From the outside, the Hallman Wellness Center looked like any average brick-and-mortar office building. Very standard. Very ordinary. Inside, however, was a different story.
The lobby was softly lit and carpeted (newly, judging by the smell) in a pleasingly warm burgundy. The waiting area was small but its furniture soft and inviting: overstuffed chairs and love seats around a square table that boasted various magazines and a vase of fresh red and white carnations. The air smelled like home—the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg almost masking the new carpet smell and coming from…somewhere Easton couldn’t pinpoint. As it was after hours, there was nobody at the front desk, but a black standing sign indicated in white letters that the conflict resolution class was being held in room 106. Which was to Easton’s left, according to the arrow.
A smattering of people was still working, sitting at various desks or in offices, pecking away at keyboards or chatting on phones. Easton walked down the hallway until she found room 106. Four of her coworkers were already present and she grimaced inwardly, glad she wasn’t the last to arrive.
Rather than a classroom setting, which was what Easton had envisioned, the room held a desk in one corner and a large, round table with eight chairs. She headed that way and took the chair next to Paul Antonassio, who was their vendor manager and, of all people, really didn’t need to be there, as he didn’t have a staff. As if he read her mind, he smiled and shrugged at her as she sat, his face clearly saying, “What can you do?”
A glance up told Easton the woman running the class, who stood near the desk in the corner of the room, was slight in build, probably no older than Easton herself, and stunningly pretty. Brunette hair that fell just to her shoulders in easy waves, eyes that seemed dark, but it was hard to tell from a distance, high cheekbones and a gentle jawline. She was dressed in business casual attire: dark blue dress pants and a pink button-down top, the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms.
Also, she was looking right at Easton, her expression hard to read, but definitely not screaming “open and friendly.”
“Hi,” Easton said, adding a little wave of apology. “Sorry, do I need to check in or anything?”
The woman shook her head. “You’re Ms. Evans?” She consulted a paper on the desk.
“Easton, yes.”
The woman gave a nod but said nothing more, kept her eyes on the desk.
Kim Banks, customer service manager, was the last one to arrive, whooshing into the room like she’d been blown in by a heavy wind at exactly 7:00 p.m.
“All right,” the brunette said, and took a seat in one of the two remaining chairs. She smiled warmly, set down some papers on the table in front of her, and crossed her legs. “My name is Bella Hunt and I’ll be running this conflict resolution group for the next six weeks. Every Wednesday, seven p.m., right here. If you have to miss one, you can tell me, but just know that I have to let your boss”—she consulted the paper—“Mr. Joplin know. Not that I’m tattling on you, but you need all six classes in order to be passed. Understood?” Nods and murmurs went around the table. “Good. Okay.” Bella Hunt sat forward and folded her hands on top of the stack of papers.
Easton watched as she spoke, liked the calming quality of her voice, found herself sitting up a little straighter.
“Now, I know that, for the most part, conflict resolution sounds like it has some violence attached to it. I’m guessing you’re not all beating up your employees?”
“Not because we don’t want to,” muttered Henry Deets, their traffic manager. Henry was no-nonsense and organized and did not take kindly to having his abilities challenged or criticized.
The others chuckled, as did Bella.
“I know the story behind your company,” she told them, moving her eyes from one manager to the next but skipping over Easton. “And let me assure you that this is a very common practice for new managers of established staff. There’s almost always strife, ill feelings. The established staff often feel like they’ve been betrayed, so they resist warming to new management. My point being: none of this is unusual. You guys are not special.” She said the last line with a wink of sarcasm and teasing. “So, what we’ll do is talk through some scenarios, do a little role-playing, and generally just be open about some of the issues you find yourselves dealing with. I’ll help you with ways to best handle them without causing more hard feelings or resentment. Sound good?”
More nods and murmurs and they got started.
