Chapter 9
9
PORTIA
I was desperate to do something with my time rather than pace my rental house. I was used to being on the go in the city. If I wasn’t actively working or trying to hunt down leads for work, there had always been people to see and places to go. Free and paid things to do. The city was just always moving.
Back here in Larkspur, I had nothing going on. I didn’t have a job. I had exactly one friend. No hobbies to speak of. The house was clean. It wasn’t like I was really a slob. It wasn’t even my house. It was a rental and a temporary one at that. It wasn’t like I could renovate or do yard work. My options were pacing, lounging by the lake, or going to visit Alexis. I knew she was working. She had a lot of work. A purpose. Something I was sorely lacking right then.
I felt like I was surfing. Riding a wave that was going to crash down any minute. My wave in Manhattan crashed. I got up and moved home. Once again, I was riding another wave that was bound to crash at any minute. When my savings ran out and I couldn’t pay rent, then what? I could get a job but doing what? Waitressing? I honestly didn’t know. I was a failed realtor. I didn’t dare try and hang my shingle here. People would laugh me right out of town.
When this wave crashed, I was going to go under. There would be no soft landing for me.
I grabbed my keys off the counter, unable to stand the quiet of the house any longer. My thoughts were too loud, too suffocating. I needed air, movement, something to distract me from the spiral I was in. The lake was too still, too serene—it only made me feel more restless. Alexis’s shop was my only option, even if she was busy. At least there, I wouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.
I drove through the streets I’d known my whole life but they now felt foreign. The town hadn’t changed much—not really—but I had. Coming back here felt like stepping into a pair of shoes that didn’t fit anymore. Too tight in some places, too loose in others. I didn’t belong here, not like I used to. But I didn’t belong in Manhattan either. So where did that leave me?
I pulled up to Alexis’s shop. The bell above the door jingled as I walked in. She looked up from the sewing machine, her face lighting up when she saw me.
“Portia! Hey,” she said, moving a pile of fabric off the chair next to her. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just… bored. Thought I’d come by and see what you’re working on.”
She gave me a knowing look but didn’t press. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got a mountain of orders to get through, so you can help me.”
“Uh, I don’t know if I have any business sewing anyone’s clothes.” I laughed.
“You can just do some pinning, and I’ll do the sewing. Idle hands and all that. It’s strangely cathartic to sew. It focuses your mind.”
I snorted. “I definitely need that.”
For a little while, it felt almost normal. Like I wasn’t the town’s latest gossip fodder. She had the tin of cookies on the counter. While she sewed and ate, I pinned hemlines or repairs. I couldn’t count the number of times I poked my fingers with the needles. I was going to go home looking like a pin cushion.
The door pushed open. Before I ever saw the woman, I smelled her. It was a lot of perfume. I forced a smile when I saw Cara Thornton. She had been born and raised in town and would probably die here. Sooner rather than later. She was still spry, but she had to be pushing eighty.
“Oh, what a surprise!” she exclaimed when she saw me.
“Hello, Mrs. Thornton.”
“Oh, honey, don’t look so serious!” she said with a laugh.
I didn’t think I wore a serious expression but I tried on a smile just in case.
“I’ll get the dress,” Alexis said and rose from her seat. She pulled a gown from a rack and held it out for her.
“Perfect!” Cara said.
She took it and walked into the dressing room. I shot Alexis a look. Alexis just smiled in return.
Cara grunted and groaned a few times before stepping out of the dressing room. She immediately went to the platform like she had done this a hundred times before.
“So, how was your date?” Cara asked, looking at me in the mirror.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“I was at the auction,” she said. “Dean Jackson? That’s a prime cut of steak if I ever saw one. I don’t blame you for going all out for that one. If I was thirty years younger, I would break me off a piece of that.”
Thirty years? How old did she think Dean was? How old was Cara?
I felt my face heat. “I didn’t—” I started, but she waved a manicured hand, cutting me off.
“Oh, hush now, sugar. No need to explain yourself to me. I would have done it myself if my Arthur hadn’t been sitting right next to me. He’s the jealous type.” She shot me a wink in the mirror as Alexis bent down to readjust and pin the hem of her gown. “And you should’ve seen the way Dean looked at you after you won. Whew! That was a moment, let me tell you.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, looking down.
“Mmm-hmm.” The woman pursed her lips, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but I know a man with unfinished business when I see one. And he’s got plenty of it with you, sweetheart.”
I let out a breath, exhaling slowly. “I appreciate your… insight.” I smiled. “But it was a nice enough time.”
