She was a force to behold.
“I watched an episode or two,” he said, sipping his wine and hoping that she didn’t hear the lie of omission in his voice.
Monroe put her fingers to her temple and rubbed in circles. “Look, the baking competition was something fun. Call it a bucket list item.”
“But you said you had dreams of opening your own bakery.”
“It was all for the cameras,” she said, shaking her head. “None of it was true.”
…
Except it was.
Thinking back to that time was like thinking about another person. Monroe remembered the way her stomach tumbled and turned as they’d filmed the first round of auditions. She remembered the little handwritten affirmation she’d stuffed into the pocket of her dress—I am smart, I am talented, I take risks.
The words seemed strange to her now, almost like they were written in another language. Because Monroe wasn’t the person who took risks anymore. She wasn’t someone who used her talents and she certainly wasn’t someone who considered herself smart anymore. Brendan had proven quite the opposite about her.
“Really?” Ethan looked doubtful.
He sat across the table from her with all his movie-star good looks. She was acutely aware of how the people around them looked at him, gravitating like flies to honey, though in a place like this, no one dared approach their table. His blond hair was a little long—like he hadn’t bothered to have it cut in a while—and it curled around his ears. His blue eyes stood out against the inky black sweater hugging his muscled torso and the silver links of a bracelet peeked out from his wrist on one side.
“Really,” Monroe lied. “Those reality shows are pretty scripted. They often had us say things a few times, prompting us with particular wording so they could get the soundbite they wanted.”
That was true, at least.
“I always wondered that,” Ethan said with a nod. He reached for a bread roll that sat in a small basket between them and tore it open so he could swipe some butter on. Monroe did the same. “No ambitions for your baking talents, then?”
“It’s more of a hobby. I make cakes for family and friends. ”
“Tell me about the last cake you made.” Ethan leaned back in his chair, cradling his wine, his blue eyes sharp and intelligent. Why did his question feel like a trap?
“Why would you want to know that?”
“Baking interests me. I tried it one time, but my muffins came out like rocks and I never tried again.”
Monroe laughed. “You probably over-mixed the batter.”
“Go on,” he encouraged. “Humor me.”
“The last cake I made was for my younger sister’s engagement party. She’s getting married next year, and she and her fiancé have a unique style. They’re both tattoo artists. So I did a devil’s cake in three tiers, with black fondant. Then I hand-painted some of their favorite tattoo designs on in an edible UV-activated food paint so that it glowed in the dark. She also loves piñata-style cakes, so I filled the cake with her favorite candy. It was cool actually, because all the candy was brightly colored and the cake was totally black when the lights were on, so when she cut into it all this rainbow spilled out.”
Monroe grinned at the memory. Her sister had been absolutely delighted.
“Sounds cool.”
“It really was.” Monroe sipped her wine. “We even did miniature cupcakes in the same devil’s cake batter with a black frosting made using buttercream mixed with activated charcoal.”
She bit down on her lip, aware that her voice had been getting higher and faster like it always did whenever she talked about her cakes. Baking was the only thing in the world that made her feel like she was good at something. Sometimes, when she was feeling low, she’d make an entire batch of cupcakes and spend an hour frosting them and fussing with all the little decorative details…only to then drop them off at one of her sisters’ places because she couldn’t stand the sight of them.
Really, it was more that she couldn’t stand thinking about what they represented: lost opportunities. Discarded dreams. Failure.
“And what do I need to know about you?” she asked, turning the attention away from herself. “You’re looking for your dad?”
Ethan sucked on the inside of his cheek for a moment, as if trying to figure out just how much he wanted to share. “Yeah. That’s not the story I’m telling people, though.”
“Okay, so what are you telling people?”
“That my mother died and I found letters from a man who lived in America. I’m trying to track him down so I can get the letters my mother wrote him, because I need some closure on her death.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Truth is that when my mother was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer, I took a leave of absence from my job to help out at home. That’s when she told me that the man I thought was my father wasn’t actually my father.”
Monroe gasped. “She lied to you all that time?”
“My whole life.” He ground the words out, the muscles in his jaw ticking like she was trying to turn them to dust. “I lived with the man I called Dad and it turned out he wasn’t related to me by blood. And my brother was only my half brother.”
The words reached into Monroe’s chest and wrenched something that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Did you find out why?”
“All she said was that being with my real father was a mistake and she didn’t want me to know anything but love.”
“But how is lying love?” It stirred up all the feelings of betrayal and hurt and shock that Monroe had felt when she stumbled on Brendan and Amber’s affair. She knew what he was going through. Intimately.
“It isn’t. It’s selfishness.” He shook his head. “All I know is that my real father is dead…supposedly.”
“Do you believe that?”
He let out a humorless chuckle. “Well, I don’t have much else to go on. So I have to believe it, otherwise I’d be widening my search by God knows how much. I have to think if she told me the truth in the end, there would be no point lying about that one detail.”
