The Honeymoon Trap

by Christina Hovland

  A glance in the mirror, and she grimaced.

  She went back to rummaging through her purse and a small note fell beside his arm. He reached for the paper and began to hand it back when he caught the words and paused.

  Camelot Garden Estates

  First left at the Confluence exit…

  She snatched at the note. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” William said quickly. “Just thinking.”

  “That could be dangerous,” she spoke under her breath.

  “You have no idea.”

  Funny, he had been all over town today and hadn’t thought of Camelot Gardens. That rundown neighborhood still existed? The lady who owned a bunch of property there used to drive his father crazy during his years on the city council, opposing him on everything. If she was still around, maybe she held a grudge?

  Lucy wiped the cut on her knee, removed the tabs from a Band-Aid, and stuck it on.

  “Do you know someone who lives at Camelot Gardens?” he asked.

  Her features turned guarded, and she paused longer than necessary. “I have a friend who used to live there.”

  “Yeah? So do I.”

  Camelot Gardens was so rundown it was an awful idea. Then again, it was better than no idea.

  Chapter Two

  God, God, William had aged well. Lucy Campbell’s whole body had tingled when he touched her arm, but damned if she was going there again. All these years later, and his presence still managed to override all her brain circuits dedicated to reason. The ones that turned her into a stammering lunatic, high on lusty intoxication, were still on alert.

  Sure, it was only a broken window. And a bruised knee. With a side of throwing-herself-on-the-ground embarrassment. The years melted away, the clock struck twelve, her coach fizzled into a pumpkin, and she turned back into the mess-of-a-girl Lulu. On cue, her stomach somersaulted and begged for a bag of potato chips. She ignored the plea.

  True to his word, Chief Lawson had arranged for a replacement window. It had taken hours, and she was exhausted.

  She clicked on the speakerphone and drove away from the gas station.

  Her best friend Katie chirped at her. “Lulu, where the hell are you?”

  “A kid threw a rock at my car. I had to get my window fixed.”

  “Omigosh, are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you at the house yet?”

  “Nope, headed there now.”

  “Okay, I’m glad I caught you before you got there.”

  Best friends since they were roommates in college, Katie Edwards was the only person in the world Lucy trusted. Katie had left Confluence two weeks ago when she received a promotion to Denver. She arranged for Lucy’s transfer to KDVX, the local television station, and promised the house she’d arranged for Lucy would be perfect.

  Lucy was done taking handouts from her parents. Done with relying on them. They had the best intentions. Wanted her to realize her dreams without the struggle, but she was ready to do things on her own. They’d encouraged her to rent a luxury three-bedroom condo on their dime. She’d decided to rent a place she could afford instead—baby steps to releasing herself from their grip.

  “Listen, promise me you’ll give the place a chance,” Katie continued.

  “Why wouldn’t I? It’s a place to live,” Lucy said.

  “It’s just not your usual house. But the people are great.”

  Confluence was the next step in her fledgling career in broadcast journalism. The minute she stepped into her first journalism class, a spark had lit inside her. She was born to expose the truth. She never stayed in one market too long, and she loved that part of the business. Always moving. Always able to pick up and move onto the next opportunity.

  “You’ll never guess who I saw.” Heck, she couldn’t even believe she’d seen William again after all of these years.

  “Who?”

  “William. The guy from Florida.”

  “Get. Ouuut.” Katie’s words were filled with disbelief. “Did he remember you?”

  “Nope.” And why would he? The last time she saw William, she’d been a gawky, overweight seventeen-year-old with horrible acne, braces, and thick eyebrows. He’d known Lulu Campbell, intern on the Beach Nights reality show.

  Eight years had been plenty of time for her to transform into a swan. She now sported clear skin, straight teeth, and two well-groomed brows.

  “Did he grow warts all over and turn into a toad?”

  “Not even a little bit of a toad.”

  “Damn.”

