Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ROMILLY
In the quiet hours before the sun rises, I can never resist a good bath.
And as much as I love my sister, privacy isn’t always easy to come by around her.
Thankfully, our impromptu sleepovers at my place are never more than weekly, but I sometimes wonder what Zara’s reaction would be if she tiptoed to the bathroom at four in the morning and found me in the tub, under my blanket of bubbles and hot water injected with essential oils.
Candles are currently lit around the rim of the tub, and my favorite paperback of secret, romantic poetry is in my free hand.
Zara would probably do a cartwheel if she saw me right now. She’d overreact and take this as the evidence she’s been wanting that I’m not as resistant to relationships as I put on.
I scan the page in front of me as the water laps over my chest and stomach. The flickering, scented flames thicken the air around me, and I try to push away the longing thoughts that enter my mind as I read.
Beneath the quiet moon, your touch ignites me,
A fire in my veins that burns and lights me.
And then his face flashes behind my eyes. That tall stranger from church with the tattoos, the Australian accent, the blond hair and blue eyes. And that voice.
His intense stare as he held up that noodle. Look what I’ve done to you.
My thoughts dance around at a dizzying speed from the memory.
No.
I’m usually so good at keeping men out of my thoughts, and it’s not often I find a man attractive enough to make me reconsider why I avoid thinking about them in the first place.
While this guy was probably the finest man I’ve ever seen, there was also something more than attraction between us.
I know I couldn’t have imagined that unspoken chemistry we had because it was so strong, it practically strangled me with its presence.
Even though I was covered in soup, I wanted to keep standing there, keep talking to him, keep staring at that grin of his—half charm, half trouble—as well as those blue eyes carrying mischief the way a cloud carries a storm.
And being as lonely as I am, sitting in a bathtub reading love poetry definitely isn’t helping.
Heart pounding, I force myself to try to think of something else.
Just because I’m finally living on my own again doesn’t mean I have an excuse to start daydreaming.
I’m independent, like I’ve always wanted to be, and I’ve been so good lately.
My thoughts have finally been in check. And then he had to go and ruin it by asking me out, because now here I am imagining what would have happened if I said yes.
Besides , I tell myself, just imagine what future Romilly would think if she knew you were entertaining such things. She’d be disappointed. You’re living your dream as a dog groomer and shop owner. You don’t need anything else to manage, and the last thing you want is to get hurt again.
After soaking for another thirty minutes, I pull the plug in the tub and let the water drain, then grab my folded towel from the wooden stool perched beside me. I dry off and, with a sigh, hide the book in my toiletry bag.
When I’m dressed in a pair of baggy jeans, a cream knit sweater, and leather jacket, I complete my weekly silk press on my naturally curly hair and apply a light layer of makeup. I’m singing during worship at church today, so I might as well get ready now.
I make my way down the creaky hall, careful not to wake my sister.
If my brother, Aiden, were here, he’d probably sleep just fine, but Zara will pop out of bed like a toaster pastry at the sound of rain falling.
I plan to let her sleep in since it’s practically her love language, and since she has a key, she has no problem letting herself out.
It’s going to be so strange when she goes off to college next year.
Unlike most of our friends, my sister and I decided to start a dog grooming business instead of going to college, but once it failed after a few years, and we were both forced to move back home, she decided college was the path for her after all.
Since I couldn’t stop grooming if I tried, I was desperate to make my new, solo shop work out.
And it did. The moment I started making enough to be out of my parents’ house and back on my own, I found this place.
And though this tiny, historical cottage isn’t perfect, it’s charming and it’s mine.
Now that I’m twenty-seven, it seems appropriate for me to finally stay on my own.
I start up the stove and make my favorite breakfast, oatmeal topped with cinnamon, sliced apples, and bananas.
I take it to the table and settle in, careful not to step on the flicking tail of my sleeping cat, Jasper, who is in a cozy, curled-up ball beside the chair I settle into.
He’s wearing a green knit sweater I bought him from my favorite boutique, and like always, seeing him in it makes me smile.
