Back Where I Belong: A Wonderfully Witty and Completely Absorbing Love Story (Susan Wade Series Book 3)

by Virginia Gray

  “Hey, Pete, you want a roommate?”

  “No,” he replied absently.

  I bristled. “What do you mean no?”

  “No, I don’t want a roommate.” Stretched out in his less than attractive recliner, he flipped the channel to yet another football game. He’d been doing that for the last hour, back and forth, back and forth. “Oh, Mona asked us over for dinner tonight. I told her yes.” Then he yawned. “Wake me up if I doze off.”

  “The cottage was necessary while the house was still under construction, but don’t you think it’s rather ridiculous paying rent for a place I never use?”

  Suddenly, he turned. “Are you suggestin’ we live in sin?” He honestly looked aghast.

  “We’re engaged, aren’t we?”

  “Engaged and married are two different things.” For a moment, I assumed he was kidding, but then he clicked off the television and gave me his full attention. “Here’s the deal: we live in a small community filled with my relatives. If we officially move in together, people are gonna talk.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t want your reputation damaged any more than it already is.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  He shook his head no, and I was momentarily rendered speechless.

  “Look, most of my things are already here. My closet’s full of clothes, and I haven’t slept in that cottage once in the last two months, and rarely before that. Why are you suddenly so concerned about my reputation?”

  “You’re an important businesswoman. Your reputation is all you’ve got. This kind of scandal could be a blow to business.”

  “Scandal?! Are you high? I work for a multinational corporation. Nobody gives a royal crap about my personal life. And as far as this ‘small community’ is concerned, half the people here already hate me. What is wrong with you?”

  He shook his head as if scolding a child. “What about your mother? I think it’d upset her to learn we’ve moved in together.”

  My jaw literally dropped. Bringing my mother into the conversation was inexcusable, and like pulling the pin from a grenade, my temper went live.

  “Fine.” I stomped up the stairs, marched into my—please note, my—closet, and began tossing belongings on the bed. Though silent as a cat, I knew he’d entered the room. “I tell you what,” I hissed, ripping blouses off their hangers and dropping them unceremoniously into an empty laundry basket. “If you’re so concerned about appearances, then I’ll just move back into my place, and you can ‘come calling’ there. How’s that?” I yanked open the dresser drawers and showered my blouses with lacy underwear and silk stockings. “We’ll sit on the porch swing, and one of your elderly relatives can supervise our visits. Hmm? That sound old-fashioned enough for you?”

  “That’d please Great Aunt Irma, I imagine.”

  “I’m sure it would. In fact, why don’t you bring her down next Sunday afternoon, and I’ll cook fried chicken and collard greens? Excuse me,” I said, brushing by him to retrieve my toiletries.

  Past the idiocy of it all, what particularly irked me was that Pete was in no way trying to coerce me into staying. He didn’t even seem to care that I was angry. Let me just say, if there was ever a relationship red flag, this was it. And at that moment, I realized I was actually too mad to even feel the burning hurt of what amounted to serious rejection. And this coming on the first anniversary of what he claimed to be my ultimate rejection.

  I wheeled out my largest piece of luggage and pelted the interior with my extraordinary collection of shoes and purses. Glancing over my shoulder, I found him casually leaning against the wall by the door, arms and ankles crossed.

  “And that means no sex, either, buddy. We don’t want people to talk!”

  After stuffing my workout clothes into the outside pockets, I zipped up my suitcase and glared at him as I passed by his completely unhelpful self. The wheels skipped in hopscotch fashion as I dragged it down the stairs. Jerking on the handle, I pulled it across the smooth cement driveway and popped open my trunk, shoving it inside with great force. I then marched back upstairs to retrieve the laundry basket.

  Pete was no longer in the bedroom. In fact, I had no idea to which part of our generous house he’d disappeared.

  “And I’m taking my lamp back!” I shouted, ripping the cord from the socket and balancing it precariously on top of my undergarments.

