Chapter 3
Ihoped that nagging feeling was the return of my creativity. Like a slow trickle of artistry sinking back into my veins once more.
Becoming myself once more.
The me that painted every day and managed to land a contract with a major gallery in New York City after one of my abstract works went for a staggering amount at a local showcase. Apparently, the woman was a buyer for Whitcombe Gallery. She had promised this was just the beginning for me.
It turned out to be a hard stop instead.
Like most mornings these days, I cast my gaze down to the hallway’s muted carpeting and hurry past my studio door. My closed studio door, hiding my failures from sight.
Initially, I thought a studio next to my bedroom was brilliant. Right in my own home and the chance to paint whenever inspiration struck. But now that inspiration has eluded me, it’s not brilliant—it’s painful.
My pace quickens until I’m scurrying down the stairs and putting distance between myself and that closed door.
“Morning, Lucy,” Claire’s boyfriend, Levi, greets me from the sofa. His subtly frosted tips and charming smile manage to give him an air of energized-all-the-time, despite the coffee in his hand being nearly full.
“Good morning,” I reply before turning towards the sound of Claire’s pattering slippers on the kitchen tile. “Who made the coffee today, you or Levi?”
“Me.” She blinks back at me as if it’s a silly question.
Leaning over the back of the couch towards me, Levi quietly adds, “It’s thick as tar.”
“What did he just say?”
I smile back at my well-intentioned roommate. “He suggested it might be too strong for me, that’s all.”
“I can make another—”
“No, it’s okay,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I have to get to the shelter anyway; I’ll grab a cup on my way.”
Snatching up my CD player and my bag, I hurry out the door and into the refreshing morning air. My feet carry me forward, even as my head turns to the side, looking toward the end of the street and the vacant building waiting there.
The hopeful corner of my brain flashes to the feeling of a wool sweater and hard chest beneath my cheek, while the warm cozy scent of cedar and cinnamon drifts through my memory. As if I almost expect my mysterious savior to still be standing right where I left him a few days ago.
I snap my attention forward once more and head towards the only coffee house in town—Jitters. With a classic brick facade like most of the buildings on Ellicottville’s main strip, it stands out with elaborate window art I can always see from a block away.
This month, the oversized pane of glass is decorated with a coffee cup that has legs, arms, and big cartoon eyes. As I cross the street, I notice that the lively coffee mug is also holding a coffee mug of its own.
I smile while taking in the details. It’s the perfect blend of cute and quirky, just like the café’s owner, Jenny. She waves from behind the counter as I open the door and am greeted by the familiar, nutty aroma that always clings to the air in Jitters.
“Hey, Lucy, did you hear the news?”
Jenny leans forward and slaps her palms flat against the concrete counter. She has a bit of a wild look to her expression, like maybe she’s consumed a significant amount of her own supply today.
I walk up the center aisle of the café until I reach her, leaning a hip against the counter between us. “I’m not sure. Is this good or bad news?”
“Bad, deary.”
My head swivels to find Claire’s grandmother, Alice, sitting at the corner table. Her soft white hair frames her face, trimmed to a flattering bob, and she’s wearing a rosy hued pashmina scarf draped over her shoulders that shimmers in the light as she lifts her tiny espresso cup to her lips.
Of course, Alice arrived to hold court this morning. I bite back a smile, opting for a solemn nod as our town matriarch would expect. “The hotel news? Yes, I heard.”
“Just awful, isn’t it?” Jenny sighs. “It was one thing for Holiday Valley to open the inn on the ski resort. But what do we need two hotels around here for? We have the cutest houses and cabins for people to rent—that’s what they want after all.”
“And it’s a chain hotel. There’s no character to the towering monstrosity they want to put in the center of our village,” Alice adds.
“How sure are you that this is happening?”
She takes another sip of espresso, letting my question hang perilously between us. Then, she says, “I don’t think final papers have been signed, but I’m sure they’re interested. Sources say Mr. Carpenter himself is here in town and lurking about our streets.”