  The same golden eagle eyes and crumpled L.L. Bean charm had melted her like an ice cream cone dropped on a hot sidewalk. Rich brown hair trimmed short but long enough to have a smidge fall to his forehead. He was tall, at least six foot, likely more. Two delicious dimples popped when he smiled, and crinkles fanned from the sides of his eyes. Those hadn’t been there all those years ago when she’d crushed on him in Florida.

  In her summer internship with that film company, she pretty much did all the jobs that no one else wanted to do and ran errands for the cast and crew. Which, at the time, included William.

  He disappeared one day, and she never saw him again…until today. What the heck was he doing in a small town like Confluence, anyway? “It’s good he didn’t remember. I can’t be known as Lulu.”

  No. Now she was Lucy. She had worked hard to shed her former self. She wouldn’t go back to the girl she had been.

  “There is nothing wrong with Lulu. I liked her. I still do.” Katie’s voice went soft. “He wasn’t very nice to you.”

  “He just didn’t know I existed.” There was a difference. “If he’s going to be in Confluence, I’ll avoid him.” She didn’t need a reminder of the person she used to be. The person everyone made fun of.

  “Or maybe he’ll get the plague or something awful. I can hope,” Katie replied cheerfully.

  Gravel crackled against the car’s undercarriage when Lucy turned into the drive. “I’m here. Oh my God, Katie. What have you done?”

  “Just give the place a chance.” The line went dead.

  A dilapidated sign, white with yellowed edging, announced the neighborhood as Camelot. The o and t were slightly crooked so at first glance it simply read Camel. Instead of a neighborhood, Camelot Estates was series of squat, one-story buildings that had likely been an extended-stay motel, last remodeled in 1963.

  No, no, no. Lucy parked the car and climbed out, squinting into the setting sun.

  Perhaps being dependent on her parents wasn’t such a bad idea after all? If she’d known this was all she could afford then she might’ve reconsidered handling her living arrangements on her own.

  But…no. She could handle this.

  An elderly woman emerged from the yellow unit at the end. The woman’s personality and clothing bloomed as colorful as the plastic blue, pink, and purple flowers in the window boxes attached next to each doorway. She reminded Lucy of an exotic bird that had flown too close to a lightning storm. Once beautiful, that was clear. Now she had that look of someone who went through hell and lived to tell about it. Singed around the edges with a few fried circuits.

  “You’ll be Lucy, Katie’s friend?” she asked in a sweet-tea Southern accent. Her smile revealed yellowed teeth to match the Camelot sign. “I’m Dixie, your landlady.”

  The idea of living in a motel triggered a burst of anxiety. “Is this the house you’re renting me?”

  Lucy waved a hand toward the door where Dixie had emerged.

  “Oh, golly, no,” Dixie assured her.

  Lucy let out a breath.

  “This is mine. That ’uns yours.” Dixie gestured to the unit next door.

  Crap on a croissant.

  “Um, Dixie?” She smoothed her skirt with sweaty hands. “This can’t be right. Katie told me the house is, well, a house.”

  Dixie’s sweet tea manners soured. “That’s a house if I ever saw one. And the lease is signed, so no backin’ o
ut now. Here’s your key.” Dixie produced a glittering rhinestone Elvis keychain from her worn cardigan.

  Lucy swallowed hard and pasted a grin on her face. She struggled for words. “Thank you,” she said finally.

  She squeezed the King in her hand as Dixie padded along in front of her.

  The thin metal door opened to a room with dark wood paneling, lime green shag carpet, and an orange floral couch. A bouquet of bleach and industrial-strength Mr. Clean pierced the air inside.

  Double crap on a croissant. If she clicked her heels together three times, maybe a tornado would whisk her away.

  Dixie buzzed about the room, flicking on lights and opening thick, polyester curtains. “We all share the washer and dryer up at the community room. You’ll find the Coke machine there, too.”

  Lucy quietly tapped her sling-back heels together. Click. Click. Click.

  Nothing.

  “Wow, there’s a bit more space in here than I expected,” Lucy said, grasping for something, anything, to compliment. “And it’s…clean.”

