Chapter Four
Ben
Ava Lancaster.
My pulse raced right alongside my thoughts as I did my best impression of not watching her walk away. Even after she’d thoroughly ruined my calm, I still couldn’t help but watch the way her hips swayed in those tight jeans. I felt a twinge of guilt at having blown her off from touring the house, but it had to be done.
That was the longest conversation we’d had since I broke up with Jules in high school. Dressed in jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, her dirty blonde hair pulled into a slightly askew ponytail, my heart thudded just a bit faster when she’d appeared on the sidewalk. Even after being up for God knew how many hours and hard at work in her bakery, she looked like a dream.
Not my dream, though.
Unlike Liam, I was not some lovesick puppy pining after a childhood crush. I accepted long ago that Ava would never consider dating me—not after that debacle with Jules. There was no coming back from that. Even now, she avoided me like the plague, only speaking with me when I stopped by her bakery for a coffee. Which I didn’t do often, because I could tell how uncomfortable it made her.
Over the years, I’d avoided thinking about Ava because every time she inevitably crossed my mind, I found myself wandering into The Rolling Scone for an afternoon muffin and decaf coffee. Followed, of course, by a week of me continually talking myself into or out of stopping into the bakery again until finally I remembered that we don’t dwell on the past. Clearly, for good reason.
It was distracting. It was upsetting. And, frankly, no good had ever come of it. I’d managed to embrace this forward-thinking mindset in nearly every aspect of my life. The tiny spot Ava had carved into my brain was the final frontier of Things Best Left Behind Where They Belong.
I watched as she continued down the sidewalk, crossing Main Street and heading back toward The Rolling Scone. One thing was for certain: I could not work alongside Ava Lancaster and retain my sanity.
Which meant that I could not sell Grandma’s place to her. Unfortunate, since it would’ve been nice to have this slide off my plate the same day it appeared, but this house had history, character, and charm to boot, not to mention an incredible location. Whatever Mom’s reasoning for finally selling, I had no doubt that we’d be able to close on it in short order.
As though summoned by my thoughts, my phone rang.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you,” she apologized. “I know you just left here, but I completely forgot to mention an idea I had earlier.”
Something was going on. I didn’t know what, but all these changes all at once were so out of character for Mom. She was a creature of habit. All I could think was that she was considering heading to Ireland to stay with Dad, but when I’d suggested it at breakfast that seemed pretty far off-base.
“Another one?”
“I’m going to host a big party on the Fourth. You know, like we used to do when you were little?”
“Does that mean I get to throw water balloons at you again?” I teased.
She laughed. “Maybe at your brother. I need your help, though.”
Ah. The fine print. “What do you need?”
“Can I put you in charge of drinks? Your brother’s so busy with the team and the move that I would feel terrible asking him to put more on his plate.” She paused, then hurriedly added. “Not that you’re not busy, dear. I didn’t mean it quite the way that sounded.”
“No worries, Mom,” I smiled. “Liam is way busier than I ever want to be. I can take care of the drinks. How many people?”
“Well, let’s see.” I could imagine her counting off on her fingers by the drifting sound of her voice. “You, me, Liam, Aunt Janey and her crew. Aunt Barb and Uncle Jeff. Grandma and Grandpa. And of course the Shepherds.”
Damn, she wasn’t kidding about a party. “Mom, that’s like twenty people. Are you sure you want that many?”
I heard her soft tsk of disapproval at my question. “That’s the shorter guest list. I cut back a bit so that we could have a dinner party before the fireworks.”
“A dinner party?” I echoed dubiously. “You’re prepared to cook for twenty people?”
“Ben.” Her tone shifted, getting heavier. “I know it will be a lot of work, but this is important to me. I—” she paused. “Just promise me you’ll come?”
“Me and the drinks,” I vowed.
What in the world was going on with her? I needed to pin Liam down later and see if he knew more. I doubted it was some far-reaching effort to finally get Liam and Riley together, even though she was inviting the Shepherds. She always invited them. She had a standing lunch date with Riley’s mom every Tuesday.