“What do you think Mr. Carpenter looks like?” Jenny muses, tapping the pen she uses to take orders against her chin. “Do you think we’ve seen him around?”
“If I had to hazard a guess? He’s probably twenty years younger than me but looks ten years my senior,” Alice says with a cheeky little grin. “And probably looking out of place in a fancy suit.”
Jenny and I nod in solidarity.
“I’ll keep my eye out on the way to the shelter.”
“Right, you have animals waiting. Your usual?”
My usual is a French vanilla coffee with brown sugar and a pinch of sea salt. Nothing tar-like about it. “Yes please. Thanks, Jenny.”
“You got it.”
While she gets to work on my drink, I settle in, lean forward, and rest my elbows on the counter.
This is one of the few public places I manage to relax—maybe it’s the ambiance of the hissing coffee machine and cozy pendant lighting, or the sound of Alice creasing her newspaper as she returns to it.
Whatever the reason, I am so relaxed that I don’t notice anyone approaching behind me until I hear, “No headphones today?”
I spin on the heels of my riding boots, a zing shooting through my chest as I recognize the voice’s owner.
It’s him. My mysterious savior.
There’s that honey brown hair—a little floppy, a little wavy, and completely effortless as a tendril drops over his forehead—and his face is cleanly shaved this time.
It affords me the opportunity to confirm I was right about that strong jawline hiding behind the other day’s dusting of a five o’clock shadow.
Then there are his eyes; they’re an indiscernible dark color from this distance, but it’s clear that they are focused squarely on me.
Even though a part of my brain hoped for this moment, the rest of me is caught like a deer in headlights. And it makes me think of last time, when I was actually caught in a headlight.
My hands are growing clammy as his eyes brighten with recognition. When his smile spreads wide, I swear my stomach actually tumbles over itself in response.
“I’m Jake,” he tells me.
“Lucy,” I manage on a shaky breath.
“Lucy,” he repeats, his voice a deep, velvety dream. He says my name like it’s something he’s been searching for, something precious. My stomach flips once more. “It’s good to see you again.”
Jenny drifts back over to the counter, two take away cups in hand. “Here you are.” She places the shorter one in front of me before handing the large to Jake.
“How much for the both of them?” he asks.
I don’t need to protest; Jenny does for me. “Lucy’s is always on the house after she found me my handsome Duke.”
His eyebrow arches in my direction, and I feel my face heating under his gaze. “Are you a matchmaker?”
“Actually,” I rasp, “I’m running late.”
Snatching my drink from the counter, I manage to at least add, “Will you excuse me?” before I dart for the nearest escape just as before.
The cool mountain air is a welcome relief for the heat licking through my body, and I point my face up to the sky as I let it wash over me. I’m not sure why I keep reacting to him in this way, but a very large part of me is already regretting it.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in there.”
Dropping my chin back down, I turn to find Jake standing on the sidewalk behind me. He’s got an adorably guilty look on his face—one I’ve seen often from the puppies at the shelter.
The difference is, he has nothing to feel guilty about. “Oh, no, you didn’t. What’s embarrassing is the way I keep… responding to you.”
“The running away?” he asks lightly.
“Yeah, that part.”
He takes two steps closer and asks, “Which way are you heading?”
I nod towards the shelter only a short distance down the road.
“Can I walk with you?”
“Oh. Um, sure.”
Falling into step beside me, Jake allows a moment of silence to pass between us before he says, “I wasn’t sure I should come out here. A smarter man might think that you were trying to avoid him.”
A surprised laugh slips from me as I steal a glance in his direction.
The corner of his smile ticks higher.
“Well, I’m glad I have a third chance at saying what I should have right away—thank you. It doesn’t feel like enough, but thank you for saving my life, Jake.”
He dips his chin towards me. “It’s enough.”
I swallow and avert my gaze.
“I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time,” he adds. There’s a solemness to his voice now, and it strikes me again how bad the situation could have been.
“I am, too, even if I don’t seem like it.”
“A situation like that would rattle anyone.”
Glancing up once more, I’m met by soft attention, and my heart flutters.
I am certainly rattled.