  Dixie frowned. “Katie didn’t give us any problems. I expect the same from you.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Dixie moved through the room, fluffing the pillows on the couch. “That’ll be the kitchen, and over there’s your room. Bathroom is on the other side. Now, you’ll have to remember the air conditioner is a bit iffy sometimes. Call me. I’ll send my Jeff over to fix it.”

  Lucy attempted to keep up. “Jeff?”

  “My son lives across the way. He’ll come help with your bags.”

  The apartment was small, simple, clean…and ugly.

  Dixie headed for the kitchen and made herself comfortable in a metal chair at the Formica table. Boomerang designs stenciled in vibrant orange and yellow decorated the surface of both the chairs and the table. She retrieved a full pack of worn and crinkled cigarettes from her pocket, tapped one out, looked at it warily, and then slipped it back in. “Will you be on TV like Katie?”

  She hoped so. Someday. Mostly, she’d be behind the scenes. Where she’d always been. “No, I’m behind the camera this time. Producing.”

  “Whatever that means,” Dixie said blandly. “We sure were proud watching Katie on the TV each night. Made us feel like royalty having a real-life television star next door.” Dixie made a face at Lucy’s beat-up appearance. “You’ll want to clean up, I’m sure.”

  Her hot pink fingernails scrolled across the screen of her cell phone, and she lifted it to her ear. “Jeff, it’s your mother. Come help the new girl unload her bags.” She clicked the off button without waiting for a response.

  “Thank you.” Lucy inched toward the bathroom to clean up.

  Dixie hauled herself to her feet and headed for the door. The whole wall rattled when she closed it behind her.

  Lucy turned on the bath faucet and balanced on the edge of the tub. Warm water swirled at her feet as she peeled away the Band-Aid on her knee. With her skirt hiked to her thighs, she angled her body to rinse the debris free. Water poured down her leg, and a hiss formed on her lips. Her swollen knee looked as if a colorful plum had sprouted there. Glass had punctured her outer calf, and bits of skin had scraped off her shin. She wiped away the grime, refusing to focus on her deeply crushed pride.

  The tub drained while she patted her legs dry with a rough towel. With a resolution that the rest of the night would get better, she pinched color into her cheeks, ran a hand through her hair, and stepped out of the bathroom just as the chief of police she’d met at the gas station brought in the last of her bags. He caught her eye and grimaced.

  “You’re the handyman?” Lucy asked, dumbfounded.

  “I suppose so, yes. Although, I’ve never thought of myself like that.” He lifted the bags to the sofa. “I didn’t realize you were Katie’s friend.”

  The room appeared to be two sizes too small for him. The ceiling loomed an inch above his head, like Alice in Wonderland after the Eat Me cake.

  “I’ll just…unpack,” she said, anxious for him to leave.

  “Katie told me you could use a friend,” he said with unvarnished authority.

  Lucy began to reply when the door opened, and the full force of Dixie erupted into the room. “Everyone’s settled,” she said to Jeff before turning to Lucy. “Lizzie, our neighbor right next to you, died a week ago. She was only ninety-eight. Bless her heart. We got a new tenant there, too. Been a busy day ’round here.”

  “I’ll head over and meet her,” Jeff said.

  “Him,” Dixie corrected.

  “I’ll go welcome him to the neighborhood.” Jeff gave a curt nod to Lucy as he hunched to fit through the doorframe.

  “He’s handsome.” Dixie crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your neighbor.”

  “Well, that’s”—Lucy paused, searching for the right word—“nice.”

  “I know what happens when a good-lookin’ man and a woman live close together. I’m a God-fearing Christian lady, so no for-ni-ca-tion in my houses.” She finished with a withering stare.

  “I, uh, promise not to…fornicate.” The last word caught uncomfortably on Lucy’s lips.

  Dixie held her head high when she rambled from the house. She slammed the door, shaking the very foundation.

  Lucy moved a box to the kitchen where a breeze blew through the curtains above the stove. She opened a bag of trail mix and stuffed a handful in her mouth, sliding open the door to the tiny patio and stepping outside. Apparently, she shared the space with her neighbor—a very male neighbor with his own door wide open.

