Accidental Chances: A Small Town Love Story (Chance Rapids Book 3)
Page 3
“Serena,” a voice rang out. Freddie turned and was instantly blinded by the flash of an expensive camera. He instinctively put his hand up to his face and protectively stepped in front of Serena. He reached his arm around her shoulder and shepherded her away from the paparazzo.
Ten steps later, he realized that his arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, his fingers gripped into her skin her tightly. “Sorry about that,” he said and let his hand drop from her shoulder.
“That’s okay. It takes a minute to get used to their aggression.”
“Yeah, that guy came out of nowhere,” Freddie replied. “Do you want them to take your picture?”
“Now that I’m ready for it, yes. Are you?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Freddie replied. He steeled himself for the flashbulbs as they approached the entrance to the red carpet. He was surprised when he felt Serena’s thin fingers lace through his. He looked at her and smiled, she smiled back. He knew that they were pretending, but there was something about her eyes. They seemed to glint when she smiled at him, but that glint disappeared as her name was shouted over and over again. He stood up tall, wondering what Tom Cruise did in these situations. He smiled and waved at the cameras, rested his hand proprietarily on Serena’s lower back, and followed the throng of well-dressed people on their snail’s pace walk into the theatre.
“Serena, can we get a shot?” a random man asked.
“Of course,” she paused, jutted her hip out, and smiled widely at the cameraman. Freddie smiled and put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off. Freddie didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he clasped them behind his back. “Move out of the shot,” she said through her teeth without losing her million mega-watt smile. Freddie took a step to the right while Serena turned and peacocked for the cameras.
Freddie didn’t care about being in any photos. He just hoped the film was a good one otherwise, this date was going to be a colossal waste of his time. Charlotte had been right. This wasn’t a date. He was arm candy and he hated it.
Chapter 4
AS HE DESCENDED THE steep hill into town, Freddie had never been happier to see the colorful houses of Chance Rapids. Growing up, he couldn’t wait to get out of his small town, but after years of living out of a suitcase with the national ski race team, he felt like he had seen enough of the world. He was and would always be a lifelong Rapidian, a local boy through and through.
He still had a slight limp from three knee surgeries, and the first thing he did was limp into the Last Chance Tavern. After his night with Serena, he needed a drink. The so-called ‘date’ had been arranged months earlier and thinking about it had gotten him through the rainy and cold spring months. He had imagined laughing and flirting, checking out a few good movies, maybe getting some drinks, and then waking up in bed together, her hair tousled from fucking all night. In his fantasies, she would send him on his way, but not without giving him an amazing blowjob first.
What fool he was.
He spent the evening holding her lipstick and smiling pretty for the camera as she laid kisses on his cheek. The first time she had done it, his heart had raced like a runaway freight train, then he realized that once the cameras were gone, so was her affection. The movies had subtitles, and there was nothing Freddie hated worse than having to read a movie.
Serena Cruise was beautiful, but as the night wore on, her beauty faded. There was more substance in the cold coffee in his travel mug than in her entire body. After the festival, she ran into a friend and was invited back to the city for an afterparty. Freddie was immediately excused from his position and he couldn’t have been more relieved. He was thankful that he didn’t have to spend one more minute with Serena Cruise.
The bar was quiet. It was a Sunday night after all and he slid onto a stool. The bartender, his friend Charlie, was polishing the counter and tossed the cloth over his shoulder. “Whoa, Nelly. Fancy suit, Fred. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Charlie was one of the most stylish men in Chance Rapids. He wore his long hair in a bun and his skinny jeans were held up with suspenders that didn’t seem to serve a purpose. As a matter of fact, Freddie had made fun of his jean/suspender combo on more than one occasion. Freddie still wore the same baggy Levi’s that he had in high school.
“Here, you might like this,” Freddie pulled the bowtie out of his shirt pocket and tossed it at Charlie.
“A bowtie?” Charlie smiled. “You?”
“I know. You might as well have it. There’s no way I’m going to be able to tie that damn thing again.”
“Rough night?” Charlie asked.
“One of the worst nights of my life,” Freddie replied.
“Beer, or something harder?” Charlie asked. “I’ve got a nice hoppy India Pale Ale.”
Freddie found Charlie’s homemade small-batch craft beer to be hit and miss. “You know what, I will try one of your snooty beers, and I better get a shot of whiskey too.”
“You got it, boss.” Charlie poured the drinks and slid them across the bar.
Freddie gulped back the shot and took a swig of the beer.
“Another shot?” Charlie asked.
“Make it two,” Freddie replied.
Charlie poured four shots and another beer. Freddie raised his eyebrows. Charlie shrugged, “We’re closing up shop and I can’t let you drink alone.” He ducked under the bar, flipped the open sign around and locked the door.
They knocked back the shots, and once the fiery liquor numbed his limbs, he felt like he could finally exhale.
“Where were you tonight?” Charlie asked. “I didn’t hear about any events up at the ski hill.”
“I was at a movie showing in the city,” Freddie replied.
“That’s a pretty fancy suit for a movie. Wait, are those argyle socks?”