Crossing my legs, I dip my spoon into the bowl of oatmeal. It will be time to head to practice before the service soon, but while I eat, I always try to read at least one verse. And today’s doesn’t at all seem like a coincidence.
“So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.”
–Galatians 5:18
I wince. Okay, God. I hear you loud and clear. No more fantasizing about the hot newcomer.
“You smell nice.”
I start in my chair when I realize Zara is standing right next to me. She folds her arms across her pink satin pajama top. A few strands of her hair escape her matching pink bonnet. “Stop doing that.”
Her eyes round in fake innocence. “Stop doing what?”
“You know what.” I fix her with a glare. “Stop appearing out of nowhere and trying to scare me every time you’re here.”
“No idea what you’re talking about, to be honest.” She sniffs the air. “Why do you smell so nice?”
I blush, thoughts of my hopelessly romantic lavender-oil bath rushing back to me. “I don’t smell nice.”
“Yes, you do. You should smell like sweat and morning breath, but you smell like a candle shop instead, and it’s weird.”
“I took a shower, Zara.”
“I take showers, and we use the same stuff. Why don’t I smell like you?”
I back away from her approaching nostrils. “Okay, enough!” I stand from my seat. “I have to go to practice now. See you in a few hours.”
She arches an eyebrow at me but lets me walk away from her. “I will find this secret perfume of yours and make it my own.”
“Whatever.”
“You can’t stop me,” she promises.
But I cut off her voice as I close the front door.
Shaking my head, I bite back my smile. Of course she notices how I smell the one time I take a bath while she’s here.
Still, I’m really going to miss her. Meadow Hills is a small town.
Without her in it after she leaves for college in Portland, it’s bound to feel vast and empty.
I hug my coat against my body as I walk to my car.
Late-September in Maine is comfortably cold, and the abundance of red and yellow trees surrounding the town can’t be beat.
As I drive along the narrow stretch of road, I can’t help but admire the sleepy hush all around at this hour.
The railings of the gazebo at the town center are covered with numerous cats.
A fluffy white one is perched at the base, and it yawns just as I peek out the window.
Not to mention, the lights are just turning on at Old Joe’s diner, and I spot Joe himself through the white marker illustrations on his windows of the maple lavender latte he serves every autumn.
He’s unstacking chairs from atop his wooden tables as he readies his restaurant for the day.
Seeing him awake at this early hour always makes me feel less alone, somehow.
The only church in town is only a couple miles down the road. As the familiar building approaches from the other side of the windshield, warmth enters me. It feels like another home.
I park and get out of the car. My old boots clop against the sidewalk as I near Harvest Valley Church. I open my purse and approach the back entrance to find my key, fishing around inside until the cool metal meets my fingertips.
“Can you spare some change?”
My gaze jumps to the old man sitting on the parking curb a few feet away.
He’s not holding a cardboard sign, but his clothes are worn and tattered, his eyes crazed with a literal hunger that makes my heart feel like it’s clenched in a fist. Though I’ve seen him around town lately, this is the first time he’s ever interacted with me.
“Of course.” I find my wallet in my still-open bag and fish out my last ten dollars, a tip from a dog grooming job I did last week. “Here.” I hand the money to the man, and he takes it.
“Thank you.” He stands and stretches his shoulders. “Thank you so much. This will buy me breakfast.”
A gust of cold wind makes me shiver. “If you come back on Tuesday, I’ll serve you a nice, hot breakfast myself.”
His answering smile lights my insides. “I’ll hold you to that.” He stretches out his hand for me to shake. “The name’s Herman.”
“Romilly.” I shake his hand.
“See you Tuesday.” He nods at me and makes for the crosswalk.
I turn back to the rear entrance of the church and unlock the door.
I flip on all the lights as I enter, ignoring the small twinge in my stomach.
I’m the first one here again. I shouldn’t be surprised though, because I don’t know anyone else as crazy as me, willing to wake up at four in the morning to get here at five-thirty.
Still, the emptiness is all too familiar.
I flip on the lights to the backstage room. The only thing that stirs in the room is dust, but the rest of the music team will be here soon.
