Chapter 2
Lydia
Fourteen Months Ago
The trendy Manhattan bar packed patrons in like sardines. The brick walls and low lights enhanced the speakeasy feel as indie rock music blared through the speakers.
“Babe, that guy hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night,” Lisha yelled over the music, tilting her head to the man in a business suit a few paces down.
We were here with a bunch of people for our friend Nelly’s birthday.
It was supposed to be an exclusive “in the know”–type place, but as it turned out, everyone seemed to be in the know.
“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” I shouted into her face over the sound of the drum solo.
“At least let him buy you a drink.” She smirked, her dark brown eyes dancing with amusement.
“He hasn’t offered.” I shrugged, covertly stealing another glance at the man.
She turned to look at him, immediately spinning around to face me. “Incoming, darling.”
“Ladies,” the newcomer said, his voice as smooth as the whiskey in my glass. “What are you drinking? I’d love to get you a fresh glass.”
“She’s drinking whiskey, and I’m… oh, looks like I’m being called away. Got to run.” Lisha danced her pointed-tip nails at us, faking an exit to meet up with some of the others.
“Whiskey it is.” He signaled another round for the two of us. “Blake McEnroe.”
I shook his offered hand, not hiding my perusal of him from head to toe. He was cute. Not traditionally handsome, but there was an aura to him that drew me in with his boyish grin and tousled blond hair. Plus, he had a great smile, and I was a sucker for a dimple.
“Lydia Wilder,” I introduced myself.
“Lydia.” He rolled my name across his tongue like he was savoring the sound of it.
The bartender dropped our drinks off in front of us, and he picked them up, handing the whiskey to me while he sipped a clear cocktail.
“I don’t mean to sound too forward, but I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night. You’re absolutely stunning.”
“Thank you. And thanks for the drink.” It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before. I knew this game by heart. I’d tell him I wasn’t interested, and he’d tell me he was just fucking around anyway. He wasn’t serious.
They never were.
“I’d better find my friends. But thanks again for the drink,” I said, lifting my glass to him in gratitude.
Blake reached out and grasped my wrist. “No, stay. Please. You haven’t given me a chance to chat you up yet.” He smiled a boyish grin that made my belly flutter. “Five minutes of your time. What’s the worst that can happen?”
I rolled my eyes, a smile playing across my lips, and retook my seat. His eyes lit up, setting off a strange feeling in my gut.
“I guess I can spare five minutes.” I swirled my tongue around the straw of my drink, keeping my eyes on him. He tracked my movements with interest, his gaze dipping to my mouth before slowly rising to my eyes again with a pleased expression.
After dealing with the dumpster fire that was the New York City dating scene, I liked the way he looked at me.
“Good. I’ve got my A-game locked and loaded to suitably impress you.”
I laughed. He was charming and smooth; I had to give him that. “Better get started. Time’s a-ticking,” I joked.
“Well, I could tell you that I work in finance, over in Midtown, as a strategic advisor to the CFO, but I wouldn’t want to bore you. Tell me about yourself, Lydia. That’s going to be far more interesting.”
“I’m a junior curator for a collection of art galleries in SoHo. I’ve got four galleries that I work with, collaborating with artists and coordinating showings.”
Blake leaned in to hear me better over the loud music.
He kept his attention focused solely on me as I continued on about my work and what I hoped it would turn into in the future—the senior curator, managing my own portfolio and working with clients of my choosing.
It wasn’t showcasing my own art, but that was the dream of a younger, more naive Lydia.
But senior curator, that was attainable, realistic.
“You really love what you do, don’t you?” Blake asked with a smile. His fingers caressed the top of my hand, his eyes on me.
When the lights flicked for last call, I realized we had been talking for hours. The time had slipped away unnoticed, my attention wrapped up in Blake.
“Damn, I can’t believe it’s already closing time. I think that was more than five minutes.” I chuckled, surprised by how fast the time had gone by.
“It didn’t feel like it. I could sit here with you for hours longer. You’re so interesting, Lydia.” His hand was on my knee, and he gave it a light squeeze. “I don’t want our night to end. Can I take you out sometime?”