“Makes sense.”
“I want to be able to poke around and find out what I need to find out without people watching my every move, you know?” For a moment he looked truly pained and Monroe could see the toll this information had taken on him. “I left everything behind to come here and find out if I have any family. I left my job, my house, my…”
He shook his head.
“I’ll help you,” Monroe said, the words shooting out of her before she even had time to think about the consequences. And there were consequences. She shouldn’t be getting mixed up in other people’s business when she had her own things to worry about.
Like her father’s health. Like her not-quite-divorce. Like stopping her boss from selling the diner.
But something told her that a good deed wouldn’t go astray, and despite the drama that Ethan had unwittingly caused, he seemed like a good person.
“I’ve lived here my whole life. I might know a thing or two to push you in the right direction.” She nodded. “I can’t promise anything, but you never know what piece of information might be critical.”
“Thank you.” Ethan’s gaze captured hers across the table, the candle flickering in her periphery.
Something shifted in her stomach, like a piece of her shell had broken free and allowed her to feel the excited flutter she thought had died long ago. It was far too easy to be enraptured by a handsome, mysterious man. Far, far too easy.
But Monroe knew she could hold herself in check—after all, denying herself was what she did best.
Chapter Nine
Ethan and Monroe had agreed to meet the following day in the town square, so they could be seen together and so they could talk more about Ethan’s father. Not long after their food had arrived last night, t
he restaurant had gotten quite full thanks to a large group that requested several tables to be pushed together. They’d sat close to Ethan and Monroe, and so they’d decided to keep their conversation light, in case anyone could overhear them.
The day was gray and chilly, and Ethan zipped his coat right up and tucked his chin inside the thick fabric. But he didn’t mind the cold. In fact, there was something about being on the coast when it was frigid and damp that he liked. Maybe it was the juxtaposition to what people thought a beach should look like. Or maybe it was simply the rugged beauty of waves thrashing against the shore and the ripple of silver clouds across the sky.
It reminded him of his childhood—the quiet stretch of winter when all the tourists were gone and he could find himself alone on the beach. He used to go there to think, especially after an argument with his father.
He’s not your father.
That was a complicated thought. Because Ivan Hammersmith was the man who’d provided for him all his childhood. He had raised Ethan. He’d taught him how to ride a bike and how to troubleshoot issues with his car and how to pour a beer properly. But he was also the man who’d mocked Ethan’s need for time alone and who never showed an interest in any of his hobbies.
They were very different people. Too different, in some ways.
The worst thing about hearing the truth about his birth was not that he felt devastated—though he absolutely did—but that he felt like his life finally made sense.
“Ethan!” Monroe held her hand up in a wave as she jogged over to him. Her beautiful red hair was a splash of color against the otherwise muted surrounding. She wore a light gray knitted beanie, fitted jeans tucked into some sturdy boots, and a charcoal wool coat with a black and white checked scarf. “You’re early.”
He looked at his watch. “So are you.”
“Punctuality is next to godliness,” she quipped.
“I thought that was cleanliness?” He laughed.
“Probably.” She shrugged. “Although I feel like one shouldn’t need encouragement to keep up with their personal hygiene, right? That should be a given.”
“Agreed.”
The Forever Falls town square was a small square, with old-fashioned cobblestones on the ground and a huge, naked tree towering in the middle. There were a few buds that had started to sprout, hinting at the greenery soon to come. A monument sat next to it—well, maybe calling it a monument was a stretch. It was a small statue atop a podium that came up roughly to hip height on Ethan, and it depicted a plump seagull standing on one leg.
“What’s with the bird statue?” Ethan asked, wandering over to it.
“Oh, that’s Goldie.” Monroe followed him, keeping her hands shoved into her pockets. “The unofficial mascot of Forever Falls.”
An inscription on the statue read: Our beloved Goldie, who loved to eat and entertain. Thank you for putting a smile on all our faces. Love, the townsfolk of Forever Falls. RIP.
“The story is that a local man thought he had found some rare golden bird. He came across this injured bird in a side street, and the feathers were a bright yellow-gold color. Being an avid birdwatcher, he thought he had discovered some new species and was convinced that he was going to have the discovery named after him.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s not how it panned out?”
“Uh no.” Monroe wrinkled her nose in amusement. “Turns out it was a regular old seagull who’d fallen into a vat of curry. A local restaurant was preparing for an open-air summer food festival and someone forgot to close the lid right before they transported it to the venue. Seagull fell in and they had to toss the whole thing.”
“So the gold bird was just a curry-coated seagull?” Ethan snorted. “That’s wild.”
