Chapter 4 Annika
Soft hums and the chiming of bells blares through the phone, and my entire body cringes at the image in my head—a room filled with smoky incense, people sitting around on mats, meditating, and some cuckoo for cocoa puffs leader telling them to envision themselves doing XYZ and their dreams will all be manifested.
“Oops,” Nan says, the apologetic sound entirely insincere. “Did I forget to mention the bi-weekly tutoring nights I set up with Ms. Paige?”
My growl startles Hemingway—who jumps close to a foot off the ground.
He’d been reaching for the tray of cookies the worried-looking professor set down near the study area, so maybe that’s not a bad thing.
He scurries off, hiding behind the sofa, but his whiskers peek out as he sniffs the sugar-and-vanilla-filled air.
“Nan, I’m starting to think you hate me.”
“Oh, dear heart, I could never hate you.”
“Then what? Is this like the time you rowed us out to the middle of the lake and threw us into the water without our floaties to teach us how to swim? Cuz if so, it’s no more fun this time around.”
Her cackle is not reassuring.
“God, the look on your face that day! Your brother swam circles around you while you were barely treading water, but you learned and persevered. This will be no different.”
“Your trial by fire—or water, as the case may be—way of doling out lessons sucks. I am not a fan.”
“Look, Nikki, you majored in English with a minor in Creative Writing and somehow managed to graduate early, so this is right up your alley. You’re smart, brave, and everything I wish I could’ve been.
Hell, even at sixty-five I’m trying to be more like you by opening myself up to new and wonderful things.
” The sound of a loud gong reverberates across the line, and I tilt the phone away from my ear because damn.
“That’s the two-minute warning, so I’ve got to go.
Just know that I wouldn’t have left Turn the Page with you if I didn’t think you were perfectly capable of taking my life’s work and making it your own. ”
“But—”
“But nothing. Pull up your big girl panties and deal, Nik.”
Nan—god love her—is a no-nonsense kind of woman.
She took in her two grandchildren when their parents decided they preferred a nomadic lifestyle sans kids who only dragged their zen down.
She raised us with a spirit like no other.
Full of grit and sarcasm, she’d never be described as soft, but there has never any doubt that we are loved.
At least ninety-percent of the time anyway.
A glance over my shoulder reveals Reagan Paige, the professor from CVU East who’s expecting me to host tutoring sessions for her creative writing class, nervously chewing on her bottom lip.
She’s pretty, I’d guess somewhere in her early thirties, with long black hair, and bright blue eyes that are watching me from behind thick glasses.
I don’t know her well, but she seems sweet, and right now, she’s waiting for me to make or break her night.
Lucky me.
Turning back, I lower my voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Nan, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll do great. Just be you.
” Two beats of a gong nearly make me jump out of my sandals.
“Gotta run. Don’t let those college kids give you any shit.
Oh! And don’t let Hemingway have chocolate or sugar.
It’s like crack, and he’ll be impossible to deal with for a bit. Buh-bye, dear heart.”
The click that seems to echo through the speaker tells me that’s all the help I’m going to get.
“I’m so sorry, Annika. I didn’t realize anything had changed. I can—”
Taking a deep breath, I gently hold up my hand and turn to the poor woman who is sweating bullets.
“I promise it’s fine, Ms. Paige.”
“Call me Reagan, please. Ms. Paige makes me feel old.”
My grin inches up, the tension in my shoulders easing just a smidge. “I have no issues helping out with the tutoring nights. It just caught me off guard, is all. How many students are we expecting?”
“I’m estimating no more than seven, so it shouldn’t be too overwhelming. A couple of grad students volunteered to step in and help, and your grandmother may have also…um…”
My gut sinks a little more. This can’t be good.
“What else did she conveniently forget to tell me? Hit me with it. Rip the Band-Aid off. I’m a big girl.”
“She also volunteered you as a tutor.”
Of course she did.