“Who are you, the fashion police?” Freddie laughed; a slight slur had made its way into his voice.
“Easy there, tiger. I like them, that’s all.” Charlie held up his hands in front of him. “Wait, were you at the Buffalo Springs film festival?”
“Film festival, that’s what it’s called, not a movie showing.”
Charlie exhaled with a slight whistle. “That’s a big deal. Did you see any celebrities?”
“All of them. And you know what? They’re nothing special.”
Charlie pulled out his phone. Freddie groaned. Was he the only one who didn’t care about his phone? It was currently sitting in the cup holder in his truck, next to a bunch of wilted coral roses.
“Freddie, is this you?” Charlie turned his phone around and held it in Freddie’s face. It took him a minute to register what he was looking at. A good-looking couple smiled at the camera, the hot girl kissing her boyfriend on the cheek. It wasn’t just any boyfriend, it was him. The photo certainly didn’t reflect reality. It didn’t show her brushing him aside seconds after it was taken. It didn’t show how fake her smile was and he could’ve sworn his face was a shade darker than it was in real life.
“Shit. I almost didn’t recognize myself,” Freddie handed the phone back to Charlie.
“You’re dating Serena Cruise?” Charlie asked and continued to scroll through the pictures from the evening.
“Dating? Hah, not sure that’s what you’d call it.”
“That’s what she’s calling it,” Charlie replied.
“Where do you see that?” Freddie asked. “My name isn’t even there.”
“It’s in the hashtags. She called you her boyfriend. See here, it says #hotcouple.”
Freddie rolled his eyes. “She wishes.”
“If I could bottle your confidence and mix it with my beer, I’d be the richest brew master on the planet.”
“That’s not real life.” Freddie took a sip of his beer. “If I was her boyfriend, would I be sitting here at the bar with a hipster like you? No offense, Chuck.”
Charlie laughed. “None taken.”
Freddie was happy to be back in his town, drinkin
g with a real friend, leaving the bright lights and fake smiles of everyone he met that evening, where they belonged, in the city at the after-party. He and Charlie sat up laughing and drinking until the early dawn sun made its entrance over the mountain peaks. Freddie stumbled home and into his bed, ready to sleep off his hangover, and forget that he ever met Serena Cruise.
Chapter 5
THE SONGBIRDS THAT nested outside Freddie’s window warbled and sang, each of their chirps a sweet dagger piercing his skull. He rolled over and patted his hand around his nightstand until it found the glass of water he had left there the night before. He sat up and slowly sipped to ensure that his body was ready for hydration, and once he knew it was going to stay down, he chugged the rest of it back.
He set his feet down on the hardwood floor and rested his elbows on his knees while he waited for his brain to catch up with his eyes. His head pounded and he felt like he had been run over by a dump truck. Instead of standing up, he keeled back over in bed, pulled his plaid comforter up over his head, and hoped that a few more hours of sleep would heal his hangover. It’s that craft beer, he thought to himself. I should know better.
He heard his phone buzz, vibrating on his nightstand. He ignored it. Almost immediately it buzzed again, and yet again. Whoever it was, they were damn persistent. He reached his hand out from within the sanctity of his cover cave and pulled it in to join him. He had missed three calls from Josh, his best friend.
He pushed Josh’s contact number and closed his eyes while the phone rang. When Josh answered, Freddie croaked, “This better be important.”
“Where are you?” Josh asked.
“I’m at home,” Freddie replied, wondering if he was supposed to be somewhere. “Where else would I be?”
“Fred, you sound terrible.” Josh laughed. “Late night with a model?”
“Something like that,” Freddie murmured.
“Did you forget about the roofing party?” Josh asked.
Shit. He had totally forgotten. A group of the guys was getting together to help Josh install the new shingles on his house.
“I’ll be there soon, Josh. Sorry for um...”
“Forgetting?” Josh finished his sentence.
“Um... yeah. You got me. BUT I’ll be there soon and I’ll make a coffee stop.”
“Don’t worry about the coffee. We’ve got more than enough to go around, but we need your air nailer and compressor.”
“Roger that, boss. I’ll be there in a flash.”
Freddie disconnected the call and hobbled out of bed to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair, his bloodshot eyes stared back at him. He lifted his arm to give his pit a quick sniff and shrugged, it could be worse; he proceeded to add another layer of deodorant. Two minutes later he was dressed and out the door, tossing the compressor and air nailer into the truck bed.
As much as he wanted to stay in bed all day, get up around noon and devour some bacon and eggs, his group of friends helped each other out. When his house had needed new siding, his friends had gotten it done in a day. Now, it was Josh’s turn. His wife Megan was a million months pregnant and they had to put buckets and pans out to catch the water every time it rained. There was no way he could let his friends down. That’s what people do in small towns, he thought to himself as he shut the tailgate to his truck. They help each other.
