Jessica’s Hero (Heroes of Sleepy Hollow #6)

Chapter 1

JESSICA

Maybe this year really will be the best one yet.

Though I’m only four days into the new year, my single New Year’s Eve wish—not a resolution, but the same wish I’ve made every year since I was eighteen—feels like it could be within reach.

Please let this year be the one when my life turns around.

Let this year be the one when people stop judging me for a mistake I made nearly twenty years ago. When gazes don’t linger on the reminders I’ll carry for the rest of my life. When I can achieve the things I always dreamed of.

A home filled with love instead of a house haunted with too many memories.

True friends; ones who’ll stand by my side when cruel words are flung at me.

A man who’ll treat me with kindness and affection, who might even think I’m beautiful, despite all the evidence to the contrary .

And forgiveness.

I think I want that most of all.

And today, as I walk out of the office, the freshly fallen snow adding a cleansing snap to the air, tiny wisps of flurries dancing in the breeze, a lightness fills me. A cautious hope that warms me from the inside, fizzing with possibilities.

While January evenings in New York aren’t typically something to look forward to—right now the temperature is hovering just below thirty and it’s only supposed to get colder through the rest of the week—I’m not in the same hurry to get home like I usually am.

With the exception of my monthly meeting at the community center, I usually make a beeline home after work, choosing to wait to do my grocery shopping and other errands until a time when there are fewer people around.

Maybe it’s because things have been going so well today that I’m inspired to break my routine.

Rather than waiting to buy my groceries until much later—I’ve found nine PM is the best time to go food shopping, just an hour before closing, when the only people left in the store are the skeleton crew—I decide to risk hitting the store at a more normal time.

A time when I’m certain to come across at least ten people I know in the crowded aisles of the Sleepy Hollow Shop and Save.

Because when you grew up in a small town and move back there as an adult, anonymity is basically impossible.

But today, I feel ready to face the stares and clipped comments and whispers behind my back.

Mostly .

As I sat in my little closet of an office eating lunch today, I sorted through all the good things I already have going for me this year.

A promotion, effective two weeks from now, from junior lab technologist to senior, now overseeing six other people’s work.

An open invitation to a weekly reality-TV-watching night, hosted by Ari and Thea, old friends from back in high school.

And coffee this Sunday with my newest friend, Nora, a woman I admire more than any other I’ve met.

Nora is brave. Confident. She wouldn’t let what other people say bother her.

But she’s also beautiful and married to a man who adores her, so it’s a bit different from my experience.

Still. She thinks I’m worthy of her friendship. So I must be doing something right.

As I slip into my car and look into the mirror on the still-flipped-down visor, I catch myself actually smiling.

And not one of those forced ones I give my coworkers after I walk into a room and they all stop talking.

But a real one. One that lights up my eyes, turning them more gold than green, and puts a tiny flush of pleasure on my cheeks.

In the tiny mirror, it’s easier to focus on the positives.

My hazel eyes that shift from green to honey depending on my mood.

My long lashes that never need mascara and the little dimple that pops out when I smile.

And my long, dark-chocolate hair that’s looking especially shiny after the deep conditioning treatment I did last night.

In this tiny mirror, with my coat pulled up to my neck, I can’t see the things I hate about myself .

And of course, the very thought of them makes my smile dip. The sparkle in my eyes fades. Tiny lines etch between my eyes, a fun gift I received somewhere around my last birthday.

“No,” I tell my reflection firmly. “This is a good day. I’m not letting myself wallow. Not about things I can’t change.”

A beat later, I cast a quick glance around the parking lot, my cheeks heating at the possibility of someone walking by, hearing me talking to myself.

Which is ridiculous. First, there’s no one around. Second, it’s cold enough that everyone is hurrying to their cars, their hearing muffled by hats and hoods, so it’s highly unlikely anyone would notice. And third…

Well, I’m going to try to channel Nora on this one. Who cares if someone sees? Why do I care what they think about me?

In theory, that sounds great. Reality, though? I still care a lot, no matter how many times I tell myself not to.

