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“God damn crazy woman,” he mumbles as he heads down the path to the wedding.
I lift my shoes off the ground, slide them on, pick up the glasses, and then look up at the moon.
It’s glaring down at me, asking for my thoughts, so I tell it exactly how I feel.
“You know, when I said I wanted a fairy tale, I didn’t intend for you to send a dark knight. Try again, moon. Tomorrow’s another day. And make it someone other than Rob Bronson.”
CHAPTERTHREE
I might not have been successful in love, but career success has come in spades.
While I moonlight as a kickboxing instructor, my main job is as an accountant. My job has allowed me to stay in my hometown of Newbury and work for the same accounting office that has been on Main Street since before I was born. I’ve been filing taxes for the working class for twelve years and made quite a name for myself. People in this small town gossip about my love life, but they know when it comes to their tax returns, they’re in good hands.
I’m a little bit of a local celebrity, if I do say so myself.
Another perk of the job is the hours. As long as I get my work done, no one cares where I am, and that bodes well for my free lifestyle. During the week after Melissa’s wedding, I stayed at her house and watched Hunter and Izzy while she went on her honeymoon. I got a lot done from my laptop since I had to be available for the kids after school.
Today though, I happen to be in the office. I have paperwork on my desk from clients who need extensions. I dive into my files, reading through the papers and making sure what I need is here. Then, I sift through emails, respond to client inquiries, and schedule appointments.
Around noon, I head to a local bakery shop, whose owner has a question about payroll. Our conversation is quick, as I came prepared with answers to what I already knew he wanted to know.
At the end of our meeting, I’m packing my computer into my bag when the bakery door chimes as someone walks in. I do a simple peek up and then look down to my bag. My head shoots back up quickly because the man standing in front of the eclairs and looking at me like a deer in headlights is one I didn’t think I’d see in this town again.
“Tara,” he says as if he just ran into an old high school buddy.
Here’s the thing: we’re not high school buddies.
We were once engaged to be married.
The engagement didn’t end early either. It ended with me in my wedding dress and him having second thoughts while the guests were already in the pews. I still have a hard time digesting champagne, remembering what it felt like to be sipping on mimosas while taking pictures when he called to apologize that he got cold feet.
I hate champagne.
More than I hate champagne, I hate Patrick Murphy.
“Patrick,” I stutter momentarily and then mentally smack myself. “Surprised to see you in Newbury.”
“I just moved here.”
I’m positively baffled by this news. “You? You moved to the town I live in?”
“I assumed you’d have moved to the city by now. Surprised to see you’re still here.”
“Not as surprised as I am to see you. Here. In Newbury.”
“Wow,” he breathes like he’s looking at a meteor floating through the sky. “You look great, by the way. Really, really great.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes skim down my dress that highlights my curves. “Did you think I’d gotten fat and ugly because you left me? Nope. Still smokin’ hot.”
“Same sense of humor too.” His grin is wide as he extends a hand toward a woman who is about five feet away, near the bakery case. “Victoria, come here. I want to introduce you to someone.”
The woman walks over—blonde, svelte, and dressed in a brown maxi dress.
“Darling, this is Tara Parsons. Tara, meet my wife, Victoria.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Victoria extends a manicured hand, and I take it. “It’s so nice to meet a friend of Patrick’s. I didn’t know he knew anyone in town. This is wonderful.”
I swallow down the rage bubbling in my gut. Patrick Murphy has the audacity to act as if I were a friend he wanted to introduce to his new wife, and she thinks we’re gonna be chummy neighbors, sharing recipes and having game nights.