Noticing how much time had already passed since Ava left, I decided Mom’s crisis would have to wait until later. Now, I had to get back to the job at hand—getting this place on the market and ready to go after twenty years of vacancy.
When I pulled into the small parking lot behind the office, I caught sight of The Rolling Scone two blocks down, forcing me to fight the urge to go grab a coffee. Groaning in frustration, I opened the heavy glass door, grateful for the powerful air conditioner we’d installed last summer. In Cedar Springs, the summers sweltered and the winters plummeted. The temperature range was insane, even from one day to the next during transitional seasons.
I really needed to get out of this town.
With Mom putting the house on the market and the ghosts of my past misdeeds accosting me on Main Street, there was no time like the present to start plotting my escape into anonymity.
I didn’t want to be nobody. But I also didn’t want to be the kid who fumbled the winning touchdown of the homecoming game, or dumped that poor girl at prom, or threw up in class on the first day of third grade. And in a town as small as Cedar Springs, that was all people ever saw in me. My worst moments were their connection to my life, and all I wanted was to live somewhere far away from my mistakes.
Iris was on a call when I walked by her to my office, so I just nodded as I passed her. Pulling out my laptop, I realized that if I was going to be moving soon, I really should start unloading the last few things I’d held onto this long. Facebook Marketplace, here I come.
I’d just finished posting a listing for my favorite armchair when Iris knocked on my open door, smiling as usual.
“What went wrong?” she asked, hugging a notebook to her chest and leaning against my door frame.
“Why do you think something went wrong?”
“Your chair just popped up on my Marketplace notification,” she answered wryly. “You only sell furniture when something goes wrong.”
I frowned at her, considering whether to argue and deciding she would win. “Mom put the Van Kamp place up for sale,” I admitted. “I’ve already had a run-in with a difficult potential buyer.”
Her dark eyes went wide. “I never thought your mom would sell.”
I hired Iris as my assistant five years ago when I first opened McKinley Realty. She’d tried the whole college thing, but couldn’t decide on a program that felt right. I snapped her up while she was reassessing her life plan, knowing from the beginning that she wouldn’t be here for the long haul. Honestly, it shocked me that she’d stuck around for five years already. She was ten years younger than me, so we’d never ended up in school together, but she kept things lively around the office.
Iris was a whole vibe, in the best way possible. She preferred hiking and photography to pretty much everything, and spent most of her weekends driving for hours just to take a different trail. I know this because all she ever talked about were her hikes, her camera, and the miscellaneous flora and fauna that became her photo subjects.
She dressed in the most casual outfits she could get away with, always pants and always comfy. She had deep chestnut hair that she usually wore in loose, styled waves that fell a few inches below her shoulders. Even in winter, her oval face maintained a healthy tan. Though she was pretty—I’d always liked her effusive smile best—I never felt pulled toward her like I did Ava. Iris was a fun, beautiful, adventurous spirit, but she was never going to be anything other than my friend.
“Neither did I.” Realizing that she probably hadn’t come in here to ask my sob story for the day, I gestured toward her notebook. “Was there something you needed, other to hear other than my personal problems?”
“We have a new client,” she beamed. “A woman came in while you were out asking for a realtor.”
“Is she buying or selling?”
“Buying. I told her I’d get in touch once we assigned her, but I didn’t know who you wanted to give the lead.” She placed a print-out on my desk and my heart stopped.
I looked up at Iris. “Her name was Ava Lancaster?”
“Yup. She was really sweet. I think she owns that bakery down the road.”
“The Rolling Scone, yeah.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. I should’ve known she’d be too stubborn to just walk away. “You can tell her our agents are full up, but we’ll put her on a waitlist.”
Iris narrowed her eyes at me. She knew damn well we weren’t full up. “But—”
“She only wants one house,” I explained, keeping it brief, “and I can’t sell it to her. Just put her off as long as you can.”
Iris nodded, but I could tell by the look she gave me that she didn’t like it. “That’s not like you,” she commented.
I shrugged. I guess Ava made me a little crazy. “Thanks, Iris. I appreciate you.”
She disappeared with a snort of amusement, leaving me to my day of uploading photos, filling out forms, planning an open house, and definitely not thinking about Ava Lancaster.