  Finally ready to go, I went in search of my purse—the one housing my cottage keys and driver’s license. I flew from room to room; it was nowhere to be found.

  “Pete, where’s my damned purse?”

  He had now resumed his earlier armchair-quarterback position in the great room and was flipping through stations as if my moving out was no big deal to him. “Did ya look on the island?” he answered. “That’s where you normally put it.”

  “Of course, I did.”

  “What about the table in the hall?”

  “What did you do with my purse, Pete?”

  “Susie-Q, the game’s on.”

  “Seriously?! I’m moving out, and all you’re concerned about is a stupid football game?”

  “The Steelers are playing.”

  “So?”

  “Against the Ravens…?”

  “You don’t care about either team. You don’t even like the Steelers!” This, too, was a point of contention between us, since Pittsburgh had once been an important part of my service region, and becoming a Steelers fan had basically been a job requirement. The broadcast went to commercial, and he flipped to the Seahawks game.

  I cast my eyes to heaven, and there it was, like a black leather ray of sunshine. My purse, its strap draped over one of the ceiling fan blades, dangled lifelessly as it made a hampered circuit. “Juvenile!” I spat.

  Since I was vertically challenged, I marched down to the foot of the stairs and retrieved the step-ladder from the utility closet. Echoing off the stairwell walls, the sportscaster’s voice rang out, “And the field goal is good! Green Bay now leads by seven.”

  “Oh, and by the way,” I shouted up to him, “we have the picture-in-picture feature on the fucking TV. Just click the damned remote button and you can watch five flippin’ games at once!”

  When I returned, slightly winded, Pete had disappeared again. Muttering mean things to myself, I climbed the ladder and rescued my purse, nearly launching myself over the couch in the process. Flying downstairs again, I yelled out, “Goodbye, asshole!”

  No retort.

  “I said, ‘goodbye!’”

  Still nothing.

  “Fine,” I grumbled, slamming the front door behind me. I looked up to find Myrtle, Pete’s prehistoric pickup truck, parked about six inches from my car’s bumper. And leaning against it, one Pete Walsh, wearing a smart-assed smile on his face.

  “Move that ugly piece of shit!”

  “Nope.”

  “Um, yep.”

  “You’re leavin’ me again?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Is this gonna be our September ritual?”

  “I’m not marrying a psychopath. Now move!”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re breakin’ up with me, too?”

  “I’m considering it.”

  “That’s a little extreme, don’t ya think?” His eyes glowed with anticipation.

  “Move. The. Truck,” I seethed.

  “No.”

  He crooked his finger, and I stomped to Myrtle’s tailgate. Less than a foot from him now, I could smell his delicious aroma. Refusing to be distracted, I crossed my arms and glowered. He inclined his head towards the bed. Rendered speechless for the second time in an hour, I realized it was filled to capacity with flattened cardboard boxes.

  I gasped. “Where did you get these?”

  “I saved ’em.” His eyes twinkled. “I’ve been wantin’ you to move in with me since the moment you came back.”

  “Then why didn’t you just ask?”

  “I was waitin’ for the right momen
t.”

  “Well, that ship just sailed.”

  Pete popped open my trunk and retrieved my suitcase. Then he climbed into the back seat to get my clothes.

  “Stop. I’m seriously moving out.”

  “You’re seriously not movin’ out. In fact, Jimbo and Mona are meetin’ us at the cottage to help pack up.”

  I whipped out my phone and pressed Mona’s contact picture.

  “Hey, Susan!” she chirped. “I’m just takin’ the cobbler out of the oven. Jimbo and I will be over there in about a half-hour.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m not moving in with Pete.”

  “You’re not? You said no when he asked you? I mean, I know I wouldn’t let Jimbo move in with me ’til after the weddin’, but, well, you and I have different, um…values.”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you calling me a whore?”

  “Gosh, Susan! How could you ever think that? I just meant—wait, y’all are still comin’ over for dinner, right?” She then dropped her voice. “If y’all are fightin’, we’ll understand, ’course.”