He pulled out of his driveway and headed toward the main street and that’s when he heard it - a slight ticking sound. When he slowed down, the ticking slowed; when he sped up, so did the metallic ting. He stopped at the only set of traffic lights in town. The G-Spot, the local gas station and diner, was also home to the only mechanic in town, but Hank was an old-fashioned soul who still took the weekends off. Freddie made a mental note in his fuzzy brain to book an appointment to get the truck looked at first thing Monday. But it was too late, when he turned onto the main street, he heard a loud bang and a pop and then thick black smoke billowed out from under the hood. The truck sputtered, and Freddie swore it wheezed just as he eased it to the side of the road before it totally died.
Freddie groaned and leaned his pounding head on the steering wheel. This was the last thing he needed. His next big job, one that would pay the bills and then some, was in the neighboring town of Windswan, twenty minutes away. He needed this truck like he needed to breathe.
When he opened the hood, dark smoke billowed out and settled around him, the acrid smell of burnt rubber challenged Freddie’s gag reflex. He stepped back and took a deep breath. It didn’t look good, but he was no mechanic. He left his truck where it was, grabbed his toolbelt, compressor, and air nailer, and trudged down the main street to Bristlecombe.
As he arrived at Josh’s house, he could see three guys up on the roof, tossing old pieces of roofing and shingles into a big bin on the front lawn. He followed the sound of voices to the rear of the house.
“Freddie!” The crew of people all said in unison as he approached. Baskets of croissants, tarts, and muffins sat on a folding table next to three industrial-sized coffee pots. “Is there anything left at the cafe?” Freddie joked as he grabbed a mug.
“Megan just wants this done,” Josh smiled. “She would’ve put on a twelve-course dinner if it meant she wouldn’t have to listen to a leaky roof for one more night.” Megan co-owned the Sugar Peaks Café and clearly knew how to cater to a group of hungry workers.
“Don’t worry, the beer keg is coming out at noon,” Josh grinned and elbowed Freddie, “Although you’re looking pretty rough.” Josh looked Freddie up and down.
“And smelling pretty ripe.” Freddie turned to see his older brother, Logan. “How was your big date?” Logan asked. He was carrying two bundles of shingles on his shoulder and headed to the ladder.
“Let’s just say there isn’t going to be a date number two,” Freddie grumbled.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Logan said, then leaned in to whisper, “Those models are lazy in bed,” he said before ambling up the ladder like a billy goat.
“Is Mike coming over today?” Freddie asked Josh. Mike was the lone tow truck driver in town, and also a friend of theirs.
“He’s already up on the roof.” Josh pointed into the bright eye-piercing sky.
“Thanks,” Freddie said and squinted. He buckled his well-worn leather tool belt around his canvas work pants and set to climbing the ladder. He got a good whiff of his body odor and recoiled as a combination of alcohol and onions met his nose.
Freddie wasn’t in the mood for working, or for answering questions about his date with Serena. The only thing on his mind was his truck and his couch.
His attitude lifted as the day progressed. Sweating in the hot summer sun was likely detoxing him faster than a lazy day watching movies. When the coffee carafes were traded in for beer kegs, it turned out that the hair of the dog was the key to what ailed him. He could feel the life coming back to his body, and with it, the stress of his impending truck repairs seemed to lift as well. He would figure it out. He always figured it out.
With the large crew, Josh’s roof was completed early in the afternoon. The Search and Rescue Volunteers were hard workers, and most of Josh’s other friends were local contractors. Megan had picked red shingles, and while most of the crew muttered about the color, when it was done, the little white bungalow with the red roof looked like something out of a magazine. The group of men sat tired and dirty at a picnic table in the back yard, admiring their work.
Mike, the tow truck driver, had a young family; he stuck around for one drink then brushed his hands and stood up to leave. “Where do you want your truck towed?” he asked Freddie.
“I was thinking about the G-Spot, give Hank some business.”
Mike nodded. “Let me give him a call, see if he can fit you in.” Mike proceeded to make the call, told Hank what was going on, nodded a couple of times and then set down his phone. “If we go now, Hank will be at the shop and can give you an estimate.”
BANG. BANG. BANG. THE sharp raps on the door startled Freddie out of sleep. His eyes snapped open and the notepad on his chest slipped to the floor as he bolted upright. The sun had set, and the blue glow of twilight barely lit his living room enough for him to make his way to the door.
“Hey,” he said as he opened the door for his brother. He turned and shuffled back to the couch. Logan followed and sat in the leather armchair.
“What, you’re not going to offer me a drink?” Logan smiled.
Freddie grunted. “You know where they are.”
“Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?” Logan reclined back in the chair and put his big feet on the coffee table.
“I’ve just had a rough day,” Freddie replied. He clicked on a lamp and shut off the giant TV.
“We didn’t get a chance to talk today. The model wasn’t everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” Logan stood up. “Maybe I will get a drink. Want one?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Now I know that there’s something wrong with you,” Logan said as he returned to the living room, twisting the cap off a beer. “The date was that bad?”
“Oh, fuck. That’s the least of my problems. My truck died today.”
“Hank can’t fix it?”
“He can, but it’s going to cost an arm and a leg,” Freddie muttered.
“It’s just a truck. Kid, I can loan you the money.”
“Thanks, Logan, but I don’t want to rely on my rich brother.” He rubbed his temples, “Man, I finally felt like I was getting ahead, this Windswan job is going to be huge.”