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What a fool I was to think that Arsen Ford would give a damn about me. Rory almost blamed herself as much as she blamed Arsen. Regret simmered inside her. She could not deny that Arsen had ignited something deep in her, something much more important than a sensation of desire. But she also knew that she would get over him soon enough. Or will I?
“You’re Rory, right?” A man’s voice startled her out of her thoughts.
“Yes. And you are?” She did not recognize the man.
“Tim Carroll. Mr. Carroll’s son. We’ve met a couple of times before, I think.”
“Yes. I believe so. Hi,” Rory replied, cursing her mother in her head.
“Your mother sent me to look around for you. She tells me that you have a house up in Montcove.”
“Yes I do,” Rory replied.
“Incredible. I hear it is quite the place to get some sun and sand. It was number three on Getaway Magazine’s top ten places for summer vacations. That must be something, huh?”
Rory noticed his good-boy haircut, his clean-shaven face, and the expensive suit he was wearing. His disarming smile, the black glasses he wore, and his timid gestures spoke of a home life. Mother was right—this guy looks like classic husband material.
“If it didn’t rain there every other day we’d probably see a lot of sun and hit the beach,” she replied nonchalantly, and for some reason it made him laugh. It wasn’t that funny.
“Well, in NYC, we don’t get much of anything really, except traffic and a lot of fast-talking people.”
“Big cities are not my thing,” she said dismissively.
“Oh yeah, me neither.”
“So you don’t like living in New York?”
“Oh yes, I do, it’s pretty nice,” he said.
He’s just agreeing with everything I’m saying. Rory thought. Perfect trait for a future husband.
“What do you do in Montcove, Rory?”
“I run a bookshop.”
“Wow! That’s so charming. Must be a lot of fun.”
“Not really. Not many people read books nowadays. What do you do, Tim?” She changed the topic as she picked up another glass of champagne from a passing tray. She thought Tim seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was awfully boring. Well, boring guys make the best husbands. No surprises, no drama, and no worries.
“I work in garbage disposal,” he said, and Rory almost spit out the champagne that was in her mouth, thinking of another similar conversation.
“I mean, I’m not a garbage man, but I work with a company that designs garbage trucks and provides innovative solutions for garbage disposal.” He was clearly rather proud of his position.
She was instantly transported her back to that afternoon in Martha’s bakery where Arsen Ford had pretended to be a garbage man. Instantly, the movie of that day started playing in her head, almost bringing a longing smile to her face. What a beautiful afternoon that was. Rory quickly reminded herself to stop thinking about Arsen and focused on Tim instead. Arsen was a mirage. Tim was real and he seemed like a nice guy too.
“I don’t suppose you have much of a garbage problem in Montcove?”
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know, Tim, but I know a woman there who could tell you a lot about it.” Rory thought of good old Martha and smiled.
“In fact,” she continued, “just the other day she was mentioning that she is facing problems disposing of the extra food that is left over at the end of the day in her bakery.”
“That’s not a problem at all,” he started, and Rory waited to see if he would propose the same solution Arsen had. “We have a machine designed especially for compressing food items in a hygienic way so that it can be disposed of effortlessly,” he said proudly.
Not the answer I was looking for, Tim, she thought to herself. Tim’s reply paled against Arsen’s idea of giving it out to the poor.
“I’d love to come down to Montcove. See your bookshop, get whatever sun I can get, and talk to this person maybe,” Tim said hesitantly. Everything about him was rigid. Rory could tell that he was looking for any reason to find commonalities with her.
“Sure.”