  “You people are freaks! You’re all freaks—every single one of you.” I killed the call and narrowed my eyes at Pete. “You were going to ask me?”

  He nodded.

  “When exactly was this going to take place?”

  “This morning, but I got distracted. I thought it would maybe erase this…” he frowned deeply and looked at his feet, “anniversary.”

  “Why does everything have to be theater with you?”

  Meeting my eyes, he smiled broadly. “’Cause one of my favorite things in this world is watchin’ you throw a fit.”

  He removed a small box from his pocket and placed it in my hand. Untying the bow, I lifted the lid. “A keychain?” It was a little plastic surfboard—the tacky, souvenir sort. He’d even managed to find one with my name on it. The keys dangling from it were to the front and side doors.

  His expression suddenly—weirdly—became an odd mixture of hope and sincerity. “Live with me,” he said simply.

  Still quite ruffled, I didn’t respond right away.

  His gaze intensified. “I want ya to move in. Move into our house, formally.”

  “What about my reputation?” I sneered.

  “Sweetheart, your reputation couldn’t be any more tarnished if ya rubbed it in coal dust.” I snorted. “But truly, I can’t bear knowin’ you could easily pack up and leave anytime.” He glanced helplessly at my suitcase. “I want ya in a way I can’t explain.”

  Well, that did it. I launched myself into his arms. “You’re an ass.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Well, I promised the cottage to my new secretary, so if I say no, I’ll be homeless as of next weekend.”

  Taking my face in his hands, he whispered, “I love you so much.” Then he kissed me very deeply.

  Slightly panting, I stepped back and said, “It’s quite possible I’m still mad at you.”

  “I can live with that.”

  4

  Lighthouse

  I met Jayne on the steps of the cottage. “How was your trip?”

  “Wonderful. I drove the scenic coastal routes, cut through the Outer Banks, and took the ferry from Ocracoke. I’d forgotten just how beautiful this part of the country is.”

  “It is that. Well, here are the keys. I’m so glad you decided to rent the place. It was a brief refuge when I moved back. It’s small, but hopefully, it will suit you until you find something more permanent. The neighbors are very nice, if not overly friendly.”

  I chuckled, remembering the weekend Pete had moved me in and the three pies that had arrived shortly thereafter. “After living in Philly, this will be a big change. I mean, you can actually hear the birds,” I said, shaking my head at the squawking gull overhead. “If you’d like, I can give you a tour.”

  “Sure,” she said, her eyes sweeping the porch’s blue wainscot ceiling and then its plank floor.

  “You can see the water from here and from the bedroom window upstairs. I realize the town is tiny, but it’s charming—sort of, and really quite safe. I think our crime rate is actually zero.”

  She glanced at the pink crepe myrtle shrub, blooming abundantly as if in proud welcome. “I know I’m going to be happy here.”

  I’d opened the windows to air out the rooms, vacuumed, and even replaced the dead ferns in the hanging pots. Evening was rapidly approaching, and the sun had begun bleeding through the billowing gossamer curtains, making them glow.

  “I love those,” she remarked, stepping into the living room, such as it was.

  “You’re welcome to keep them. They actually came with the house, and I thought they were too romantic to replace.” I didn’t even know this woman, but in truth, I wanted her to love it here. If her heart’s desire was to live at the coast, then I wanted it realized.

  “The breeze is wonderful.”

  “Isn’t it? Especially this time of year.” Surprisingly, I was feeling a touch sentimental. While I wasn’t here all that often, this tiny space had meant something to me. I showed her my old bedroom, the bath, the kitchen, and the tiny backyard, finally ending up at the little iron fence.

  “There’s a good local restaurant in Morehead City called Sanitary Fish Market. You probably passed it on your way here. The name’s rather odd, but it’s got a nice selection of fresh, local seafood. Oh, and there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge for you.” I stuck out my hand, and we shook. “Drink to your new life.”

  “My new life,” she mused.

  “Nice car, by the way,” I said, before climbing into my little Audi.

