Page 12 of Meet Me in Ivy Falls

‘Wait.’ I panicked and gripped the edge of the door again. ‘Will I see you around town?’

‘It’s a small place. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Maybe you and I, we could have coffee? Talk? There’s a few things I’d like to say to you.’

‘I’m busy and you’ve got your hands full with the house – if you even know what you’re doing.’

‘I swear I can handle it, Torran.’

She flinched like my saying her name caused her physical pain. After pulling in a thin breath, her narrow gaze traveled down the length of my tailored suit. ‘Yeah, right. Goodbye, Beck.’

She revved the engine and peeled down the street. I waited for her to look back, give any sign that my reappearance meant something, but she’d made it clear that she was done with both the conversation and me.

Chapter Six

TORRAN

Worse Than Bad Gas Station Sushi.

Disembodied. Disemboweled. As a seventeen-year-old kid, I’d dug through the dictionary trying to figure out the right word for what it felt like to have my heart ripped out.

After Beck and I ended, I wandered around Ivy Falls like a part of me was missing. A hole settled deep in my chest that no one could fill. Not my parents, sister or my friends. Little did I know that only the threads of time: days, weeks, months, years would sew me back together. But it only took one short interaction with Beck today to yank out those carefully fixed stitches.

I gripped the steering wheel, praying Deputy Ben wasn’t hanging out in that little alley between the Dairy Dip and Mimi’s Pizza. The last thing I needed was a speeding ticket as I floored it through the town square and took the corner near Park’s Pharmacy at too quick of a clip, my wheels squealing as I turned.

Who the hell did Beck think he was? He couldn’t just waltz into Ivy Falls after a ten-year disappearing act and pretend things were fine between us. And how had he acted so cool when I spoke about his parents’ death? Their passing had become sort of a town mystery.

When their obituary showed up in the Ivy Falls Gazette all it listed was their bios and Beck and Piper as their next of kin. Town rumors swirled but no one could get the real story. I’d tried to hunt down more information. Googled his last name for months, but nothing came up. When I finally found Beck’s maternal grandparents in Oregon, they’d asked for privacy and hung up on me. Two days later Beck’s email arrived. In a few brief sentences, he said he was staying in Portland and that we were over.

Discarded.

That was the right word for how I felt. After years of being inseparable, he’d simply cut me off.

That fury I felt at the auction rose in me again.

I hated the way he’d bid on the house like money was no object. How he thought he was so cute sidling up to my truck, looking too damn beautiful in that expensive suit. When he called me Tor I had to suck in a quick breath because the sound of my name on his lips lit a freaking match inside my chest.

He’d claimed he’d bought the house for his sister, but that twitch in his left eyebrow warned it wasn’t the whole truth. Another thought sent ice through my veins. Did that mean he was going to live there too?

My pulse raced as I imagined him walking around the town square, bumping into him casually at Sugar Rush or Minnie’s Market and not having a clue what to say. Or, in my typical way, saying the absolute wrong thing.

Why was this happening? I was just getting things back on track. And what the hell did Beck know about renovation? Just by the soft sheen of his hands (which I may have caught when I was checking him out) it was obvious he’d never picked up a hammer in his life.

A pissed-off growl spilled past my lips and I pressed harder on the gas pedal. Manny had tried to calm me down after the auction. He knew something was off, but he was good at reading my cues. And today my cues had warned that he shouldn’t push.

I’d promised him I’d look at paint samples for the little ranch house we were working on over on Parkview. But that would have to wait because I needed to vent to someone who would understand my fury over Beck’s unexpected homecoming.

I took one more sharp turn and pulled into the parking lot of the Pen & Prose bookstore. All of my favorite memories were tied up in the ivy-covered brick building nestled at the edge of the town square. The P&P, as my mother loved to call her store, is where I’d spent a major part of my childhood.

Shoving my shoulder against the heavy wood door, I pushed my way inside. At first it was hard to come here after we’d lost her. Now it gave me comfort to see her elegant touches around the store. The rich wood-paneled walls that matched the mahogany checkout counter she’d had custom-made so she could lean over and share whispers with customers about her favorite books. How the children’s section looked like a rainbow explosion with bright prints on the wall featuring her favorite illustrators like Vashti Harrison, Ian Falconer and André Ceolin.

Across the space she’d set out oversized chairs and love seats in muted colors of crimson and charcoal inviting customers to stay and relax. She’d wanted it to feel like an old English study, a place where people could come and get lost in a good book. Judging by the success of the store over the years, she’d more than achieved that goal.

All the P&P regulars sat in their typical places this afternoon. Susan and Barb, who owned my favorite café, the Sugar Rush, looked cozy as they thumbed through the latest issue of Bon Appétit on a small couch near the romance section. Maisey Bedford sat with her twins near the board books using an animated voice to tell the story about a pug with too much attitude.

I pushed away the shock of seeing Beck again and let the scent of paper and hard-bound leather loosen the tension in my neck and arms. Let the thud of my solid steps across the walnut floors tame my speeding heart. Allowed myself to remember all the wonderful times I’d spent in the shop with Mom.

She’d been my inspiration for starting my own business. Since Tess and I were young, she’d spoken of wanting to own a little independent bookstore where the people of Ivy Falls could come and hide from the worries of their day. It’d taken years, but when Miss Betty’s tea shop went out of business and the space became available, my mother worked her magic on Dad.