The Jilted Lovers Club (Lahoma Springs #1)

Lahoma Aroma

Jordy

The moment I pass the Lahoma Springs city limits sign, the air hits me—rotten, putrid, like the stench of decaying animal or a festering festival outhouse.

It’s strong enough to make me think there’s something wrong with the car, and I’m afraid to find out what.

I mean, did the rental company leave something in the trunk?

We’d done the standard inspection. I’d checked every inch of this Lexus, scanning for scratches and dings and taking pictures of anything suspicious.

But apparently in my fastidious scrutiny of this SUV, I failed to notice whatever was emanating from the vents, the floorboards, or the leather seats, which is getting stronger by the moment as I approach my exit for downtown Lahoma Springs.

The town is everything my New York neighborhood is not.

Craftsman houses with river rock chimneys, cobblestone pathways, and white picket fences.

A green copper drawbridge over a lazy river, and kayakers drifting downstream.

Trees that make up the center divider and bike paths on every goddamn road.

Drivers slowing to allow other cars to merge in or to just wave at someone on the street.

And a banner over the main street, inviting the town to a gazebo dedication in the town square.

My god, this place is basic.

Alexander Winslow, my boss, had described the building I’m driving toward as a huge, historic bank, originally called The Till. The place sold seeds of all kinds, which seems like a strange use of such a large space.

The Till isn’t the only historic building, I realize as I approach the downtown area.

New York has its fair share of historic districts, but apparently Lahoma Springs does too.

Lining the downtown streets are looming stone buildings in earthy-toned colors, each with long, arched windows, decorative framing, and ornate cornices crowning the top of the structure.

The details are intricate and impressive, almost like they’re telling the story of what the town used to be.

For a moment, I forget my earlier thought at how basic this town is as I take in the beauty of the architecture.

Maybe I have the heart of a small-town girl, after all. Maybe there are some added benefits to this design job.

I glance at the GPS, but the map disappears in favor of my cousin’s face.

Nina calls me at least once a week. She’s always the one who calls and doesn’t seem to notice that I don’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my cousin—but in small doses.

This might have to do with the fact that she’s married to Brayden, my ex-fiancé.

Long story. Someone should write a book about it.

Honestly, though, that isn’t the reason.

The real reason is because all Nina wants to talk about is their daughter, and I’m just not into babies—especially ones with Brayden’s eyes.

But if I don’t answer, she’ll just call again in an hour.

And an hour after that. And keep calling until I finally cave.

Sighing, I answer the phone.

“You’ll never believe what Juniper did,” Nina squeals, not even waiting for me to say hello. “Watch this.”

My phone starts pinging, requesting to accept her Facetime Call.

“I’m driving,” I mutter, but I pull into a parking spot near the sidewalk and press accept anyway. Immediately the video screen in the car is filled with my niece, who, by the way, is probably the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. Still not a fan, but cute.

“Juniper,” Nina calls off screen. But June is fascinated with the phone, her little hands covering the camera as she tries to grab it. “Juniper, look at Mommy. Juniper.”

“Nina, I’m on the job right now. Can we talk later?” I actually have no concrete schedule for today. All I have to do is scope out the bank location and check into my hotel, maybe get acquainted with my surroundings. But honestly, this call is giving me a headache.

“Just a few minutes, please. She did it just a moment ago. She’s probably just shy.”

No, she is probably just bored, like I am.

“What did she do, exactly?”

Nina turns the phone to herself, her hair a bright purple with white-blonde streaks, and her face a painting of disappointment. “She turns when I say her name. She knows her name!”

“Are you sure she doesn’t just know your voice? Nice hair, by the way. Purple suits you.”

She grins, flipping her hair. “I was getting tired of the pink and thought I’d switch it up.

” Nina had been sporting pink hair ever since the baby was born, as she’d held off on dyeing it while she was pregnant.

It was the longest I’d seen her with natural hair, which is a pretty blonde color.

But I can’t help thinking the purple is a nice touch.

“I swear to you, Juniper is really smart. Oh! See?” Nina switches the phone back to the baby, who is now looking at me through the screen.

“Hi baby,” I say as Nina continues to coax her in the background. Juniper blows bubbles before smacking her lips.

“She’s probably just tired from all this cleverness, aren’t you Juney Joo,” Nina coos.

“No, she’s probably distracted by your bright, shiny phone. I believe you, though.”

Nina turns the camera back to her, her mouth twisted into a pout. “I really wanted you to see it. Where are you anyway?”

I shrug, not wanting to admit I’m in California.

Nina lives on a ranch about eight hours south of Lahoma in a beach town called Sunset Bay.

It’s where I was going to live when… Well, in a past life when I was supposed to marry you-know-who.

Living in New York is a relief in so many ways, including the fact that there’s an entire country between us.

If Nina knows I’m in Lahoma Springs, even if I’m almost five hundred miles north of her, she’ll find a way to visit me.

“Nowhere special,” I say, looking out the window.

“God, I’m so jealous,” she sighs. “You’re out there designing all these shops and offices, and I’m here smelling like sour milk, manure, and hay.”

If I were paying attention, I’d probably have laughed, correcting her about her ideas of my success.

Then I would have told her about this shitty smelling car I’m in.

But I’m distracted, realizing I’ve reached my destination.

The Till stands tall on the corner of the street, a majestic building that, with its pillars and arched windows, resembles the classic details of structures in the Italian Renaissance.

