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She tightened her grip on the wheel. Fog would be easier to see through than her clouded mind. Maybe she should ask for a transfer to the gossip column and have a little fun writing about some silver screen hunk and his latest Hollywood squeeze. Thelatest Hollywood sex scandals seemed like something she could do too.
On the heels of that thought came another. “Maybe Ford would be open for an interview?”
Genevieve gazed out as hints of blue and fuchsia lit the fringes of the summer sky overtop the distant mountains.
Reporting flowed through her veins as melodies did for a singer. At the age of nine, she wrote about the neighbor’s new puppies. At twelve she secured a spot at the school’s paper with yet another piece on getting more nutritious lunches served. And then again in high school when she went after better equipment for the sports teams that earned her accolades in her senior year with the football team. More specifically, one hunky quarterback, Whiskey Morgan. Childhood friend turned high school sweetheart. The man shethoughtwould be her Mr. Right, complete with the white picket fence someday.
Damn that man was every girl’s dream date. She could still remember the kiss he stole after making the winning touchdown for the team.
Five years had passed since that kiss, and the heat still burned in her belly every time she thought about it.
The sizzling memory pulled a smile across her lips. Her full-page article earned her a coveted date with the sexy quarterback, and her nerdy little self turned into the most popular girl senior year.
He’d been her first kiss and orgasm on the hood of his shiny black mustang under October’s full moon. Ah, to be that age again. She would have done a lot of things differently that would have kept her on the same path as Whiskey.
But it wasn’t meant to be. Ultimately, he had bigger plans that didn’t include her, and frankly, left her heartbroken.
By the time college rolled around Whiskey went his way, dealing with his family, and she worked her way up to editor for the New York University blog. It wasn’t long before opportunities knocked. After a piece she wrote on youth centers in the city grabbed some important bigwigs’ attention, she managed to slip a foot in with New York City’s top paper. She had a lot of proving to do, but it was worth all the work. The latter was two years and an award ago.
Genevieve tapped her thumb on the steering wheel to a saucy country tune she didn’t quite feel.
All that success weighed more than the world on her shoulders. Everyone from her editor to her parents looked to her next piece expecting it to be better than the last. Frankly, it sucked the life out of her every time she put fingers to the keyboard and her muse let her know it too.
She flicked the radio off, preferring the silence to some heartbreaking romance about too much whiskey and too little love. In her book, there was never enough Whiskey and she didn’t mean the amber hooch in a bottle.
She gripped the wheel and forced determination around her noodle of a spine.
“Snap out of it, Summers. Memory lane is behind you.” Since when did the Summers family back down from a challenge or quit? She wasn’t about to be the first.
“Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.” Genevieve chanted until the pressure on her chest eased and the tiny floating dots disappeared.
Everything from her lavender-tipped toes up vibrated as she popped the clutch in her old-timey Beetle and down-shifted as she rumbled over the Pinegrove’s city limit.
Genevieve rubbed a hand over the tan leather seat. Worn around the edges a bit, but it had gotten her through high school, and much to all her girlfriend’s disbelief, college. Letting go of it didn’t seem right after so long with the trusty beast.
Like a balm of calming energy, the second she eased down the interstate off-ramp Genevieve leaned into the worn leather of her seat, an instant smile in place. Snow-capped mountains peaked over the buildings as the familiar view of Main Street greeted her.
For a moment she let all her troubles take a back seat.
Home.
She rolled to a slow stop at the first red light, her eyes landing on a cluster of small tables outside. Her last week in Pinegrove she shared a corner table with Whiskey at the quaint café, talking over all her college plans. They’d been excited and so naïve back then.
Easing down the road, a warm feeling crept over her and replaced the stress she’d worn like a vest for the past three weeks. For the first time in as long, she didn’t feel like tossing her computer off the nearest bridge and making a mad dash for Bora-Bora, much to her mother’s disbelief. The only thing that stopped her was the unfortunate need to pay killer student debt, bills and buy things like tequila and sexy thongs.
After hearing about her run-in with her editor, Genevieve’s mother had insisted she visit. Come home, clear her head and let the fresh air do its job.
Less of a girl with a plan and more of a toss-it-like-a-salad-and-see-what-happens type of woman, Genevieve agreed on the spot. A fresh outlook and some peace and quiet just might do the trick. She could tuck herself away in her parents’ flower shop, Blossoms, and get the job done.
With a little elbow grease, she cranked the window down and inhaled the fresh, unpolluted air.
Early morning wind still untouched by the warming sunshine brushed against her cheeks and tussled her loose hair. On days like these Genevieve questioned why she decided the bustling lifestyle of New York City could outshine the glittery novelty of her small hometown.
She leaned back in and caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. No amount of concealer or magic would hide the dark circles hanging out under her eyes.
Gah. Could she look any more like a washed-up writer?
Genevieve gritted her teeth and ground the gears of her ancient bug. Shopkeepers set up for the day as sunlight teased the town with a promise of a bright, warm day. Within five minutes of rolling over city limits, several old family friends pointed and waved, welcoming her home.