Just as I start the car, my phone chimes with a text. It pops up on the dashboard—thank you, bluetooth technology—and my lips lift as I read Thea’s message.

Hey, just making sure you’re still coming for the Bachelor premiere next week. Ari, Rose, Shea, and Penny will all be there. According to the previews, this is supposed to be the *most dramatic season ever*!

When Thea first extended the invitation last month, it was a surprise, given our rocky history.

While she accepted my apology years ago, I didn’t think we’d ever come close to regaining the friendship we had back in high school.

But there she was, extending an olive branch to me; one that I was happy to accept .

I still feel a little uneasy being around Thea and her friends—I think a part of me will always worry that they see me as the villain of the story—but I look forward to it, too.

It’s a welcome break from my solitary life; spending a few hours laughing, drinking too much wine and making bets on which contestants aren’t there “for the right reasons.”

So before I shift the car into drive, I snag my phone from my purse and send a reply.

Yes, I’d love to. What do you need me to bring? Snacks? Wine?

Three dots blink for a few seconds before her response blinks onto the screen.

Bring anything you like! Wine is always a safe bet. We’ll be at Shea’s place this time, and Oliver offered to drive anyone home if they get tipsy. Which we might if we play the “here for the wrong reasons game.”

My smile expands. The here for the wrong reasons game is simple, requiring that everyone drink whenever a contestant claims that someone isn’t on the show for the right reasons .

The only appropriate right reason is finding love with a person they’ve only known for a matter of weeks.

But what I’ve learned since I started watching these shows with Thea and Ari is that most of the contestants are just there to further their careers.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I let my mind wander to an imaginary scenario where I went on The Bachelor . I wouldn’t care about being a social media influencer or getting a spot on the next season of Dancing with the Stars . I would be there for the right reason. I’d be there to find love.

One face flashes before my eyes at the thought.

Not a contestant, but a man who lives right here in Sleepy Hollow.

A man who’s a relative newcomer to town—well, he’s lived here for six years, but in a small town like this, six years is basically nothing.

A man who’s been nothing but respectful and kind, despite the stories I’m sure he’s heard about me.

And he’s not just kind. He’s incredibly good-looking, too. Tall, muscly, bright sky-blue eyes and dark red hair that glints with copper and gold whenever the sun hits it.

He’s far too handsome for me, really, and too young.

During one of our brief conversations, he let it slip that he’s thirty-one, four years younger than me.

Which doesn’t seem like a lot, but for a guy like him, a young cop with practically all the single twenty-something women in town swooning over him, my thirty-five-year-old self can’t compete.

Even if I looked normal, which unfortunately, I don’t.

“Argh.” Baring my teeth at the rear view mirror as I glance into it, I scold myself again. “Stop being negative. What did the counselor say? Positive visualization is key?”

Yes. That is what our very sweet counselor, Robin, said at the end of our meeting last week. “Positive visualization can help manifest positive outcomes. It doesn’t matter if it’s something small, like facing a trigger for a few seconds. It’s an achievement you can be proud of.”

Yes. Positive visualization. Manifesting positive outcomes. I can do that.

While I pull into a parking spot at the grocery store, I run it through my head like a mantra. Positive thoughts lead to positive outcomes.

As I collect my shopping bags from the trunk to bring into the store, I visualize my trip inside, followed by the rest of the evening.

I’ll buy dinner for the next few nights, of course.

But I’ll also pick up a bunch of ingredients for baking.

Enough to make a couple dozen cookies for our TV night next week.

Enough to make those cheesecake brownies Nora said she loved so much the last time I gave her some; the ones she said her husband pounced on the second she brought them home.

I’ll walk through the aisles with my head held high, not paying attention to the long-time locals’ stares and whispers.

Then I’ll go home, feeling accomplished and ready to settle in for the weekend. I’ll enjoy a home-made dinner while I watch the most recent episode of NCIS . And then I’ll jump on the computer to spend time with my online friends, the ones who don’t care about old mistakes or what I look like.

In my head, it’s like a perfectly arranged line of dominos; everything falling just as it should.

In reality? Not so much.