Cara chuckled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Nice? Honey, if that’s all it was, you missed out. Just remember, some opportunities only come once.” She turned her attention back to the mirror, smoothing the fabric of her gown. “Now, Alexis, darling, are you sure this hem isn’t too short? I don’t want to scandalize the bingo crowd.”
Alexis grinned, shaking her head. “Mrs. Thornton, I think the bingo crowd would be more scandalized if you didn’t show up in something fabulous. Trust me, this is perfect. I’ll adjust the hem just a bit.”
“Well, thank you.” She looked at me and winked. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t let that one get away.”
“I’ll just have to bid on him next year too.” I forced a laugh, trying to play it off like it was no big deal.
But it was a big deal. At least, it felt like one. Every time someone brought up the auction, I felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. I didn’t want to be the girl who bid on Dean Jackson. I didn’t want to be the girl who came crawling back to town after failing in the city. I just wanted to be me. But it felt like that was getting harder and harder to hold on to.
“Okay,” Alexis declared. “I’ll take care of this today and you can pick it up tomorrow.”
Cara nodded and went into the dressing room.
“Sorry,” Alexis whispered.
I shook my head. “It’s fine.”
Cara left shortly after.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” I said. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
I left the shop and went down to the coffee shop on the corner. It was nothing like the trendy shops in Manhattan that were all trying to imitate Central Perk in one way or another. When I walked in, I felt eyes on me.
I stepped up to the counter, avoiding eye contact with the cluster of women sitting by the window. Their whispers were like the hum of a bee you couldn’t quite swat away.
“Two coffees, please,” I said to the barista. “One black, one with cream and sugar.”
The barista nodded, her expression neutral, but I swore I caught a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Or maybe I was just imagining it. Ever since the auction, it felt like everyone in town was looking at me differently. Like I was some kind of spectacle.
The whispers grew louder as the women by the window leaned closer together, their heads tilted in my direction. I clenched my jaw and focused on the chalkboard menu above the counter, pretending to study it like I hadn’t ordered the same thing a hundred times before.
“That’ll be six dollars,” the barista said, sliding the cups toward me.
I handed over a ten-dollar bill and mumbled a thanks before grabbing the coffees and turning toward the door.
“Did you hear? She went out with him.”
“Dean Jackson? Really?”
“I heard she spent a fortune.”
“Isn’t she broke? That’s why she’s here.”
I kept my head high. Let them talk. Let them wonder. It didn’t matter what they thought—not really. But still, my cheeks burned as I pushed the door open and stepped back into the heavy afternoon air. I walked back to the seamstress shop.
Alexis had her phone in hand. She looked up when I walked in. “Uh… you’re gonna want to see this.”
I gave her the coffee. Alexis slid her phone across the counter. The headline made my stomach drop before I even read the article.
Once a Dreamer, Now a Dropout: Why Portia Watson Is Back in Town.
I scrolled, my self-esteem falling with every word. It was all there—the business I started in the city, the risks I took, the ultimate failure that sent me running back home. They painted my return as some cautionary tale, as if my attempt to make something of myself should be a warning to other young people in town. And of course, they threw in the auction.
The article suggested that my bidding on Dean was an attention grab, a way to make myself relevant again. My face burned as I read the speculation, the way they twisted everything to make me look desperate. It was humiliating.
Alexis watched me carefully. “You okay?”
I exhaled sharply and set the phone down. “I don’t have time to care about this.”
It was a lie, but I refused to let anyone—especially some town gossip columnist—decide how I felt. I had nothing but time. It was more like I didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it. Not now. I just wanted people to leave me alone. Why were they so determined to mess with me? I had done nothing to anyone.
Alexis didn’t push, just nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think they’re idiots. And if you want, I can ‘accidentally’ spill coffee on any reporter who comes in here looking for a quote.”
I laughed and shook my head, some of the tension in my chest easing. It was nice to know I had at least one person in my corner. One thought kept circling in my head. How many people have already read this?
If I wanted to give real estate a try here in my small hometown, like my father did, would anyone take me seriously now? Was that even what I wanted? I didn’t think I could make it work the first time here—that was why I had gone to New York. I didn’t want to be in my father’s shadow or have people go over my head to talk to my father if they felt like I wasn’t doing something right.
But maybe it was possible. Maybe I could rebuild something here, something real. If everyone knew my name, it was possible I could use that to my advantage.
I needed to have a long, hard think about my next steps.