  She ran her hand over the top of her 700-series convertible BMW. “I just bought it.”

  “Really?” That would put a crater in anyone’s bank account.

  As if reading my mind, she explained, “I’ve been saving for a new car for some time.”

  I sighed. “I used to own a Beemer. I loved that car.” Then I shivered at the thought of how we’d parted. “Well, I’ll see you Monday.”

  ♥

  “Jayne Balbach. Jayne with a y,” she added as she shook Mona’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Mona Skarren. Mona’s spelled the usual way, I s’pose.”

  “Mrs. Skarren is our district acquisitions supervisor. She knows everything, so don’t hesitate to ask her,” I interjected.

  “I will. Thanks.” She smiled warmly at Mona.

  “Jayne, in this building, I’m somewhat informal. Occasionally, I’ll yell to you rather than use the intercom. Just a heads-up.”

  “She yells a lot,” Mona said, giggling.

  “Also, I get my own coffee.”

  She nodded. “As you wish.”

  Mona touched her elbow. “Come on, I’ll show ya around and introduce ya to everyone.” I hid my smile, knowing Jayne would be shown every single square inch of the building.

  “Well, she seems nice,” Mona said, during our private coffeetime later that day. I hadn’t yelled even once thus far and was quite proud of myself for it. “She’s settled right in like she’s been workin’ here for years.”

  “And competent. You should see her file,” I remarked.

  Mona tilted her head to one side, doing her best bird imitation. “Do ya think we ought to take her over to the Frog after work, so she can meet everybody?”

  “Absolutely. But let’s warn her first. My introduction was rather a shock.” I smiled, remembering my distrust of Mona at the time, and the absolute hole the Frog was—still was. Then of meeting Pete. My smile grew wider. It was the night that would forever change my life.

  ♥

  Some say there’s such a thing as love at first sight: a zing, a rush of uncontrollable feelings, the ground moving beneath your feet. Pete swears it was that way for him, except for the ground moving part, which he explained away as the result of me stomping my foot. I’d always assumed the myth was really just a load of romantic crap men thought women wanted to hear, but less than twenty minutes ago, the l
egend had manifested itself before my very eyes.

  Mona and I had escorted Jayne to the corner card table and introduced her to the regulars. I had warned her, as Mona had me the first time I’d met Billy, Vic Jr., and the rest, that she might feel a little overwhelmed.

  As was their custom, they immediately stood, snatched off their military ball caps, shook her hand politely, and then stated their name, rank, and serial number. And that’s when it happened; lightning struck Joe Pat.

  Absently smoothing back his hair, his jaw worked to form words that weren’t coming. Even more amusing was the fact that he simply couldn’t tear his eyes away from her or let go of her hand.

  “Um, Joe?” I said.

  He shook his head as if to clear it, and then slapped on a mildly bewildered grin. “Awfully nice to meet you, Miss Jayne. I’m Joe Pat. I work over at the base.”

  “Cherry Point?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “My father was stationed there when I was young.”

  “Is that so? Well, if you’d like, I can sure arrange a tour.”

  Her face lit. “I’d like that very much.”

  A huge grin swept across his stubble-roughened landscape. “If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll call ya to set one up.” Slick.

  After a full-blown Spanish Inquisition, one in which Joe Pat’s amorous stare never wavered, Jayne pulled a cigarette from her purse. “Could someone pass me an ashtray?”

  Snickering, I said, “Jayne, though most things here may never change, a few have. This is, in fact, a nonsmoking bar, but you’re welcome to go on the front porch or the back deck.”

  “I’ll show you the way,” Joe said, standing so quickly his chair fell over.

  “That would be great, Joe. Nice meeting you all,” Jayne said pleasantly. Her eyes found Joe’s again, and a secret smile crept across her lips. He fished out his lighter and escorted her towards the back. While holding the door, his eyes swept over her backside, and he smiled slyly.

  “Holy shit! Did y’all see that?” Buddy Williams exclaimed.