Chapter 2
Chapter Two
A brown-skinned who rivals Xena just knocked me on my ass.
Pushing six feet with a body like an hourglass, flashing doe-shaped brown eyes, and a shock of white hair at the temple, she looks like some long-lost relative of Storm from the X-Men.
She took my breath away—then my sight, followed by my dignity.
Which is how I wound up here, gagging in a shiny chrome sink. Forcing my overly sensitive eyes open, I tilt my head. The cool water provides brief snippets of relief. Then the flames of hell reignite.
I grit my teeth to keep from whimpering.
Because, as the great Robert Smith says, ‘Boys don’t cry.
’ Besides, I’ve shed enough tears to create a new ocean over the past year and a half.
I’d be furious if I didn’t respect her actions so damn much.
At six feet three with a footballer’s build, I intimidate most people.
She walked up to me like a warrior ready to protect herself.
But her dismayed voice had issued apologies afterward, and her soft hand wrapped around my biceps as she guided me toward help.
That realization soothes most of my anger.
“Is he okay?” a male voice I don’t recognize comes from somewhere behind me.
Embarrassment burns hotter than my abused flesh. All eyes are on me. It’s the one thing I most wanted to avoid.
“I’ve seen nothing like this. City life has made that girl jumpy.” An elderly man’s grizzled voice holds judgment.
“Make sure you tell that young man that’s not how we treat people here. Phil is going to get an earful from all of us.” His indignation at the assault on my person does not go unnoticed by me.
“We will, Art. Let’s give him space for now.”
“Alright, Fletcher. I’ll leave it in your hands.”
Fletcher! The brunette with glasses sparks a memory in my brain.
He was one of the first people Uncle Ralph introduced me to.
Laid-back and funny, he welcomed me to town.
From the funky vintage thrift store he ran to the pop culture and musical references he sprinkled into everyday conversation; he left a lasting impression.
“Is it getting better?”
I lift my head and glance at the blurry frame of the man with light brown hair, Bridger, who helps run the inn.
He’d put me up a few times when I escaped to the town, needing solitude from my stressful job in Atlanta.
I never understood why my dad hated living in Chance Falls so much; he moved us to the hustle of ATL.
Blinking, I immediately regret the rapid eye movement and groan.
“That says it all. Back under the water for you, brother.” Bridger pats my back.
The casual, sympathetic touch is nearly foreign.
It’s been a long time since I had the kindness most take for granted offered to me by strangers.
One false allegation can change the world’s perception of who you are, regardless of the truth of it.
Returning to the water, I continue to chase the fleeting relief. Had I intended to do Phil harm, this would’ve stopped me in my tracks. Five out of five stars. Highly recommend for repelling creeps. Zero stars for those mistakenly accused of wrongdoing caught in the crossfire.
“How’s he doing?” Fletch returns. His deep baritone is distinctive. I spit out water and take a shaky breath.
“I’m alive, if that counts,” I reply hoarsely. Gripping the edge of the sink, I prepare to stand.
“When Phil does anything, she’s never half-assed.” Fletch’s tone is compassionate.
“Have to admit, I’m curious and concerned about what you did to spook her.” I don’t recognize the gruff, even voice that holds a healthy dose of skepticism.
I feel an intense protectiveness for her—completely unjustified for what she just did to me.
Are they dating? The last thing I’m fit to do right now is a battle over her honor.
Standing, I swipe the excess water off my face.
Careful to keep my eyes closed, I turn toward the direction the question came.
“I’ve been looking for Phil to build a few things for Reel Haven for weeks.
“And you can’t take no for an answer?” The kindness drains from Fletch’s voice in a heartbeat.
I shake my head. “No one told me Phil was a she, not a he. Every time I went in or walked by and saw a girl, I left. She thought I was stalking her, I guess.”
Snickers turns to raucous laughter.
“Phil is short for Philomena,” someone managed between bursts of laughter. Of the three men I saw, I recognize at least two.
“I wouldn’t call her that unless you want to experience more pain at her hands.” The softer tone is one I’ve assigned to Bridge, the innkeeper.