The hour went by quickly, and for that Easton was grateful. They talked a bit, did a little role-playing. Easton was never called on to participate, but she didn’t really care. Next time. Oddly, Bella Hunt barely made eye contact with her the entire sixty minutes. She didn’t exactly ignore her, but she hardly looked her way.
Oh, well. Easton wasn’t going to worry about that. Six weeks from now, she’d never see the woman again. Which was too bad because she really was pretty. It had been a while since a woman had caught Easton’s attention so easily.
Internally chuckling at herself, Easton collected her things and left, walking with Paul down the hallway to the parking lot.
“Well, that was fun,” he said, only a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
“It went fast. That’s a good thing.”
“She seems like she knows her stuff. Ms. Hunt.”
Easton nodded, saving her opinion for now.
“You having a lot of trouble with your staff?” Their cars were parked next to each other and they talked over the top of Easton’s.
“You know, the last guy they had, they loved. That’s the issue. They’re really good salespeople. They meet their quotas. They just miss the other guy. I get it. I can’t fix it, but I get it.” She shrugged. She really did understand. Which didn’t make it easier to deal with the people like Brandi White, who showed how much she missed her old boss by acting out like an angry schoolkid.
Speaking of angry schoolkids… Easton got in her car and plugged in her phone, then dialed Connor while she was thinking about it. He’d been out of town for work and just got home that morning. He answered on the first ring.
“Hey.” His voice was warm, like always.
“Hey. She doing okay?”
“Just finishing up a snack.”
“So, she had an issue at after-care while you were away.” She told Connor what the aide had said, about her chat with Emma once they got home. “I’m not sure she heard any of it, honestly. Maybe you can talk to her about it, too?”
“Absolutely. I think one of her books is about sharing. I’ll use that as her bedtime story tonight. That’ll be my segue.”
Easton couldn’t help but smile. “Perfect.”
A beat of silence went by before Connor said, voice soft, “Did you get it?”
“Yeah.” They were both quiet.
“So, it’s official.” There was a sadness in his voice that Easton was actually getting used to, and it broke her heart a little bit each time. Connor cleared his throat and Easton could picture him giving himself a shake, running his open hand over the head that he’d been shaving since he was twenty-eight and accepted that he was going to lose his hair. “Okay. I’ll make sure I have a little talk with Emma tonight.”
“I’d appreciate it, thanks. I feel like I’m on her all the time, and I don’t want to be that mom.”
“Yeah, I had one of those. Not fun.”
“Exactly.”
They said their goodbyes, and Easton ended the call with a bit of a heavy heart. Most of the time, she was confident that splitting from Connor was the best decision she’d ever made. Most of the time, she felt free and excited to start her new life. Finally. To be herself, be who she was. But once in a while, like today, she missed her old life. She missed her house. She missed her life as one half of a whole. She missed the steadiness of having a partner who knew her and loved her, quirks and all. Easton and Connor had known each other since the seventh grade. He knew everything about her. Her emotions, her oddities, what she loved, what she
couldn’t stand, what made her laugh and what made her cry. The idea of “training” somebody new was more than a little daunting.
Sometimes, especially when she was lonely, she just wanted to go home.
Taking in a deep, slow breath, Easton did her best to center herself. Then she shifted her car into Drive and headed home to her empty house, mixed feelings about that rolling through her head.
***
“Son of a bitch,” Bella whispered to herself, in the now empty classroom. “It’s her. It’s actually her.”
Easton fucking Evans. In the flesh. Bella couldn’t believe it. How was it possible that she’d run three hundred miles from her town, from her high school, specifically to get away and start fresh with new people, and fucking Easton Evans showed up in her class? How was that possible? How in the world had that happened? What were the damn chances? And how on earth was it fair that she was still that fucking beautiful? Weren’t the popular kids in high school supposed to be the ones who ended up bald and out of shape a decade or two later? Because that had certainly not happened to Easton.
Bella sat at the corner desk like she was in a trance. At this time of night, the building would still be populated; there was a yoga class in the basement and a bereavement group on the second floor. But Bella’s floor was quiet. She stared off into space, slowly and subtly shaking her head in utter disbelief.
