Forever Starts Now

by London, Stefanie

  They giggled when they caught him looking, and quickly turned away, only to peer back over a second later.

  “I never asked for any of this attention,” he said. “I wanted to come here, go about my business, and eat my eggs in peace. If there was something I could do to blend in, then I would absolutely do it.”

  …

  Monroe knew she should be doing other things than verbally sparring with Ethan. Between the “surprise, you’re still married” notice, the threat of her ex coming back to town, being run off her feet for minimal sales and her irritating, unwanted and unappreciated attraction to the mysterious Ethan, she was ready to call it a day.

  Maybe she should just give up on small-town life and move to the woods to become one of those weird, off-grid people. She could hide away the rest of her life and live off nuts and foraged berries…or something.

  Yeah, and then you’d eat the wrong thing and die alone in the middle of nowhere. Great idea, genius.

  “Well, when you look the way you do…” Monroe gestured to the arresting, masculine glory standing in front of her and made a huffing sound. “People will look. It’s human nature.”

  “Is that your very roundabout way of saying you think I’m hot?” He grinned. “Thought I wasn’t your type.”

  Oh dear, blush incoming. Unfortunately for Monroe, being a freckly redhead didn’t make for a cute, pink-cheeked type of blush, either. Oh no. Transitioning into a full-on lobster face in three, two, one…

  “It’s not about my personal taste,” she said, fully aware that she sounded about as legit as a shady man wearing a trench coat on a street corner. “It’s biological. You’re very…symmetrical.”

  “Thank you?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not a compliment, just a fact. And as much as I hate to say this about my fellow townsfolk, there’s not a lot of husband material for those looking for it. Which means you”—she pointed at him—“are filling a need.”

  “It’s hard not to make an inappropriate joke right now.” The corner of his lip twitched. “But the last thing I came here for is romantic attention.”

  “While you’re single, you’ll be of interest.”

  Or even if you weren’t single. Some people around here didn’t consider that to be a barrier to entry.

  Speaking of inappropriate jokes.

  “I’ve got unfinished business here, so I won’t be leaving for a while.”

  She should want his unfairly attractive ass somewhere else, so she could go back to having a half-empty diner of people actually willing to order a meal. That way she could at least work on getting the right kind of customers in. But Monroe couldn’t find it in herself to actually wish that he’d leave.

  “I’m just telling it like it is,” she said with a shrug. “You’re a little too good at playing the mysterious traveler.”

  “You think I’m stoking people’s attention on purpose?” He snorted. “I’m not.”

  “Well then let me give you some friendly advice,” Monroe said, patting him on the arm and then immediately regretting it. Were those biceps made of pure stone? She’d bet he could swing a hammer with ease. Stop it. “Don’t make it so easy for people to find you.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but this town isn’t much bigger than a postage stamp. There aren’t too many places to hide.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said, hating herself for feeling so damn intrigued by him. “Why are you creeping around with an ulterior motive, anyway? You’re not here as a tourist and as far as I’ve heard, nobody knows who you really are.”

  “First I’m making it too easy for people to find me and now I’m creeping around? Seems mighty contradictory to me.”

  Monroe could tell she’d struck a nerve. Ethan was definitely here with a purpose, and damn if she didn’t want to know what it was.

  You want to be distracted from your own shitty problems, that’s all.

  “Dodging the question?” she said with a nod. “Interesting.”

  “Why is it your business? I get the impression you’d be pissed if someone demanded to know what you were doing with your life and why you have such a visceral reaction to the M-word.”

  “I wouldn’t be pissed, because everybody around here knows why I have such a visceral reaction to the M-word,” she said flatly. “Let me catch you up: my ex was a cheating scumbag screwing around with my cousin. They left town together and now half my family doesn’t talk to the other half.”

  Both his brows shot up in surprise. “People are assholes.”

  In spite of her bad mood, Monroe found herself laughing. “Ain’t that the truth. I always preferred dogs to people, personally.”

  “Me too.”

  Something passed between them, a strange connection and a thread of understanding. She might not know what brought him here, but the man had come with more baggage than just the ones carrying his clothes. They were both a bit broken, both walled-off and untrusting of the world. It felt nice to find someone else like that—someone who wouldn’t judge her for being wary. For being a little prickly.

  God, the amount of times she’d had advice from the kindly old women around here that she should smile more and wear some lipstick if she wanted to hook a man…

  What was the point? Hooking a man wasn’t the hard part. It was sorting the good ones from the bad.

  “So are you going to get rid of the keep-out sign?” he teased in that delicious accent of his. “I’m happy to sit in the kitchen again if it will make your life easier. You can hide me away like a dirty little secret.”

  The words sent a tremor of longing through her. It had been so very long since she’d indulged in a man, so very long since she’d used her body for pleasure instead of practicality and necessity. So very long since her heart had beaten for anything more than keeping her alive.

