Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Kylie
Luview, Maine, had barely changed in fifteen years.
Yet in other ways, it was an alien landscape.
Luke and Harriet lived in one of the older parts of town, in a rare small subdivision that was a little bit like the Midwestern town in Indiana where Kylie had moved at fifteen.
Luview wasn’t a suburb by any stretch of the imagination, but in this part of town there were about thirty houses, all small ranches, clustered together on three side streets within walking distance of the town center.
Luke and Harriet–and at some point, Amber with them–lived in one.
When Kylie lived here as a kid, they had a cottage near one of the lakes, where the summer people lived until thirty years ago, when owners began winterizing cottages.
Theirs had been a rambling place. The original one-bedroom cottage had a huge wrap-around screened porch, a place for endless sleepovers with friends and late-night fun.
The addition had two more bedrooms, a much-needed second bath, and a large recreation room where Kylie’s dad had installed his prized pool table.
Mark Hood had bought the place from his father, and when he died, they’d inherited quite a bit of money.
The inheritance had come in the year before he cheated on her mother.
And was long gone by the time Kylie reached college age.
Life here in Luview had been idyllic, sweet and perfect, and Kylie’s heart began to pump faster as she walked along Clannaugh, mind filling in the map of the town. How quickly it all poured in, filling in like a paint-by-numbers canvas, all of it red, white, pink, and green.
For the trees and grass.
None of that was present now, as snow covered everything, but when she closed her eyes, she saw it all, just like she had while living in Indiana, crying her eyes out that first year, hating the move.
Suppressing the memories that made her ache had been a coping mechanism, especially when Luke had suddenly stopped replying to emails, blocked her on the one social media account she had back then, and just… disappeared.
Like her job at Nordicbeth.
Poof!
Harriet had begged to walk to the library, so Kylie bundled her up, leashed Jester, and decided this would be a great way to explore the town, kill some time, get some exercise, and give the dog a way to burn off some energy.
Luke lived three blocks from the library, so, worst case, they could turn back in ten minutes and be fine.
Thanksgiving weekend in Love You, Maine, was a relatively quiet time.
February was the worst, the streets crowded, everything painted in red like the sky opened up and bled on the town.
June was nothing but a blur of brides and grooms, pink-dyed animals and everything wedding.
Bridezillas dominated back when Kylie lived here and before she’d even heard the term, and the locals stayed far away–unless they ran a wedding-related business.
Which was, come to think of it… pretty much everyone in Love You, Maine. If you weren’t a wedding planner or a dress shop, you provided flowers, food, officiants, event space – everyone was connected on some level to weddings and love.
So the non-love-related holidays were a rare treat, townsfolk out and about, people happy and relaxed, cherishing their time off. Black Friday meant there was more activity than usual on the roads, but the library should be quiet.
And Kylie was looking for quiet.
Because the last thing she wanted was to expose herself to town gossip yet again. Her mother’s last-minute upheaval fifteen years ago had scarred her, but she viewed it through a different lens now.
A lens that involved licking her own wounds after being burned by love.
Jaded and Love You didn’t go together.
Ever.
“Hello, Nicole! Oh!” said an old woman, waving from the porch of a house a few doors down from Luke’s. “You’re not Nicole!” The woman squinted, instantly suspicious, gaze going to Jester and Harriet.
Harriet elbowed her on the hip. “That’s Mrs. Petrinelli. She’s super nice and she gives me hot chocolate when I build a snowman in her front yard. Jester gets cheese from her for a treat, but don’t tell Daddy.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t want Jester to get spoiled.”
“Hi there!” Kylie called out. She knew from experience that the best way to handle small-town suspicion was to be as friendly as possible, and to establish your street cred fast. “I’m Kylie Hood! We used to live here in Luview years ago!”
“Mark Hood’s daughter?” Her eyebrows shot up.
Uh oh.
Kylie forgot how bad her dad’s scandal had been.
Not only had he been loud about it in Bilbee’s, he’d gone on to enumerate all the ways Kylie’s mom was… deficient.
In bed.
“Yes, ma’am!” she said brightly, faking it.
“You poor thing. Your mother ran out of town with her tail between her legs, didn’t she? If you ask me, he’s the one who should have been ashamed.” Kylie could hear her judgmental sniff all the way down there on the sidewalk.
She suddenly really, really liked Mrs. Petrinelli.