Easton fucking Evans.
Here. In Bella’s new world.
Seriously? Seriously, life?
The best part—sarcasm—was that Easton had obviously not recognized her. And while part of her was insulted, a bigger part wasn’t surprised. Bella wasn’t even close to the person she’d been fifteen years ago. Not in appearance. Not in personality. Not at all. She’d been a late bloomer. A very late bloomer. So while she couldn’t blame Easton for not remembering her, she still wanted to. Because it solidified who Easton was in Bella’s head. Who she still was: self-centered and unaware of the world around her.
But maybe it was better that she didn’t. This way, they wouldn’t have to struggle through any small talk or feigned pleasantries or act excited and happy to see each other as if they were at a class reunion. So, that was a relief.
Bella sighed loudly. She was a licensed mental health counselor, and as such, she knew in her head that her assumptions about Easton Evans were just that: assumptions. But the seventeen-year-old in her had very strong memories, and very strong feelings about those very strong memories and cutting Easton any slack or giving her any benefit of the doubt at all was very difficult for that gawky, confused teenager who still lived inside her.
Determined to focus on her job, she turned to her laptop and called up her evaluation sheet. She’d constructed it herself, and it allowed her to keep track of her conflict resolution attendees, let her follow which of them needed to work on what. It was only the first class for this bunch from Hart Commodities, so it was early yet. Plus, they’d only had time for one exercise, but she could already tell that both Kim and Henry were going to need a bit of direction. Bella hated to admit that Easton had handled things well, but she had.
We’ll see how things progress, she thought, as she snapped the laptop closed and gathered her belongings. As she flipped off the light in the room and headed down the hall, the whole situation hit her once more like a smack and she shook her head.
“Easton fucking Evans. Unbelievable.”
This was going to be interesting.
Chapter Four
Saturday’s weather was gorgeous. May was here, and Easton loved what that meant: spring and then summer. God, she lived for summer. She knew a lot of people who loved spring, loved the sense of renewal, the sense of that clean slate fresh start, the colors of the daffodils and crocuses poking their heads up through the dirt as if peeking to see if the coast was clear, if winter was finally gone. Not Easton. She wished they could push right past all the new growth crap and right into the heart of summer. Sunshine and heat and tank tops. Her jam.
“Emma, be careful, please,” she called out to what she was reasonably sure were deaf ears as she watched her daughter swinging from the monkey bars on the playground, visions of bruised muscles and broken bones assaulting her mother’s constantly worrying brain.
“She’s fine.” That was Connor’s standard response whenever Emma worried her. It was his way of keeping Easton from letting herself coast into a panic. She worried a lot and he was very level and even. They’d made a nice blend in that respect.
“Did you talk to her about the sharing thing?” Easton asked now, as Emma dropped from the bars and ran toward the spot where the black edging separated the rubberized playground area from the green grass of the rest of the park.
“I did and I asked the aide both Thursday and Friday if she’d done any better. They said there’d been no incidents.”
Easton let a snort escape. “No incidents. Makes her sound like a criminal.”
“Right?”
They sat together on the park bench, watching their daughter play, just like old times. If a stranger looked at them, they’d have no idea the two of them had recently finalized their divorce. They appeared to be just like any other average, good-looking, young couple watching their child on the playground.
Easton was always very aware of that, for some reason.
“You’re heading to Shondra’s tonight?” Connor asked, yanking Easton from her daydreaming.
She gave a nod. “Margarita night,” she said, with a smile.
Connor grinned back. “If you see Tony, tell him I said hey. I owe him a text.”
“I will.”
When she turned back to her daughter, she was surprised to see her well outside the playground area. She seemed to be holding something bright yellow—a tennis ball?—and a dog with an enormous head and a thick barrel-chested body was running toward her at a full sprint. Easton gasped, and Connor followed her gaze. “Oh, shit,” he said, as he jumped up from the bench, Easton right behind him. “Emma!”