Its beauty and grandeur takes my breath away.

And so does the crowd picketing outside.

“Hey, I need to go,” I say to Nina, then hang up before she can say anything else.

How I missed the protest just across the street is beyond me, but now the sounds of shouting ring through my closed windows.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, then open the car door. I’m immediately met by a warm blast of shit.

No, not literal shit. The smell of shit. And it’s everywhere.

The smell I’d noticed before, it wasn’t coming from the floorboards. No, this is definitely not a car issue. It’s a town issue.

“Oh, my god.” I start to close the door, getting ready to drive off again.

But I can’t. Despite the smell, and despite the modest crowd marching with signs outside of it, I have to get inside that building.

This has little to do with my job, and everything to do with needing to see if the inside of that building is as gorgeous as the outside.

Covering my nose, I get out of the car. But my stilettos are not meant for the cobblestone road. I frantically grasp for the car door, but catch air as I pitch forward. That is, until two strong hands grip me under my arms, then hoist me to standing before I can catch my breath.

“Easy there,” a deep voice says, and I turn to see my rescuer, all while still covering my nose.

“Thank you.” My voice is muffled under my hand.

But when I look up, what I really mean is, thank you, Universe .

Does the Universe even make men this beautiful?

Because the man standing in front of me is easily the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.

I mean, there’s a Neo-Renaissance building across the street—dripping with history, secrets, and who knows what other treasures—and yet this man, with skin the color of burnished bronze, eyes like dark espresso, and a smile so disarming I forget how to speak …

he’s the architectural masterpiece. Not to mention that I can see the shape of his chiseled chest through his flannel shirt, the thickness of his thighs under his faded blue jeans, and that worn out baseball cap on his head, the brim curved over his brow.

The whole look seems to be the standard uniform of well-built cowboys, not to mention my absolute kryptonite.

Fuck, I’m a sucker for this look, as much as I hate to admit it.

I’d escaped to New York to immerse myself in high fashion and culture.

But goddamn, those men in fitted suits have nothing on this country boy.

“I see you’ve discovered Lahoma Aroma,” he says, nodding at me with an amused look on his face as he guides me toward the sidewalk, his hand at my back.

“Lahoma … what?” I grimace. I’m having a hard time looking at him. He’s that attractive.

With my hand covering my nose, I’m aware that I look like a fool. Not that it matters, I’m here on business only, not to meet someone—even guys like this one.

“Lahoma Aroma,” he repeats, then gestures all around us. “The fields were recently fertilized, and it can get pretty fragrant around here.”

I pull my hand away, then wrinkle my nose. “Fragrant? More like rancid. How do you stand it? Your town smells like a giant bathroom.”

His smile widens, catching the corners of my heart with it. “When you live in a farming community, you get used to it.”

I look him over, partly to get another look, but also as I realize he is probably one of those farmers. “I take it you live on one of the farms here?”

He nods. “Just on the cusp of city limits, all two hundred acres of it blessed with the holy juice to prepare it for the next planting season.”

I nod, though I can’t hide my disgust. My face has always been a billboard for my thoughts, and judging by the way his eyes dance as he looks me over, he is reading me loud and clear.

“You must be new around here. Or maybe visiting? I’m Ashton.

” He holds out his hand, and I instinctively take it, then do what I can to hide my reaction at the warmth of his calloused palm curving over my much smaller hand.

But I can’t keep my mouth from betraying me, breaking into a smile before I can stop it by biting my lower lip.

Damn, I like my hand in his. It’s like an invitation to see what else fit against him, around him, all over him.

There is something about him that feels like home to me, which is so weird and cliché I can’t stand it.

I’ve never had this reaction to any guy.

I didn’t even feel this way about Brayden.

But here I am, ogling this familiar stranger

“I’m Jordy, Jordy Gallo. And yeah, I guess you can say that I’m new.

” I slip my hand from his and nod at the building across the street.

“Winslow & Associates, the owners of that building over there, hired me to work on the interior design, but I didn’t realize there would be a protest today.

Do you know when it will be over so I can go inside? ”

Ashton’s smile evaporates, and the warmth in his eyes cool to an icy, narrow focus. But then it’s gone, and he shakes his head.

“They’re there every day,” he says, then shrugs. “I imagine when they see progress being made on whatever’s going in that spot, the protest will get worse.”

“Seriously?”

I look over at the protest, but this time I note the signs they’re holding.

“GO HOME BIG BUSINESS.”

“KEEP LAHOMA SMALL.”

“THIS IS OUR TOWN.”

And the funniest one of all: “OUR TOWN SMELLS LIKE POO, BUT YOU STINK MORE.”

“Wow, they’re a passionate bunch.” I turn to Ashton. “I didn’t realize this was an issue. Alexander didn’t tell me.”

Ashton takes a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I imagine he’s not aware, or even concerned about Lahoma Springs.

But why would he be? This is just business.

” He nods at the building. “As for crossing that picket line? I don’t recommend it, not if you want to make friends in this town. ”

This time, it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. I give a short laugh, then smooth my skirt. “I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to do the job I’m being paid to do.”

He glances my way again, and this time when he looks me over, I feel his eyes all over my body. I know he’s just sizing me up—the enemy, apparently—but damn if I don’t feel completely naked under his gaze.

“Got it,” he says. Then he touches the brim of his hat and gives a quick nod. “Good luck, Ms. Gallo.”

And then Ashton walks away, leaving me to figure out the mess I’m in on my own.