“Great. Okay. And the subject?”
“The class is called The Evolution of Romantic Literature: A critical study of how time has changed what it means to woo and be wooed.”
Fantastic. Just what I need. A reminder of the currently messed-up state of my own romantic life at the moment.
Just then, the bell over the front door dings as the first few students walk in. Reagan rushes over to greet them, leading them to the cozy set of chairs and sofas arranged for comfort and aesthetic, not tutoring.
I make a mental note to take that into consideration before the next session.
Glancing out the floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooks Main Street, I question all of my life choices and some I haven’t even made yet. Seriously. How can this get any worse?
The second the thought crosses my mind, the bell once again rings through the store. All it takes is one look at the face of the man entering and I know I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle.
In walks Carson Levins, the blond-haired, brown-eyed best friend of the asshat I love to hate.
In the three years I’ve been gone, he’s definitely lost the gangly teen image and turned into a man that looks more tempting than he should.
His biceps flex as he hefts his book bag higher onto his shoulder, his calves look like they could be sculpted out of marble, and the tattoos covering his entire left arm seem to come to life when he lifts his hand to adjust his backward ballcap.
His eyes scan the store, brows furrowing in that familiar frustration I recognize even all these years later.
The slight pang in my chest reminds me of the girlish crush I had on the most popular boy in school—not that I ever admitted to that.
Risking a night with Owen was bad enough.
If the nosy Nellies in this town had known I was daydreaming about Carson too?
Everyone in Cedar Vale would’ve been talking about how I was following in my East Ender roots after all.
They’d have strung up a banner in congratulations and started planning our commitment ceremony before graduation caps even crowned our heads.
You see, there’s one quirky little fact that sets Cedar Vale apart from any other place in the world I’ve ever heard of.
Tucked between red cliffs and whispering pines in Northern Arizona, two town elders got into a disagreement decades ago, with one misidentifying a ponderosa pine as a cedar tree, leaving the town with what most view as an embarrassingly inaccurate name.
Pretty sure they were both high at the time, but that’s neither here nor there.
The town has been split ever since—a longstanding rivalry dividing the town's residents into East Enders and West Enders. Main Street, with its single stoplight that rarely works—which is the one unanimous point of contention on both sides—serves as the official marker. Those on the east side followed Happy Humphry, a fun-loving hippie touting free love and untraditional values. East Enders are rather fond of family units rather than monogamous partnerships. Then there’s the west side, who agreed with Grumpy Gus—a rather straitlaced gentleman who believed love should only be shared between two people who commit solely to one another.
Imagine being a kid raised in that small town with two opposing sets of values that differ so greatly you’d think one was from Venus and the other Mars.
Then, of course, you have to add in the abandonment from the people who were supposed to love me but loved each other more.
It’s really not a surprise the young girl I once was had the emotional stability of an umbrella in a wind storm.
The one thing I was sure of back then? I wanted to be as far away from here as I could get.
Maybe then I could live a quiet, peaceful, drama-free life.
“Hey, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
His voice washes over me, raising goosebumps along my skin.
Damn traitorous body!
“You’re freaking me out, books.”
My eyes meet his, and the worry creasing the corners does something weird to my belly. The old nicknames serve as a reminder of a time before all the hate, back when we were all friendly. Hard not to be when you live in a small town and go to the same school from kindergarten on.
“Hey, hot shot. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Heard a rumor you were spotted around town but haven’t gotten the chance to stop in and welcome you back.” A grin slowly spreads across his face, making his damn dimple appear. “Would you hit me if I told you I was kinda hoping I’d see you tonight?”
I fight the smile that wants to break free. Give him an inch, and he’ll take a few miles. “Now, why would I hit you?”
The arm with all the ink raises, thick fingers scratching along his chiseled jaw. “Seems to me, I remember a time or two when you did just that. Figured it was a sure thing.”
There’s a slight drawl to his tone that has never not affected me. Of course, I don’t let him know that.