  But looking up into the crystalline clear blue eyes of the man in front of her, Monroe felt her heart beat just a little harder than normal. Thump-thump.

  “No need,” she said, gesturing to the booth he liked that no one else wanted to sit in. “Take a seat. You want the usual?”

  “Whatever you’re serving is fine by me.”

  Monroe tried to ignore the innuendo in his voice, but the way he was looking at her made all the bad stuff of the last few days melt away. She had to remember, though, flirting with Ethan was like trying to stick a Band-Aid on a shotgun wound. It wouldn’t fix a damn thing.

  Chapter Six

  A sharp knock at his door drew Ethan’s attention, and he paused the Sugar Coated episode playing on his screen. Monroe was in the middle of a “mystery pantry” challenge, which involved her having to make a cake with two traditionally savory ingredients.

  “Coming.” He got off his bed and went to the door. Lottie was waiting outside, arms folded across her chest. She looked pissed. “Everything okay?”

  “I heard you were poking around the funeral home today,” she said. “Word is getting around.”

  Dammit. Had that woman told everybody where he was? Ethan had spent his fair share of the past year in smaller towns—not to mention growing up in one back home—but the speed and fury with which gossip traveled in this town was mind boggling.

  Ethan didn’t say anything. He figured if Lottie had a question then that was on her to ask it. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  She narrowed her sharp blue eyes at him. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “Did you ask me a question? Because I didn’t hear one.” He held his ground.

  Ethan had spent the better part of his career dealing with egos—it was a natural part of consulting. It tended to attract ambitious, smart, Type-A folks who were used to being the most accomplished person in the room. Wrangling a group of people like that took a few specials skills, namely the ability to stand your ground and the patience to let t
he other person show their hand before you showed yours.

  Information was power, Ethan had learned. And that went double for personal information.

  “I won’t tolerate disrespect in my house,” Lottie said, her voice hard as steel. “And I count the inn as my home.”

  “I’m not trying to be disrespectful,” Ethan replied. “But as much as I appreciate that, I also don’t tolerate people digging into my personal matters. So if you can see your way to respecting my boundaries, then I will do everything in my power to respect yours.”

  Lottie eyed him with reluctant acceptance. “You’ve got a way with words for a country boy.”

  “What makes you think I’m a country boy?” He’d barely told Lottie anything about himself, because she hadn’t asked. When he’d turned up looking for a room and she’d offered a trade—a bed to sleep on in exchange for his hard-working hands—he’d readily agreed. But it wasn’t like he’d brought a resume with him.

  “You think a city boy knows how to chop wood the way you do?” She made a sound of disbelief. “Trust me, I lived in the city for a while and no suit-wearing, pasty-ass office dweller can do half the things you’ve done for me around here.”

  Ethan scrubbed a hand over his face, trying not to laugh because he had a genuine fear that Lottie May would clip his ears for doing so. “Right.”

  “You might have lived in the city, but you grew up some place small. You’ve worked with your hands.”

  Yeah, he’d done his share of work around his parents’ property when he was a kid. But most of the scars on his hands had come from building computers and pulling apart other electronic devices to learn how they worked. He was a kid always with a screwdriver and a tube of thermal paste in his possession, and he’d made his money fixing up his mate’s PCs so they could run better games without dishing out the excessive cash for new parts.

  “That I have,” Ethan confirmed.

  “Then you know there are no such thing as secrets in a small town,” she said. “Just the time between now and the point that somebody finds out what you’re trying to hide.”

  “You think I’m hiding something?” He remained cool as a spring breeze.

  “Follow me. You and I are going to have a talk.”

  Lottie started down the hallway to the stairs, without looking back to see if he would do what she’d demanded. Sighing, Ethan closed the bedroom door and locked it behind him, pocketing the key as he followed Lottie downstairs.

  To his surprise, she bypassed the kitchen and went straight into her office, which was a small space behind the reception area in the foyer. Inside, there was little more than a desk, a filing cabinet, and two chairs jammed inside. Lottie reached down into a cupboard below the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing at one of the chairs.

  Ethan lowered himself down and watched as Lottie poured two fingers of liquor into the glasses. She slid one across the desk to him and then held hers up in a brief salute before taking a long sip.

  “Why are you trying to find Matthew Brewer?”

  Okay, so they weren’t beating around the bush. Duly noted. “Why do you want to know?”

  “That boy never did a thing except cause people pain and I want to know why someone like yourself, who seems to have their head screwed on properly, is looking for someone like that.”

  Ethan’s mind whirred. For a moment, he was tempted to tell Lottie the truth—but something held him back. She’d clearly known this Matthew Brewer, and had been hurt by him somehow. Family, maybe? The guy at the funeral home said both his parents were dead. Maybe she was an aunt, or a cousin.

  “How did you know him?”

  Lottie knocked back the rest of her whiskey. “That’s not how this works, son. You don’t get to ask all the questions.”