“I think it’s unique.” I cautiously open my eyes. The three are still fuzzy shapes.
“How you doing?” Fletch steps closer.
I squint. “I didn’t know eyes could feel sunburned.”
The man in a brown apron steps forward. “Not to make light of your pain, but I need to sanitize my sink. Last thing I need to do is poison a customer.”
“I got it. Thanks for helping me out. I didn’t catch your name.” I hold out my hand.
“Rye.” We shake.
My lips twitch at the irony of the man working in the Golden Grain being named after bread. “Like the bread?”
“Yeah, I’m a baker in a bread shop named Rye,” he replies with good-natured humor.
As my vision recovers, I make out a five o’clock shadow and a brown beard. A brown apron covers a white cable-knit sweater laced with flour.
Fletch and Bridge steer me over to a chair and a table in the back of the room.
I can see the metal racks with assorted breads.
Doughs in various stages of rising, and giant industrial silver mixers neatly lined against the wall on the right.
Tall metal tables are lined up in a central location, and double stacked ovens in various stages of usage take up the right side.
“Take a few more minutes,” Fletch suggests as he shuffles me toward the back door so we’re out of the way. I sink down into one of the chairs against the wall. Fletcher and Bridger stand on either side of me.
“What are the odds that everyone will forget this and move on by the time I leave here?” Being in the spotlight isn’t high on my list of desired things. Perched on the edge of the chair, I rub the back of my neck.
Fletch laughs. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks. You’re a local celebrity by now.”
Balking at the c-word, I flinch. “For how long?”
“The next little while, at least. Doesn’t help that you’re new.” Bridge admits with an apologetic smile. “Welcome to small-town living.”
“Be ready for heavy traffic in the Reel,” Fletcher adds.
“It’s open season. People will stop in to pluck you for information, introduce themselves, and see what you’re made of,” Bridger says.
“What I’m made of?” I repeat, confused. This isn’t the military.
Fletch chuckles. “Dating prospects are few and far between here.”
My stomach cramps. The thought of scrutiny makes my palms clammy. I lick my dry lips. Dread sends my stomach to the bottom of my shoes. Will the town see me as a troublemaker? This isn’t the time to make waves. I’ve had enough upheaval.
“On the plus side. It’ll be good for business.”
Right now. Bridger’s upbeat words are nails on a chalkboard. You moved here to start over fresh. Don’t drag your baggage from your past life into your new reality.
Peering down, I focus on the chunky silver ring on my middle finger. Rotating my wrist, I note the feel of the woven leather bracelet pressed against my skin. I inhale the heavy yeast scent mixed with that of baking bread. The soreness of my eyes grounds me.
Here in Chance Falls, no one knows about my former life. They want to get to know Korren better, not exploit a man involved in a horrific tragedy. This time around, I’m choosing joy, slow living, and genuine connections.
“You good?” Bridger asks.
I return to the moment. “I’m getting there. It’s been one hell of a morning.” I offer what I hope is a believable smile.
They chuckle, nodding their agreement.
“Don’t worry, we’ll vouch for you if it becomes necessary to set the record straight on what happened. We tend to be protective of our own,” Fletch explains.
“Yeah, I picked up on that. Is the bread guy…Rye”—I snap my fingers, recalling his name—“dating her?”
Bridger and Fletch snort. “No. He’s not her type, trust me,” Bridger says. “At this point, Phil’s my sister; she’s been best friends with my twin sister, Dar, since diapers.”
I gather information like a student eager to pass an exam. It’ll take time to get used to the mechanics in town.
“Man, the trouble those two have gotten us into.” The fondness in Fletch’s voice amuses me.
“And pulled us into,” Bridger murmurs.
“It kept us entertained at least.” Fletch nudges him with his elbow.
“Looks like at least one of them hasn’t changed her ways,” I reply dryly.
Bridger chuckles. “Oh, he’s going to fit in just fine.”
Fletch holds out his arms. “Welcome to the madness that is Chance Falls, brother. We hope you enjoy your stay.”
Hope flickers in my chest. Maybe this time things will stick, and my world won’t implode around me. I need this to work.