Lila
Iwas slathering peanut butter on a rice cake, humming to myself, when my mom wandered into the kitchen and pulled me into a hug.
“What are you doing home?”
I held one arm out to keep from slathering her in peanut butter as well and gave her a good squeeze with the other. “Bernice shooed me out of the diner early, so I came home to go for a run. I’m headed over to the library to tutor next, and then I’ll go work with Owen.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
I shook my head. “Probably not. We have to upload a bunch of information for the buyers today.” I licked the knife and set it in the sink. “He’s got everything ready, but he wants me to double-check it all.”
“You’re working so much.” She pressed a palm to my face and frowned. “You’re getting bags under your eyes and forehead wrinkles. Are you taking care of your skin? Hydrating enough?”
“Yes, Mom. This work is temporary. Not to mention the money is good and I like the work.”
She tutted. “You never go out anymore. Where are you going to meet people? You’re almost thirty.”
Oh jeez. This again.
I patted her shoulder and summoned all the patience I could. “I’m not interested in meeting anyone right now. Once I’m in grad school, I’ll work on my social life. Right now I want to save money and hang out with you.”
She hummed, mollified, at least on the dating front. “Should you be dressing up a bit more for this office job?” She picked up the teakettle from the stove and took it to the sink to fill it. “Wear heels and a skirt, maybe? I could lend you something.”
“It’s not that kind of office. I’m digging around in dusty boxes and building spreadsheets on a folding table,” I said, stepping up beside her as she set the kettle on the stove. “Jeans and sneakers are required.”
Boundaries. Boundaries. It really was a mantra. I could love and appreciate my mom and still hold space for me and what I wanted.
When she turned to face me, I took her hand in mine. “Mom, I love you so much. But I feel good about the choices I’m making.”
She pressed her lips together in what looked like resignation and nodded. “I just don’t want you to miss your chance.”
“Miss my chance at what?”
With both palms pressed to my cheeks this time, she gave me a sad smile. “Happiness.”
I gritted my teeth. It was better than stomping my feet and telling her that her version of happiness was bullshit. Happiness doesn’t happen by chance. A person has to choose it and work toward it. Which was exactly what I was doing, even if it didn’t look the way she’d envisioned.
Tamping down my annoyance, I forced a smile to my face. These conversations went nowhere; it was better to keep moving.
Despite keeping the peace at home, the irritation I’d felt lingered and festered, and by the time I reached the office, I was in a mood. How could I grow and evolve when my mother, along with everyone else in this damn town, wanted to keep me stuck?
They’d be content to stick me in the pretty girl box and never let me do anything.
Because finding a rich husband and being a kept woman whose job it was to fuss over her man and please him while denying myself all of my own dreams was, to them, a goal I should be striving for.
To me, a life like that was akin to living in a cage.
I’d earned my freedom. There was no going back.
Huffing out my frustration, I moved a couple of boxes, making room to plug my laptop into the external monitors at my makeshift workstation. All the while, I berated myself for not being more honest with my mother and for looking around for Owen every few moments.
For all my desire to not be trapped here, he was a man I wouldn’t mind getting stuck with, at least for a little while.
I looked forward to these evenings, when it was just the two of us in the office, eating gluten-free snacks and arguing about spreadsheets while I tried to catch subtle whiffs of his intoxicating masculine scent.
I’d even put on mascara today.
It was a far cry from the forty-minute makeup routine that used to be my norm. The one that included blending several shades of eyeshadow, a full contour, and fake eyelashes. But nowadays, it was still more effort than I typically put into my appearance.
I could barely remember why I used to spend so much time on makeup. The woman I used to be was practically a stranger. I’d drifted so far that no matter how hard I reached, there were parts of her that were lost to me forever. Some I was happy to part ways with.
Other parts, the ones I enjoyed, were coming back. And I had Owen Hebert to thank for that.
First up, desire.
It had been so long since I’d felt even a single flutter in my belly or the quickening of my heart rate in proximity to a specific person.
That part of me had been offline for so long that I worried it was irrevocably damaged.
It was a thrill to know it wasn’t. To know that at some point, I’d experience chemistry, connection, and desire again.
