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I couldn’t screw it up.
Being the pride of Lovewell was a blessing, sure.
This place helped me realize my potential, and the people here had rallied behind me when I needed it.
They embraced me, the kid with the thrift store clothes and the broken glasses, and they protected me. Even took up a collection to help pay for my books after that first year at Brown and worked out a care package schedule so I was never without homemade treats, knit scarves, and cans of moxie.
I loved this place. And I wanted to make the town proud. We had been through so much, and so much of our regional identity had been lost in recent years.
This town and my brother were all I had.
So here I was, twenty-eight and broke, overeducated and underemployed.
I eyed the plate of fries Bernice delivered to the table next to me.No. My poor GI tract was angry enough as it was. The stress I was under had graduated from manifesting in emotional ways to physical discomfort lately. Thankfully, before I caved and begged Bernice for my own order, Lydia slid into the booth across from me.
“You’re late,” I said, though I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face at the sight of my friend.
She shrugged. I ran into Mrs. Peters on the sidewalk. She went on for ten minutes about Walter.
I raised a brow.“Her son, right?”
“Yup. He’s fifty-one and still lives at home.”
“Oh shit.” I tossed my head back and laughed so hard my stomach ached.
She ran her hands through her long red hair. “Yup. Everywhere I go, people are trying to fix me up with the single men in their lives. It’s a nightmare.”
“That’s what you get for being the most eligible bachelorette in Lovewell.”
“You say it like it’s an achievement.” She glared. “It’s more like a life sentence.”
“So get a boyfriend.” I shrugged. Lydia was quick-witted and had a level head, but she was clueless when it came to my brother. To the rest of the town, it was obvious that Dylan had been pining for Lydia for years. But he had never made a move, and I would never betray his trust and mention it to her.
It wasn’t how we operated.We didn’t keep secrets, and we always had each other’s backs.
Despite his feelings, they remained good friends and coworkers, both teaching at the local school.
“I wish it was that easy. A couple of weeks ago, I went on a date with a guy I matched with on Bumble. Met him at a restaurant in Orono. Before we could even order, he was telling me I had ‘pretty teeth’ and asked if I was ‘fertile.’ I went to the bathroom and never came back.”
I winced. “The odds are good…” I said.
“But the goods are odd,” she finished, and we dissolved into giggles at the popular Lovewell catchphrase. The men outnumbered the women by at least two to one, but very few were actually datable.
Lydia had graduated a year ahead of me. She was the youngest of four, and her parents rarely minded having a fifth in tow, so I had spent many nights tagging along to family dinners and sleeping over.
She had deep red hair and long legs that made me irrationally jealous.
For the last five years or so, she’d taught at Lovewell Community, and she was an incredible skier. She’d even started a free ski clinic for underprivileged kids at one of the local mountains not long ago. She was loud and pretty and didn’t take any shit—the best kind of friend.
After coffee, we walked through downtown, remarking on all the ways Main Street had changed.
“Is that a salon?” I asked, craning my neck to get a peek at the sign across the street.
“Yup. And it’s a good one. You should stop by. Becca’s super cool. She’s relatively new to town; her daughter is in my class.”
Even a salon in a place like Lovewell was outside my budget these days, but I was intrigued. My dark brown hair was way too long and spent most days scraped back into a ponytail.
I hummed noncommittally, not wanting to get into why I wouldn’t be scheduling an appointment soon, and took off again, ready to change the subject. But then I was doubling over as a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen. Instantly, I broke out in a sweat, despite the cool temperature, and my heart rate skyrocketed.