“Yep. The guy who found her took her to a vet and they got her all cleaned up, but the color didn’t all come out. Turmeric, apparently. She got less colorful as her feathers turned over, but legend has it she never lost her golden sheen. Or at least, that’s what people say.” Monroe shrugged. “I was a kid when this all happened. But you’d often see Goldie around town. She was very friendly, and liked to follow the man who saved her, since he fed her. They used to have lunch together down on the boardwalk.”
“Forever Falls, place with a funny name and a funnier mascot.”
“That’s right. Considering we don’t actually have a waterfall or anything like it around here, it’s a strange choice. But there are definitely worse places to live.” The two of them set off in search of the fancy place that made good coffee. Not that Ethan would disparage the diner’s coffee, but it certainly wasn’t a reason to go there in and of itself.
“Have you ever thought about moving away?” Ethan asked as they headed into the Main Street Cafe, where there was already a short line forming despite it being earlier on a Sunday morning. A few people glanced in their direction, curiosity evident, but thankfully people left them alone.
“No.” Monroe stared straight ahead. “This is my home.”
“People leave their homes all the time,” he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. They shuffled forward in the line.
“Not me,” she replied stubbornly. “My family is here and that’s what’s most important to me in the world. I would never abandon them.”
She seemed to realize the implications of her words and cringed, looking at him from the corner of her eye to see if he was watching her. He was.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that as a slight against your personal decisions. It seems your situation is a little different to mine.”
He grunted. “You can say that again.”
They ordered their coffees and headed back out into the crisp morning air. The sun had started peeking through the clouds and it already felt a few degrees warmer. Monroe pulled her beanie off and stuffed it into one pocket as they walked up the street. The quaint old shopfronts had a storybook look about them—narrow and colorful, like spines on a shelf. They had an old-fashioned barber and a gift store and a fancy paper shop with expensive-looking fountain pens in the window. Most of the shops were still closed, operating on off-season hours.
“So, what do you know about your dad?” Monroe asked. Their steps fell in time and despite everything in Ethan’s life being so not the norm, he felt comfortable around her…like she genuinely wasn’t judging him.
“Not a lot,” he admitted. “As I said last night, I believe my mother when she says that he’s dead. I imagine he would have been around her age—so sixty-something, maybe late fifties if he was a bit younger. Apparently he was from a small town, originally.”
“Name?”
“Matthew Brewer.” Ethan sipped his coffee. “Which is a name that’s common as hell, it turns out.”
He noticed the lack of reaction beside him—but not a lack of reaction indicating she didn’t know the name. More a lack of reaction indicating she knew exactly who Matthew Brewer was and she didn’t want to say a thing. He stopped, so he could look at her more closely.
“You know him.” It wasn’t a question.
Her tongue darted out to run across her bottom lip, like she was biding her time. But Monroe didn’t have a stellar poker face by any means, and the wariness in her eyes was telling. “Uh, yeah. This is a small place, so lifers tend to know one another.”
“What are you not saying?”
Her eyes dropped to the ground and she sucked in a breath. “I hope for your sake he’s not your dad.”
Hmm, so she seemed to have a similar impression of him that Lottie did. Interesting.
“Bad news?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “He got into fights a lot. Most Saturday nights he’d end up getting kicked out of one place or another. You know the kind of guy who is basically always on the radar of law enforcement? That kind of guy.”
Stellar.
“Sounds
like a model citizen,” Ethan said drily.
“Like I said, I hope it’s not who you’re looking for.”
“What about his family?”
“I don’t know much about them. We steered clear of him, to be honest. Although his mom always seemed like a nice lady. She used to come into the diner sometimes with her friends—the lady that runs the inn, Lottie May, and another woman, Maura Michaels.”
Maura Michaels. That was a new name.
“Who is Maura?”
“She worked at Harris Beech college, over in Kissing Creek. Some sort of admin position. But she passed away a couple of years back.”
“Is everybody dead?” The words were out before he could even think about how callous it sounded.
Monroe shrugged. “That tends to happen in a town where more than half the people are retirement age and older.”
Ethan sighed. “Sorry, it’s just…every time I find something it feels like another dead end. No pun intended.”
“Hey, no judgment here. I say blunt crap all the time.” Monroe cradled her coffee between both hands and offered an understanding smile.
“Was his father ever around?” Ethan asked.
“I always knew Mrs. Brewer as living on her own.” Monroe’s gaze drifted into the distance like she was thinking about something. “You might want to try some of the guys he used to roll with.”
“I got the name Brian McPhee from the funeral home.”
Monroe nodded. “Yep, and you could also talk to the guy who runs the metal workshop just outside town. His name’s Mike.”
“Thank you.” Another name on the list was a good thing—hey, maybe it would turn out that this fake relationship thing was even more useful than he might have thought.
“How long have you been looking?”
“Almost a year.”
Monroe’s eyes widened. They were heading away from the main strip now, and following the curve of the road down toward the boardwalk. “You’ve been going from town to town for a year? Wow.”
Forever Starts Now Page 9