“I’ve matured since then. Plus, all that anger isn’t good for my aging skin.”
His laughter bounds through the room, turning heads in our direction and earning Reagan’s attention. She heads over, eyeing us with a relieved smile that sets me on edge again.
“Oh, good. At least that’s one thing Dorothea got right. I’m glad y'all know each other already. That will make this so much easier.”
Carson and I share a quick look. His says he’s really excited about where this is about to go, while mine clearly says no, she didn’t.
“We do, but—”
“We sure do, Ms. Paige. We go way back.” His smirk is one I’ve seen plastered on his face when he’s trying to charm his way into girls’ panties.
The contrasting urge to either smack it off his face or kiss it away makes me forget what I was going to say.
“That’s perfect because she’s going to be your tutor.” Reagan glances over at the others. “All of you, please take your seats. We’re need to get started so we don’t take up all of Ms. Reed’s evening.”
She walks off, missing the irritation on my face. It’s probably for the best. It isn’t her fault my grandmother is the devil incarnate.
“Oh, don’t look so peeved, books. It’s me.”
My side-eye does little to dampen his great mood. He’s still smiling like a loon.
“How in the hell did you even end up in a creative writing class, anyway?” Without waiting for his reply, I head for the set of chairs closest to the door in case customers wander in.
He sighs, and when I glance over my shoulder, I catch his eyes glued to my ass.
“Ahem.”
“You know, books, I’m pretty sure this ass has gotten even more ripe than I remember.”
Outwardly, I choose to pretend like it’s no big deal he likes my ass, while inside, I’m giggling like a school girl because Carson Levins thinks my ass is ripe.
“God. Could you be any more of a man whore than you were in high school?”
Big brown eyes rise to mine. “Anything you think you knew, forget it.”
My nose scrunches up in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Alright, everyone, pull out your notes and outline. The first thing I want you to do is explain your topic to your tutor and run through your outline with them.”
We sit, our knees almost touching thanks to the tight corner space. It feels way more intimate than it should considering we’re surrounded by a roomful of people. He smells of soap and an underlying earthy scent that draws my attention more than I care to admit.
“To answer your first question, you can thank Cassidy for your handsome tutoring partner.” His grin makes my belly flip, but I ignore that too.
“I asked for help selecting electives one night after a grueling practice because they were due by midnight. She chose this one to get me back for making her take weights in high school. Guess that’s what I get for submitting it without checking it over first.”
“Oh gosh. That’s actually hilarious. I haven’t seen Cassidy in forever. How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing great. She’s working toward her BA in Theatre and Drama over at CVU West and loving it.”
I remember the tall blonde bombshell and how absolutely sweet she was. She could’ve had any guy she wanted at East Side High, yet she ignored them all. Hard to believe she shares DNA with Mr. Ladies Man here.
“Tell her I said hello. Maybe we could grab lunch or something. Would be good to have some female friends now that I’m back home.”
“I’ll let her know.” He glances down at his backpack, pausing with his hand on a folder. His eyes meet mine, and the smug grin from moments before is gone. “As for the second question… Back then, I let people think whatever the hell they were gonna think and played into it.”
I was combing my fingers through my hair, trying to keep up the nonchalant vibe, but shock makes me pause. “Why would you do such a thing?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but something tells me that might be part of the act too.
“Because I already knew what I wanted and didn’t give a damn what they said about me.”
So. Many. Thoughts. I can’t get my brain to focus on just one, so I do what I do best…redirect the conversation back to comfortable territory.
“We should probably take a look at your outline.”
He opens his mouth as if to argue, then releases a breath and simply says, “For the record, I’m really glad you’re back, Nik.”
The almost whispered words hit me with the force of a sledgehammer. The man who wouldn’t know serious if it bit him in the ass, who always had ladies fawning over his every move, is looking at me like a man with one objective…and that just happens to be me.
I’m not sure what to think about that.