Butterflies fluttered in my belly when he looked at me with open affection.
I hadn’t clicked with someone like this in a long time.
And I had a good feeling about him. “Yeah. I would be up for that,” I agreed easily.
He was so easy to talk to. I gave him my number and had a text from him before the Uber dropped me off at my walk-up apartment building.
Unknown Number: Thank you for a great evening. Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.
Me: I don’t usually like being told what to do, but I guess I’ll make an exception.
The next day, a giant bouquet of roses was delivered to my office with a note.
Just thinking of you makes me smile. I hope these flowers do the same for you.
* * *
Present Day
“Morning, sweetheart. How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” I lied. “Thanks for letting me crash here again.”
My twin-size bed in my childhood bedroom was lumpy and sunken in from disuse—two nights on that and I felt like I was ninety—but that wasn’t why I hadn’t been sleeping. Between the recurring nightmares and the deep-seated shame that permeated my soul, sleep was proving to be impossible to come by.
I thought that by coming home for a few days, I would be able to take back some control over my life. I thought that was what I was trying to do the other night with my brother’s best friend and my worst enemy, Sebastian Devereux.
It didn’t feel like control though. If anything, I felt out of control. I never meant to say those things to him. I wanted to mess with him, to prove to him that I was desirable, even if he didn’t think so all those years ago.
Shame ate at my insides. I could already hear Blake’s voice in my head, telling me…
“You’re always welcome home, Lydia. Why don’t you take a seat at the table? I’ll whip us up some pancakes.”
My dad’s voice cut through the noise in my skull. Charlie Wilder had perfected the fluffiest pancakes in the world back in the day. I wasn’t sure if he still had it after all these years, but I was willing to risk it on the off chance he still did.
“Sure, Dad. Thanks.” I forced a smile.
He got to work making the batter, deftly manhandling the bowl as he hummed to himself.
“So, you and Sheila, huh?” I asked. My father had been in a self-imposed dating hiatus for the past sixteen years.
After the cancer took my mother, he focused all of his energy on raising his four heathen children.
It was strange to see the feminine touches around the house, but a nice kind of strange.
And the fact that I had known Sheila Rawlins my entire life was weirdly not weird.
As the owner of the Downtown Diner, she was a staple in the community.
He didn’t turn around, but I could feel the grin that stole over his features from my perch at the dining room table.
“Yeah. Thought maybe it was time to get back out there,” he said.
“Eh, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“The wrong ones never are,” he sighed.
Wasn’t that the truth.
I sat silently at our old kitchen table while my father cooked the pancakes, expertly flipping them on the griddle.
He plated up the pancakes, giving me the middle of the batch—because everyone knew the first pancake was the worst—and joined me at the table with the maple syrup.
“I can’t believe Reid’s married.” I shook my head, shoveling the first delicious bite of the fluffy goodness into my mouth.
“That boy found a good one. You’ll like Claire, if you plan on sticking around long enough to get to know her. She’s good people.”
Ouch. I had been pretty MIA for the last ten, almost eleven, years, but the sting of his words still cut me.
He must know that I had my reasons. I hadn’t told anyone about my stupidity, but it had surely gotten around town about what a simp I was.
Gossip could run through this seaside town faster than lightning.
And put a bunch of twenty-year-old, male-brained idiots at the center of it, and it was sure to spread through town how I spread my legs for him.
The idea of sticking around for a while played in my mind. I didn’t have to. I had options. Limited ones, sure. But I didn’t have to run back home with my tail between my legs. I could go back to my apartment in the city. To Blake.
That thought sent a shiver down my spine. My hand grazed my hip, the spot where the purple bruise was just starting to turn yellow.
“What have you been up to in that New York life of yours? You still with that Blake character?” my dad asked, like he could hear the thoughts that were rolling through my head.
“Same old, same old, I guess.” I shrugged.
He pulled his lips into a straight line and nodded. A sadness dimmed his eyes at my lack of sharing before he looked down at his plate.
“Blake and I are kind of… on a break,” I hedged. I hadn’t made any decisions yet, so technically, we were still together, although I wasn’t sure what version of him awaited me when I returned. If I returned. “It’s complicated.”