“Oh, God,” Easton breathed out as they ran toward their daughter, horrifying visions of her being mauled by the dog clouding her head, the huge animal probably double Emma’s weight, easily able to take her down. Before they got to her, though, she and Connor both stopped in their tracks.
The dog sat in front of Emma, head cocked to one side, short tail wagging and huge pink tongue lolling out one side of its mouth. Easton and Connor walked briskly up to their daughter just in time to hear her giggle and say, “Nice doggie.” She patted the dog on the head and handed over the tennis ball.
Easton squatted down and grabbed Emma, trying to be subtle about the fear that had been coursing through her veins not ten seconds ago, the remnants that still were, and hugged her. “Sweetie, what have we talked about when it comes to strange dogs?”
The dog still sat. It had dropped the tennis ball and seemed to watch them with amusement.
“Ethel, come.”
The voice was firm, but not angry. It was also vaguely familiar. Easton looked up and into the eyes of the pretty woman who ran her conflict resolution class. Bella, right?
Easton stood as the dog picked up its tennis ball and met Bella on her approach. She could tell the exact moment Bella recognized her, as her eyes seemed to shutter a bit.
“Hi,” Easton said, injecting some cheer into her voice, hoping it overshadowed the worry that had almost drowned her. “Bella, right?”
“Yes,” Bella said, as the dog sat next to her feet and she laid a hand on its enormous square head. “Easton.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Bella remembered her.
“Right.” Easton mirrored Bella’s stance by laying a hand on Emma’s blond head. She turned to Connor. “Bella teaches the conflict resolution class I’m in for work.” Looking back Bella’s way and trying not to get lost in the gorgeous hazel of her eyes, now clear as can be, she explained, “This is my daughter, Emma. And my—” She hesitated, never having had to introduce Connor since their split.
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“I’m her ex-husband. Connor Douglas. Nice to meet you.” Connor held out a hand and Bella shook it. “I have to admit, your dog gave us a bit of a scare.” He kept his voice light, but his eyes were serious, and Easton wanted to hug him for broaching the subject.
“She just looks intimidating,” Bella said. Was there an edge to her voice? “She’s a good girl with a very gentle nature. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’d never let her off the leash in a public place if I didn’t trust her.” As if proving her point, Ethel licked the small hand Emma held out to her and Emma giggled.
“Pit bull?” Connor asked, venturing to pet the dog himself now.
“She’s a mix. Some pit bull, yes. A few other things.”
“Rescue?” Connor knelt down, and Ethel dropped, rolled, and showed him her belly. Bella watched him. Easton watched Bella. Her serious demeanor didn’t take away from her attractiveness. Even in her casual clothes—jeans, a purple shirt, and a gray hoodie, hanging unzipped—Easton would’ve noticed her; she was a definite head-turner. The dark hair was back in a ponytail today, still wavy, and her cheeks were rosy from the activity. She looked fresh and outdoorsy.
“Yes. I have her sister at home. I rescued them at the same time, but she doesn’t enjoy the park as much.” Bella’s whole face softened as she talked about her dogs. It brought a small smile to Easton’s lips.
“No?” Connor looked up at her.
“She’s probably lounging on my couch, remote in hand, watching Animal Planet.”
Connor laughed, he and Emma both on the ground now, playing with Ethel, who was loving every minute of it, judging by the wagging of her tail and the giant doggie grin on her face.
“She’s smiling at me,” Emma said, then slipped into another fit of giggles as Ethel licked her face. “I want a dog.”
“Of course you do,” Easton said. When she looked up, Bella was looking at her. Intently. Something sizzled between them then. Easton wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was definitely there. Something undeniable zipped from one of them to the other and back, and Easton felt like somebody had just run a fingernail gently up her spine as goose bumps broke out across her arms. She hoped nobody noticed.
The Do-Over Page 4