  He faced the opposite direction, which provided Lucy the opportunity to appreciate everything his gray sweatpants didn’t cover. She didn’t know a back could be ripped like that. The waistband of his pants hung low on defined hips that led down to a set of tight glutes worthy of Adonis. Right then, Lucy didn’t mind living in a tiny motel-apartment, and she should probably send Katie a formal thank-you card.

  He turned around, but her eyes stayed planted. Lucy didn’t frequent bars, but she knew abs like those played a key role in the invention of tequila body shots.

  “Hey, neighbor,” he said in a deep baritone.

  Her gaze moved up the length of his torso in a slow-motion scan and settled on his face. William.

  The trail mix she had swallowed stuck sideways in her throat. She pounded on her ribs with a fist to free the constriction and drew a stunted breath. Her belly did a little flip. She tried to say something but nothing came out.

  A cocky grin played across his face. “Enjoying your view?”

  “You can’t live here.” Her voice had an odd, high-pitched quality. Her heart rate kicked up, too, not helping the situation.

  “Can and do. Want to light up the grill later?”

  Yes, yes, she did. But, no. No, she wouldn’t. She was avoiding him. “Absolutely not. Because this is a dream, and you don’t live here.”

  “Got a lease says I do. Burger or brat?” He moved closer to the patio.

  She stepped back and shook her head. “Sorry, no. I have to unpack.”

  “Suit yourself. Jeff and Dixie are coming if you change your mind.”

  “Thank you, no. I have other plans.” With a pint of frozen yogurt and a cold shower.

  “Bummer, maybe next time.” The gentle way he said the words almost made her believe his disappointment was real.

  “Okee dokee then. Have fun.” Warmth flooded her cheeks. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her they’d become bright red beacons of embarrassment.

  “I’ll do that.” The edges of his lips lifted slightly.

  Lucy yanked the sliding door closed before he said anything more.

  She leaned against the glass, head in her hands. Avoiding William Covington had become exponentially more complicated.

  Chapter Three

  Lucy entered the tallest building in the downtown block and headed to the KDVX studio in the basement. The elevator slid open, and she
hit the switch to the hallway lights. Florescent bulbs flickered like something from a B-grade horror movie.

  She gritted her teeth. First one here.

  Of course she was the first one there. She had intentionally arrived thirty minutes before the morning shift to ensure she’d be ready for the show. Still, being the only one in the huge building chafed her nerves. No matter how many times she started a new job, the jitters set in. And given that she tended to move around a lot, she had loads of experience with first day tension. One thing she loved about journalism was that no one looked at her funny for bopping along to the next gig. Getting close to people meant they had the power to hurt her. So she moved along and never gave them that chance.

  A therapist would probably have a lot to say about her perpetual need to dig up her roots and haul them along to the next place. Hence the reason she didn’t go to counseling.

  The corridor loomed ahead as she hustled along. Dark hallways and corridors were not her friend.

  She swiped her keycard against the security panel. When the yellow light flashed to green, she pushed the door open from the hallway to the brightly lit reception area.

  “You’re early,” a man’s voice said.

  She sealed her lips closed against a scream. Her purse fell from her grip, and her knees froze in place.

  “Whoa.” A handsome guy about her age with dreadlocks emerged from around the corner.

  Come on, Lucy. Get it together.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you. Figured I’d get here first. Show you around.” He tucked a pen in the pocket of his designer jeans.

  Her heart rate continued to run a half-marathon on its own. Someday it would return to a normal pace, but probably not today.

  He dropped some papers on the reception desk and retrieved her purse from the floor. “I really am sorry I scared you, Lucille.”

  “Lucy. Everyone calls me Lucy. Well, not everyone. Most people.” She took her bag from him and slipped the strap over her shoulder.

  His kind eyes studied her. “You okay, Lucy?”

  “I’m fine. Sorry about that. I figured I was the first one here.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I’m Reuben, your director this morning and official KDVX tour guide.” He gestured for her to follow and held open another door for her to pass through. “Corporate offices are on the fifth floor. We operate independently so they mostly keep to themselves unless we screw up.”