Fall Love (Lovewell Landing #1)
Chapter 1
[Neve]
Fall is quickly becoming my favorite time of year.
The time when summer folk go home. Our small town slows down, and the stories of spirits and spells ramp up.
The history of Lovewell Landing is amplified with a legend about enemies who became lovers. Of course, I didn’t believe in superstitions. The idea that a water well granted wishes or drinking from it brought you true love is ridiculous, even if this town was founded on such lore.
However, the quirky story makes me love this place even more.
As I head down the strip of coastal highway that connects one small town to another, I inhale the first scent of autumn, notice the sudden change of color at the tops of trees covering the mountain on my right, and enjoy the morning quiet of the nearby bay.
I wasn’t one who needed to see the world to make me happy, like my older sister, Lumi.
Or escape into fiction, like my younger sister, Isolde.
I didn’t feel the urge to run away, like Icelyn.
Everything I needed was right here in this Maine coastal town.
It wasn’t just familiarity. It was the way the place lived and breathed around me.
The quiet mornings by the bay, the mountains rising just beyond, the sense that nothing here ever needed to rush.
And when September nears, it becomes something else entirely.
The leaves begin to turn, slow at first, then all at once, setting the hillsides alight. The air cools into something crisp and expectant, carrying the scent of cinnamon and clove that drifts from every café doorway. And pumpkin spice finds its way into everything.
This autumn, I crave all of it more than ever.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was born on Halloween.
All Hallows’ Eve. My dad thought it would be clever to name me accordingly.
Not Eve like the mother of temptation, but Neve, as in, not Eve.
He never got tired of explaining it, always with the same grin, like it was the best joke he’d ever told.
He’d been my best friend, especially after Mom got sick and Lumi left for college.
This area of Maine holds all of that for me. Every memory, every version of who I’ve been. Every memory and piece of him.
It’s why I never desired to leave. Not for some far-off university or a different life. I didn’t need it. Life here was my education, woven into the rhythm of the place and the people within it. Into the family business.
Rusty’s Wrecks has been part of this sliver of coastline for sixty years. We’ve been proudly servicing the auto needs of locals and tourists alike. Oil changes, tune-ups, fender bender repairs; we can do that.
I always knew I’d inherit Rusty’s Wrecks in some manner, although I hadn’t foreseen splitting it four ways with my sisters.
They never loved the place like I did.
The pungent smell of motor oil and grease. A metallic taste in the atmosphere. The satisfaction of manually working on a machine.
With my father as my mentor, I learned how to change tires, spark plugs, and oil.
I could repair an axle and a windshield.
I appreciated an Armor All clean dashboard, vacuumed floorboards, and polished wheels.
Dad would say I was the son he never had, and as the second of four daughters, I didn’t even mind.
I wanted to make my dad proud, and he’d be rolling in his grave to know we were selling the place.
Sixty years in business, and we are closing shop.
My chest tightens as the thought rolls through my head, like my body understands before I do. Everything Dad, and his dad before him, built, reduced to a decision on paper. The blow is nearly as crushing as losing him five years ago had been.
Every time I pull up in front of the weather-worn brick building with three garage bays where the windows are stained by sea salt, I worry it will be my last day working here.
After I park along the side of the building, I go through my daily routine from Tuesday through Saturday. Flip on the lights and the coffee machine. Open the bay doors. Check the docket for today’s auto needs.
Today’s schedule holds only one service job. A Toyota RAV4. Your typical Northeastern vehicle.
Lumi took the lead on the sale of Rusty’s Wrecks as she’d been the one to do our financial books all these years.
Despite my best efforts to keep our services affordable for locals while greasing the tourists, we weren’t making ends meet due to the rising cost of auto parts and labor.
Being a mechanic took skill. Other than the part-time help of a high school kid this past summer, we only employed me.
With my current health situation, I could do even less than normal.
And, due to my sisters’ lack of interest in working here, let alone managing the garage, they gave me one final year to turn things around, or we’d sell.
The year is almost over.
I really fucked up this time.
Over the past six months, a few sales bites nipped our way, but I always found a reason to decline the offers. A recognized automotive conglomerate that low-balled us. A commercial management company wanted to add a strip mall to a small town that would absolutely refuse such a thing.
This old place was worth more than anyone knew. Nostalgia came at a high price.
But the newest offer was one Lumi suggested we should not refuse.
Even I had to admit the excessive number of zeroes looked pretty.
Along with the dollar sign came a promise that the new owner would do a lot with the property.
I imagined an auto-repair shop with high-tech equipment and a beautification facelift that kept with the theme of this coastal town.
My hope was the new owners might keep me on as an employee. I had talent, plus history.
Saying goodbye was just too difficult to consider.
If I had this much trouble letting go of a building, no wonder I haven’t ever been in love. Saying goodbye to people you love was truly painful. I had firsthand experience. Twice. Mom. Then Dad.
When it came to men, I had a love ’em and leave ’em attitude. I preferred it that way. Summer folk and winter tourists were the best for that kind of situation. No feelings involved. No promises made. One night. Maybe two. A week tops. Those goodbyes were easy.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
As for invested relationships? Forget about it.
Which is why I hope the new owner will let me stay. Then I don’t have to say farewell. Not really.
Eventually, I’ll just need to take a small break. A week tops, I told Lumi.
More like twelve, when the time comes, she argued.
She is out of her mind. I can’t afford to go without work for more than a week.
And the vehicle currently in front of me isn’t going to fix itself.
The RAV4 needs an oil change plus a transmission flush.
Simple enough, but even that is getting more difficult for me.
My ankles are swollen something crazy, thanks to the lingering summer heat.
My back aches if I stand too long on the hard cement floor.
And my belly gets in the way of bending over the open hood.
All the more reason to appreciate fall. Cooler temps. Fresher air. Less work.
“Hello?” Someone hollers behind me as I’m bent over the engine with my back to the open garage-bay door. “Are you Lumi?”
“Just a second, please,” I holler through the KN95 face mask I’m wearing, but I freeze, because I’m certain I know that voice. A voice that haunts the wild dreams I’ve been having lately. A voice that once whispered how beautiful he thought I was. Spellbinding, he called me.
But it couldn’t be him. He’d been here and gone over New Year’s.
The weird calendar connection wasn’t lost on me. New Year’s Eve. All Hallows’ Eve. I swear, I was getting as quirky as Dad some days.
Reaching for the red rag draped over the side of the SUV, I scrub at my fingers before tugging the mask that cuts down on fumes to the top of my forehead.
Then I turn, coming face to face with a man in a fitted blue suit, crisp white shirt, polished leather shoes, and a slim silver tie.
He looks like he’s headed to a wedding and is sorely out of place in this dingy garage.
He stares at me with familiar eyes. Rich, bright brown ones that match the depth of the haunting voice.
“Driver?” I choke on what I’m one thousand percent certain isn’t his actual name.
When we met, he’d been dressed like a racecar driver for the New Year’s Eve costume party I’d been invited to.
I mean, why wear a costume only for Halloween?
All night, I’d called him by the nickname, never exchanging our real ones, which was all the better for me.
I liked the anonymity, especially with a one-night fling.
January first was the last time I saw him.
I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.
And, not one stitch of him looks like a hot-as-sin racecar driver right now.
A cold sweat slithers down my spine, having nothing to do with the early autumn breeze blowing off the cove, and everything to do with why he might be here, looking for Lumi.
I expect him to ask again for my sister, but those tempting eyes widen as he does a slow perusal of my body and land on my belly.
His face morphs from shock to something softer, but his voice is hard when he blurts, “You’re pregnant?”