Since an early age, I’d been performing. In pageants, on stage, and with boys. I liked what they liked. I dressed the way I thought I was supposed to dress and pretended that life was perfect.
Cole was the first man I slept with, and it had taken me years to orgasm during sex.
Not because he wasn’t willing to try, but because, after the first couple of times, when it didn’t happen, I faked them.
It was one more area of my life where I felt the need to be perfect.
Perfect hair, perfect body, perfect smiles, perfect orgasms from a little penetration and some halfhearted fumbling. I had no one to blame but myself.
Somehow, my friends had gotten that truth out of me and intervened.
Magnolia, in fact, had sent me my first vibrator.
Eventually, I explored and learned what I liked and what worked for me.
But I’d never experienced the toe-curling chemistry I’d read about in romance novels.
The kind that builds and builds until a person feels as though they’ll combust.
I’d assumed I was incapable of that kind of passion. I was more Hallmark movie than Harlequin novel. An all smiles and hand-holding, no orgasms kind of gal.
That was until I had to work shoulder to shoulder with Owen Hebert every night.
When he wasn’t looking, I’d sneak glances at him, admiring how his ass filled out his jeans or salivating over the corded muscle of his forearms while he typed. He was strong but not bulky. Intense but not domineering. And so careful and controlled.
I couldn’t help but fantasize about what kind of lover he was. There was no doubt in my mind he was thorough and focused.
Which was not the kind of thought I should be having about my ex-boyfriend’s older brother.
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, interrupting my steady stream of obsessive Owen thoughts. It was Vic.
I stepped out into the hall. “Hey. Everything okay?” I’d been stopping by to help with deliveries as much as I could, but I had even less time than usual. The guilt was gnawing at me. There were so many people in need up here; I needed to find time to do more.
“Yes.” Vic sounded out of breath. She was a few years older than me but had also unexpectedly landed back in town last year, so we’d become friends.
It didn’t hurt that she was hilarious and one of the kindest humans I’d ever met.
“Incredible, actually. I’m shaking. We had a delivery today.
A new walk-in freezer, along with an electrician who hooked it up and upgraded the circuit breaker in the garage. ”
“Oh my God!” I gasped. The loss of the freezer, which had been nicknamed Bubba last year, had made it impossible to keep meat and other perishables on hand. Shit, this was a miracle.
“And that’s not all. I got a call from a roofing company. Apparently, they’ll be here tomorrow to repair the roof. Labor and materials are all donated.”
“How? Who?”
“It took some digging, but I was able to determine that the donations are courtesy of the DiLuca Construction Charitable Foundation. Know anything about this?”
The tone of her voice indicated that I should, and I blushed. Owen. “I have no idea.”
“I’m going to cry again. This is such a huge blessing.”
We said goodbye, and I headed back to the conference room. What was going on?
“Hey, Owen.”
He looked up from where he was leaning over the table, hair a bit disheveled like he’d been running his hands through it and his glasses askew. He looked so delicious I momentarily forgot what I wanted to say.
I shook off the stupor and wiped at my mouth to make sure I hadn’t drooled. “I just got a phone call from Vic at the food pantry. She was celebrating a big donation from DiLuca Construction. You know anything about that?”
He looked away and shook his head. “The company has a charitable foundation that makes significant community investments.”
I wasn’t buying his humble bullshit. “In Northern Maine? Huh.” I raised one eyebrow. “And aren’t you the CFO of both the company and the foundation?”
“Yup.”
“So you sign the checks?”
“No one actually signs checks anymore.” He was being intentionally obtuse, and I wanted to slap him.
Didn’t he realize what a big deal this was?
He pretended to be this grumpy businessman, but I could see right through him.
He cared. A lot. And if this generosity was any indication, he understood a lot more about this town than he let on.
“I don’t know what you did or why you did it. But thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing.”
“Yes, it is. Maybe not to you, but to the food pantry and all the people in this county who depend on it. It’s huge.
” I wiped an errant tear away. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of him, but I had firsthand experience with food insecurity, so the thought of other families getting what they needed threatened to overwhelm me.
“I know you hate it here. But you’ve done so much good.” I said softly.