair she styled into waves almost daily. She never wore a lot of makeup, but she didn’t need it with those high cheekbones, a button nose, and wide brown eyes. Meghan was plus-sized, like me, but her waist dipped in more than mine, and she took advantage of it by wearing clothes that accentuated her curves beautifully.
She wasn’t wrong, either. People watching was a great way to glean new ideas for my characters. However, I already knew nearly every single person in town, and I’d studied them for all thirty-three years of my life. There wasn’t anything new to see or find out.
“If I go out tonight, will you promise not to ask me to go out again for a few weeks? I really should write at night too,” I paused and glanced up at the ceiling, “Well, try to write.”
“Do you want me to go talk to her?” Meghan asked, her eyebrows pulling inward.
I wasn’t much of a people person, and I tried hard to avoid confrontation. Talking to my new-ish neighbor about the volume she played her music, or the sounds I would hear later in the evening, could, potentially, be mortifying. Meghan often offered to speak to people for me, but I always turned the offers down. I was a grown up, I could handle it by just dealing with the noise.
I shook my head and waved my hand, “No. I don’t want to cause her any problems.”
“Do you know anything about her?”
“Haven’t even met her, she moved in about two months ago. All I know is she plays her music all day, has a lot of … other kinds of noises at night, and by ten she’s as quiet as a mouse.”
Meghan tried to stop a smile as she leaned forward, “What types of other noises?”
“The kind a woman would make if she were doing explicit online content.”
Meghan’s eyes widened, “Go girlfriend.”
“Right? So I don’t want to bother her. I understand how she might not want people in this town knowing what she’s doing.”
“No. If the Hills found out, I’m afraid they’d chase her out of town with holy water or something,” Meghan sneered.
I nodded and continued eating my meal. Meghan started talking about a book she was currently editing. Meanwhile, I was quietly preparing myself for dealing with people. Years ago, I was dubbed the town recluse because of my introverted ways. I didn’t mind it. It meant people knew what they could expect from me, and it wasn’t being involved in the drama or being the subject of it.
It also meant they considered me to be boring, so they wouldn’t look in my direction as much for gossip. Every few weeks, I would make a public appearance at the bar. I’d say hello to old classmates, and the older regulars, then come home completely mentally drained. It made Meghan happy. She talked to everyone in town, but I was her best friend like she was mine. So, for her I’d suck it up for an evening, deal with people, and then come home exhausted. At least I wouldn’t have to listen to my upstairs neighbor pornstar moan all evening.