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“Are you sure?” Emily’s eyebrows curve up.
I slump against the cushions as a sigh billows out. No. I’m not sure. Linc is not a nobody. But what can I do? He made it very clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe Clarissa is Lucy.” Jenna’s eyes light up. “And Linc is protecting her anonymity. Perhaps his anger was a knee-jerk reaction to you being so close to figuring things out.”
I stab out a laugh. “So clever that I didn’t figure out Tripp was married?”
“Let’s forget that ever happened.” Emily pats my knee. “Let’s forget Tripp Hammond even exists.”
“Hear! Hear!” Jenna raises her glass. We clink our glasses together in a toast, and it feels so good to laugh. These women sure have a way of making me forget my troubles.
Our conversation soon switches to the collaboration Jenna’s working on with a well-known musician in Nashville. After walking away from touring and the falsities in the music industry, she concentrated her time on developing music scholarships at schools for underprivileged kids, as well as collaborating with other artists to write and produce their music. Her new direction gives her the freedom to work from her home studio and spend time with Aaron and Mia, rather than her life being dictated by touring schedules and the expectations of fans.
As Emily asks Jenna about any gorgeous artists she’s working with, something Clarissa said during one of our interviews springs to mind. Something about the pain one feels today being the strength for tomorrow. “For every challenge encountered, there is the opportunity for growth.”
I run my fingers around the rim of my glass as my gaze drifts toward the fields where several horses graze in the shade. Perhaps I’ve been approaching this situation with Tripp and Linc and Maisie all wrong. Instead of hiding away in embarrassment, I need to look at it as a growth opportunity. I can’t wallow forever. This time next year, people will have hopefully forgotten about my involvement with Tripp, and Linc will be a faded, bittersweet memory.
Aaron walks across the porch and settles beside Jenna. He drapes an arm around her shoulder and casually rubs small circles over her skin with his thumb. It seems to be his signature display of affection, and I try to ignore the small stab of jealousy piercing my heart.
Seeing Jenna and Aaron’s happiness and ease with each other makes me wonder if I got it all wrong. Perhaps I should’ve invested more time in relationships than pursuing my career. Being a reporter can take me places, but it can’t offer me a lifetime of unconditional love or the contentedness and comfortability that comes with a life partner.
I had a small taste of that possibility with Linc. He’s the one person I’ve truly felt comfortable with. He ignited hope that there are good men in this world and the possibility of happy-ever-afters do exist. But my past came back to haunt me, and what we had was over before it even had a chance to begin.
Linc
Main Street is an array of colorful awnings, shop fronts, and people bustling about their day. A few cars drive by. People stop on the pavement to chat as if they have all the time in the world. It’s a typical scene of small town life as I gaze out the window of Tish’s Coffee and Cakes.
The aroma of freshly baked goods and brewed coffee assails my senses as I sit at a corner table. It’s cozy in here, with only a few other customers at the nearby tables. My laptop is open in front of me. A half-eaten blueberry muffin and a lukewarm cup of Columbian roast to my right. I can’t help but chuckle at how cliché this setting is—a writer spending hours in a café. But I needed a change of scenery. Some place that wouldn’t remind me of Penny every time I sit down to write. It’s as though the remnants of her perfume and the echo of her laugh linger in Gran’s living room, even though it’s been over a week since I told her to leave.
Linking my hands behind my head, I sigh at the similarity of art imitating life. I started this book with a blinking cursor and a blank screen. Nudged along by a determined octogenarian, I discovered a gorgeous, intelligent woman who became my muse. And then I went and ruined any potential opportunity for us with an outburst of epic proportions. And now I’m stuck again.
It’s the pivotal moment in the storyline. The push-pull tension between the couple. People say it’s a necessary part of a romance novel. That a good story can’t exist without it. Well, it occurs in real life as well. The pull I’ve felt toward Penny ever since I met her is undeniable. From the first night in the bar, to the outings Gran coordinated for ‘research purposes’, to the moment we realized we actually enjoyed being together without Gran’s interference. The intimate moments we’ve shared have played on repeat in my mind. As too has the day I ruined everything in Gran’s living room. I pushed Penny away, and now I wonder if it’s too late to redeem myself after being such a jerk.
The tension between my fictitious couple is palpable, and only a grand gesture from the hero will solve the fissures in their relationship. I bark out a laugh and quickly glance around to make sure no one heard the lone guy in the corner. There might be parallels between this story and real life, but I’m no hero. I’m a class-A jerk. My animosity toward Penny was unjustifiable. She didn’t deserve my rebuff out of self-preservation. I need to seek her forgiveness, because as much as I try, I can’t get her out of my mind. I can’t go anywhere without being reminded of her.
The lake with its shimmering water, a reminder of the delight in Penny’s vibrant blue eyes. The vineyard, in all its glory, a reminder of our first non-date, but also the first time I laid eyes, and lips, on the stunning reporter. Years of writing romance novels have turned me into a sap. But a sap that has fallen for an auburn-haired beauty who sparks joy whenever I think of her.
Gran’s been aloof since she threatened me with the wooden spoon. Her disappointment in me is obvious. From a young age, she’s always been there—encouraging me, offering wisdom. As the only one who knows I’m a writer, she’s been my cheerleader, my constant. And her sage advice has kept pushing me forward toward my dreams. But now, I’m scared. I’m scared of those dreams toppling over into a steaming heap. I’m scared of failing. I’m afraid of disappointing my fans. And I’m scared of rejection if I reveal the truth to the woman whose opinion really matters to me.
Wouldn’t you rather try something, than live your life wondering—what if? Where you fall isn’t where you have to stay.More sage advice from the woman whosetake-life-by-the-hornsapproach I admire. She’s right, as usual.
I close the cover of my laptop and down the dregs of my cold coffee. Emboldened by my fearless, pioneering grandmother, I push back from the table and sling my messenger bag over my shoulder. I know what I need to do.
Penny
My eyes flit over the paper as I read the final copy of my interview with Clarissa.From Small Town Beginnings to Global Inspiration: The Remarkable Journey of Clarissa McArthur Shines Bright.
It’s Friday night and I’m still working. Emily invited me to a paint and sip event at the vineyard, but I declined her offer. Partly because of the memories it will trigger, but mostly because I need to get this article finished and sent through to Hugh by Monday morning.
It’s been a long process, but I’m done. Clarissa is a gem, and pride swells in my chest as I read the words that have taken shape over the past few weeks. I’ve written plenty of human interest stories before, but if I’m honest, this is probably up there with one of the best I’ve done. Sure, things didn’t work out with Linc, but onward and upward. Perhaps I will visit the animal rescue center and adopt some a cat or two.
A knock at the front door pulls me from Clarissa’s story and my thoughts about a feline-filled house. A glance at the clock reveals it’s after seven. Emily’s at the vineyard. My brothers have their own key and usually yell out to announce their arrival. I stand and tighten my ponytail as I make my way to the entryway.
“Hel…” My greeting sticks in my throat as I pull the door open and find Linc standing there. Wearing jeans and a crisp white t-shirt, he makes casual look effortlessly attractive. His hair is damp and tousled, and his familiar cedar and earthy scent tickles my senses.
“Hey, Penny.” A hesitant smile tugs the corner of his mouth up. “I come bearing gifts. Well, one gift to be specific. A peace offering. Or an attempt to seek your forgiveness.”
I stare at him a moment before my defenses ease. If this is an olive branch, then I’m willing to accept it, because, darn it, I’ve really missed him. I step onto the porch, allowing the door to close behind me. Linc hands me a silver box wrapped in a pink ribbon, and I sit down on the porch swing while he leans against the railing, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded.