  “I think he had a relationship with my mother, and I’m looking for some letters that she sent to him.” Ethan followed Lottie’s lead and knocked his drink back. “She’s dead and I’ve got nothing left of her. I was hoping to track the letters down and take them home with me.”

  Lottie refilled both their glasses, her eyes flicking back and forth as if she was trying to work something out. “If your mother did know Matthew, then I’m sorry for her.”

  “Why?”

  “He was a bad egg, that boy. Always drinking, always causing trouble. Everybody around here knew him for mouthing off and picking fights.” Lottie placed her glass down with a thunk. “You won’t find anybody to say something good about him, and far as I know all his stuff is gone. His poor mother had to clear his house out after they found him dead and then she died a year later herself. Broken heart can kill a person, you know.”

  Questions danced on the tip of his tongue, all competing for attention.

  “I don’t even know if this is the right Matthew Brewer,” Ethan admitted. “I’ve been all over this bloody country, hunting down dead men with that name.”

  “Seems a lot of effort for some old letters,” Lottie said.

  “My mother is worth it.”

  A lump lodged in the back of his throat—thinking about his mum now always brought up a storm of emotions. Grief, anger, aching loss, and love. Still underneath it all and after everything she’d done, there was love. He didn’t know how to reconcile the kind and effervescent woman who’d raised him with the lies she’d told him since birth.

  “Then I hope you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Lottie said.

  “You knew him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “His mother was a dear friend and I hated that little sonofabitch from the day he started breaking her heart.” She stared at him across the table. “I don’t want to see you wasting your time, Ethan. Those letters, if they ever existed, are long gone.”

  Something told him that Lottie wasn’t telling the whole truth. But he wasn’t going to push his luck tonight. When the ghost tours place was open, he could get a second opinion from the contact that the funeral home had provided him.

  In the meantime, he needed to find out how he could go about getting information without every man and their dog watching his every move. For some reason, his mind drifted to his earlier conversation with Monroe.

  She seemed to know how things worked around here. Maybe they could come to some kind of arrangement that would suit them both.

  …

  Monroe was at her wits’ end. The diner was packed again and nearly every table had been sitting there for a minimum of two hours, guzzling free coffee refills and barely ordering a damn thing. Didn’t these people have jobs? If Jacob could see what was going on, he’d probably slap a “for sale” sign right over the door without giving her another minute to fix it.

  She had to do something.

  Surviving on barely any sleep, thanks to the mounting stress from both the diner and her divorce situation, she’d consumed more coffee than was healthy for one person and her nerves were critically frayed. Even Big Frank wouldn’t come near her, which was saying something.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked as she stopped by a table with two women in their early twenties.

  “I don’t suppose if you know what time he’s coming in?” one of them asked.

  “Who?” Monroe asked.

  “The Australian guy. It’s Ethan, right? I wonder if he’s related to the Hemsworths—maybe like a cousin or something? There’s no way those similarities happen by accident.” She looked at Monroe as if anticipating agreement. “It’s genetics.”

  “He doesn’t have a reservation,” Monroe answered with a sigh. Then she looked at the half-empty coffee cups and barely touched pastry which was all of two dollars toward the day’s targets. This would not do at all. “And this is a diner, not a museum.”

  The young woman frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Monroe stopped hers
elf from saying what she really wanted to say—which was that people filling seats without buying anything were killing the business. Instead, she decided to take a more tactful approach. “People come here to eat and relax, not to have everyone staring at them.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s seeing someone.” That was a total lie, but the women deflated and pulled out their wallets. Bingo! Maybe she’d just tell all the customers he was already spoken for and then they’d free up the tables so Monroe could concentrate on keeping the Sunshine Diner alive.

  After the women cleared out, taking the pastry to-go, Monroe was wiping the table down when Ethan walked through the door and she felt something snap inside her.

  “Out!” she demanded.

  “Are you trying to kick me out again?” he asked, looking at her with his intense blue eyes.

  “I’m not trying, I’m doing.”

  His jaw ticked and she got the impression he didn’t like being on the back foot. “I don’t care where we are, anyway. We don’t have to be in the diner to have this conversation.”

  “You came here to talk to me?” She kept her face neutral, because she didn’t want Ethan to know just how intrigued she was by him. Against her will, against her better judgment. Against the lessons she’d learned.

  Most other guys would have taken off by now, rubbed the wrong way by her brash and forthright personality. But not him. Sure, Big Frank’s eggs were good but…well, there were plenty of other places to eat.

  Why did he keep coming back?

  “You and I have a problem,” he said.

  “And that is…?”

  “What did you call me?” He scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “The Pied Piper?”

  “That sounds a whole lot like a you problem.”

  “Ah, but if I keep coming here then it’s an us problem.” He grinned and Monroe wanted to wipe the self-confident look off his face. “Which means there might be an us solution.”