“Thank you,” was all Kylie could think to say, some piece of her fifteen-year-old self ready to cry with relief.
“Heard he married that hussy and they live down south.” The way she said down south might as well have been the words in hell.
“Yes, they do.”
“What are you doing with Harriet and Jester?”
“Helping out. Luke’s nanny just quit on him.”
Oops.
Mistake #1: In small towns, every detail about every person was fodder for gossip. The whole town would know before Luke arrived at work.
Mrs. Petrinelli stepped off her porch, her thin frame encased in an enormous down coat, sharp brown eyes buried in wrinkles, most of her eyelashes gone but all her wits intact. “Nicole quit?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I knew it. That girl was a silly little dingbat.”
“Dingbat,” Harriet repeated, giggling.
“Why on earth didn’t Luke ask me to babysit sweet little Harriet?”
This wasn’t a rhetorical question; Kylie had to tread carefully here. Luke was in for a tongue lashing from a town institution if Kylie didn’t answer this just right.
“Luke helped me out and I was returning the favor.”
That did it.
“Oh.” Mrs. Petrinelli nodded with approval, mouth tightening as her eyebrows shot up. “And do you have experience with children?”
“I do. I taught for a while. Have my teaching license. I managed children’s programming for Nordicbeth, too.”
Mistake #2: giving the woman any details about herself that could connect her to Perry and her own mess.
“I see. Good place, even if the owners are a bit full of themselves.” Sniff.
Jester saved her, pulling hard on the leash as a squirrel darted across the sidewalk a hundred feet ahead.
“Gotta go, ma’am. Nice to meet you!”
“You’re a local! I’ve met you before! My name is Anne, not Ma’am!” Mrs. Petrinelli protested, but Kylie took her chance to escape.
Pretending Jester was pulling harder than he really was, Kylie left with only two mistakes under her belt.
And for the next nine minutes, she just walked with a happy dog, a chattering kid, and a balmy thirty-four-degree Maine winter day.
Then it hit her: Would the library be open the day after Thanksgiving?
Oh, well. No matter what, the walk was good for the three of them.
The library was a small brick building–bright red, of course–with two big window seats on either side, fire engine red shutters and door, and a foyer she hoped was dog friendly. The heart-shaped sign said Luview Library, with a silhouette of a young girl reading a book on a swing.
And a big sign taped to the glass door said, OPEN TODAY.
A blast of heat from an ancient grid radiator seemed gratuitous, given the above-freezing day, but she welcomed it nonetheless.
And sure enough, there was a place to tie Jester’s leash, and a bowl with water in it nearby.
She texted Luke quickly:
At the library. How do I check books out for Harriet? Library card?
He responded immediately.
It’s a tiny town, big city girl. Harriet IS the library card.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Harriet asked as Kylie opened the main door for her.
Kylie bopped her on the nose with her finger. “You.”
Giggles brought them into the library, where time really had stood still.
The oak shelves rose up as if climbing to touch the ceiling, smaller, angled shelves dominating the periodicals section.
Thin light-gray carpeting covered the floors, old and worn, dirty by the main doors.
Practical boot mats were conspicuously placed near the entrance.
The rustle of newspapers being read transported her back in time, each large page whispering as someone with gray or white hair flipped to a new section.
Computer monitors in a long, raised row on a counter were flat screen, the only reminder of the present. No music. No noise louder than quiet voices discussing the location of books.
Luview, Maine, had the best library in the world. That’s how it had felt as a child, at least.
And Kylie’s sigh felt like finding a new way to breathe and thrive.
“Oh, my goodness. That can’t be Kylie Hood, can it?” gasped the librarian behind the desk, a woman with gray hair, eyeglasses on the same red beaded chain Kylie remembered, and who, as she walked out from behind the desk, moved with a noticeable limp.
“Mrs. Chen?” Excitement got the best of her and soon she was hugging the old woman, who was an older, grayer version of one of her favorite people in town. For years, Kylie used the library the way most kids used their computers, killing time with books instead of video games or social media.
She’d read every single novel in the children’s section before they’d moved.
“Kylie! I haven’t seen you in years! Look at you, all grown up. My, my, my. What brings you back?” Kind, smart eyes met hers.
Guilt flooded Kylie’s veins. She’d been living so close this last year, but hadn’t visited. Why not?
She knew why, but couldn’t deal with that right now. Her reason was busy soulmating halfway across the world.
Emphasis on the mating part.
“I’m–I–”