I get a cup of water from the dispenser in the corner, clap all the erasers resting on the whiteboard together to dust them, and review the list on this week’s worship songs, even though I have the order memorized.
Anything to fill the empty time.
Harnessing the power of distractions is all too familiar to me these days, and I’m starting to get creative.
I clear my throat and start my vocal warm-ups. I have to admit, singing into such prominent silence is always jarring at first, but after a few scales and arpeggios, my ears adjust to the sound.
“I’ll never get over your voice. It’s so unfair.”
I jump at the sound of Hadley’s compliment, placing a hand to my chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” She chuckles and sets down her guitar case, pulling out her pearl white Strat. “I was going to say something as soon as I got here, but girl, you had me entranced. You’re like a freaking siren or something.”
I blush. “Thanks.”
A hum of voices sounds from the hall and the rest of the worship team fills the room. Jake with his travel keyboard, Eddie with his drumsticks, and Martin with his bass.
“Good morning everyone,” I say.
“Morning, Rom.” Eddie taps his drumsticks together with a silly grin on his mouth. “First one here again?”
I shrug. “I had nothing else going on.”
“Why don’t we do something about that?” Jake winks at me. “Just say the word when you’re ready for me to hook you up with my cousin. Allen, remember?”
“I will.” But the thing is, I won’t. I pick up my water cup from the low table next to me and take another sip. Shift my feet on the carpeted floor. Avert my gaze from Jake’s.
“He’s a real catch,” he promises.
“I’m sure he is.”
Hadley squints at Jake. “Leave her alone. She’s over dating. Let her be the strong, independent woman she’s trying to be.”
“Fine. Just trying to help.” He purses his lips and then adds, “But you don’t have to spend all your time alone or volunteering at shelters to be independent, you know. You can have a man, too. You’re allowed to do something for yourself.”
“I know. Thanks, Jake.” I try not to get irritated with him, because I know he’s just trying to be nice. But what he doesn’t understand is that I’d rather be alone, no matter how unnerving or depressing my loneliness feels.
It’s bad enough knowing how untrustworthy men are, even the ones who seem promising. I wish I could find a way to make myself not care about romance, love, or relationships after what my ex, Cole, put me through.
But it’s hard.
I do care.
With a sigh, I point to the song list on the wall behind Jake. “Shouldn’t we practice?”
He tries to hide his scowl. “Fine.”
After three rounds of our worship set, it’s safe to say we’re all warmed up. There’s still time to kill before the first service begins, so we all take a rest, seated on the foldout chairs in our small, well-lit space.
“Sorry for nagging you, Rom,” Jake says. “I just?—”
Hadley huffs out a sigh. “What is with you, Jake? Just let it go.” Her polite smile is starting to wear thin, and not just because she and Jake used to date, but also on my account. I feel a wash of gratitude for her.
“Fine, yes. Sorry.” He holds up his hands. “I’m all done.” He gets up and stalks to the bathroom without another word.
I nudge Hadley with my shoulder once Jake is out of ear shot. “You doing okay?”
“Fine.” She shrugs. “It feels like we’ve been broken up for years instead of months, the way we’ve been fighting like an old divorced couple.”
I touch her shoulder. “But it hasn’t been years. So if you need to talk, I’m here.”
She nods. “I know. Thank you.” She’s silent for a long moment and then with a sniff, says, “He was never really a good fit for me anyway.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” It’s partly a lie.
I thought for sure they were going to get married, but I have a feeling it’s what she needs to hear, especially after she dumped him for smothering her.
Sometimes I think she regrets it, but who am I to judge?
I don’t want to be in a relationship, either.
Because I hate the part that comes after believing I’ve finally found my person.
The part where “my person” shows his true colors, after the damage has been done and I’ve already become emotionally invested. The part where he lets me down.
Everyone lets down the person they love eventually.
Hadley interrupts my thoughts with a hug, then stands. “All right. Let’s get ready. We’re on that stage in less than an hour.”
I clear my throat. “I was just thinking the same thing.”