Did that happen with everybody after going away to university? That your stifling home town suddenly turned old-fashioned and charming, as if fairy dust had sprinkled across the countryside to turn it into its own Brigadoon. Backward in time one hundred years.
Allie turned another corner and pulled up in front of her childhood home. She shut off the engine, rolled down her window, and sat in the quiet. Birds twittered in the evergreen tree in her parent’s front yard while she stifled down a scream of fury that had brought her to this point in her life.
She tried to swallow, but her throat was thick. Dear Lord, she was tired of crying over Sean Carter.
Flipping down the visor to look in the mirror, Allie groaned at the sight of her puffy eyes and dark circles. She’d hardly slept the past forty-eight hours.
Marla’s voice came up behind her as Allie shoved open the car door, making her jump. “Hey, you made it!”
“Home, sweet home,” Allie replied, taking in the familiar old street, homes with overgrown shrubbery and pockets of patchy wildflowers.
“I wasn’t sure you’d leave TO, but let’s make the most of it.” Marla grinned and lifted her camera, snapping a picture. Hey, I could start a blog called, Diary of a Jilted Bride. We’ll chronicle your woes and broadcast it to the world.”
Allie gave a snort. “You’re a piece of work.”
“Hey, a girl’s gotta practice if she’s going to become North America’s most sought after photographer.”
There was a pause and then Allie said, “Today, Sean finally started calling to apologize. Begging to reschedule the wedding. As if it’s all up to me. As if I’m the only one that cares in this relationship. I have no words. No. Words!”
Marla chewed at her lips. “Would you consider it? Still marrying him, I mean?”
“Are you suggesting I forgive him for leaving me at the altar and just go ahead and reschedule the wedding?” She went into full sarcasm mode. “Oh, yes, dear wedding guests, dress up again in your fancy clothes, bring a second freshly wrapped gift, drive through horrendous traffic and watch me stand at the altar all over again—while we madly hope the groom shows up this time. Forget the blog, let’s just do a reality TV show!” Her face flushed red with frustration.
Marla’s face filled with empathy as she slammed the vehicle door shut. Opening the rear door, she helped unload the suitcases and boxes Allie had brought with her.
A moment later, she looked up and put a finger on the shutter of her camera. “Let’s call Hollywood and have them send up some hot hunks and sleazy blondes. We’ll make it into the funniest reality show Canada has ever seen.”
“I know you’re trying to get me to smile, but the wedding cost me and my parent’s our life savings. All the vendors still need to be paid. Flowers won’t last—and I don’t need flowers on every single table in my house making me sneeze. The catered food is in all the neighbor’s freezers. It was a pain fitting everything into my car as well as my parent’s vehicle, but my mother couldn’t bear to throw away good food.”
“You must have had to purchase a few coolers to transport all that way.”
Allie nodded, pressing her lips together. “My father isn’t happy about any of it, but he doesn’t say much. He would never make me feel guilty.”
“Make Sean pay for it. Send him the friggin’ bill. It’s his fault.”
“Believe me, he’s getting a certified letter with an itemized bill. And if he thinks I’ll pretend three days ago never happened and just call up the minister to find out when his next available Saturday is, he needs his head examined.” Her arms fell to her sides like limp noodles as she leaned against the side of the car, fighting tears again. “Do you know that Sean never even called me with any sort of explanation until four hours later? I’m not a doormat! I was supposed to be the most important person in his life.”
Marla kissed Allie on the cheek, and then hugged her hard. “Just assessing your true feelings, honey.”
That finally got a laugh out of her. “You don’t want to know my true feelings. I think my father was ready to get his shotgun and hunt the man down.”
“In Toronto?” Marla choked out. “Riiight.”
Allie hefted a small box into the crook of her arm, pulling one of the rolling suitcases behind her. “I can just see the headlines now. Father found waving a sawed off shotgun at the man who jilted his daughter at the altar. You want to know the most infuriating part?” she added, as they hauled her stuff into the house.
Marla grimaced. “Moving back home at twenty-six and giving up your gorgeous apartment?”
“You manage to say the very thing that makes me feel so much better about myself—not.” Allie set a box on the kitchen table with a thud. “Sean doesn’t actually think he stood me up. He thinks he was just late.” Her harsh laugh burst with ten pounds of derision. “As if the church full of guests and the entire bridal party had to exhibit a bit more patience while he was emergency-hunting a client. That if we’d all only waited at the church for a few more hours, everything would have been fine.”
Marla shook her head while she pulled a suitcase into Allie’s old bedroom. “The gall. The nerve.”
“I think he’s more pissed that I wouldn’t still go on the honeymoon trip with him. After all, the tickets are paid for, right? Why can’t we have a honeymoon without being married? I practically broke a second phone when he suggested that. He can’t understand why I’m so angry. Why I don’t want to see him.”
“Have you seen him at all?”
“No,” Allie said shortly. “If I did, I’d probably be arrested for strangling him.”
Her childhood bedroom was at the front of the house and they paused as one of the daily tour buses hauled past the window, filled with tourists headed to the bridge.
Allie unzipped the first suitcase. “I should probably change clothes and head over to the fry truck to help my parents. But all I want to do is flop on the bed and stare out the window with a margarita in each hand.”
“Erin’s there—at the fry truck, I mean,” Marla said with a quick laugh. “You know, they have been getting along without you all these years.”
Allie shook her head. “Erin’s doing something else today, but I can’t remember what exactly. I’ve never been able to keep track of my little sister.”
“She’s just taking advantage of your pain to run off with her friends.”
Allie’s cell phone buzzed and she dumped out her purse to find it. “Hi Mom,” she said, tossing clothes half-heartedly into the empty bureau. Old high school pictures were still stuffed into the edge along the mirror, and the Nancy Drew collection given to her by great-aunt Clara when she was nine years old. A stack of yearbooks in the same ratty bookcase. The familiar purple bedspread dotted with forget-me-not flowers—faded by countless launderings.
Allie listened to her mother for a moment, sighed, and then said goodbye. She snapped the phone off and dropped the device onto the bed, where the mattress immediately sculpted a huge dent from the impact.
“What’s up?” Marla asked, taking a few pictures of Allie’s time-capsule bedroom.
Allie flung clothes about, searching for an old uniform in the closet. “My darling little sister is AWOL and I have to get to the Fry Truck pronto. An extra bus just unloaded.”
Marl gave her a pained smile. “I’ll come with you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Allie found herself experiencing déjà-vu and slinging fries like she never left home. As if she hadn’t spent the past two years using her MBA managing an actual bank with reports squarely in the black.
Dad was slicing potatoes on the sanitized stainless steel table while Mom stood over the big fryers, her face serene, skin gleaming with perspiration.
When Allie arrived, Dad lifted a silent hand in greeting, Mom handed her a full length apron, and then went back to work.
Allie grabbed the order pad and quickly ran her fingers over the numbers on the cash register—the same one they’d used since she
was twelve.
“Can I help?” Marla asked.
“No, dear, we’re good,” Mrs. Strickland said calmly. “We have a routine.”
“If you say so, but I’ll get in line for a bag of fries and contribute to the cause.”
Marla did get in line, her sun hat flopping above dark glasses, as if she was determined to be incognito and not recognized as a local.
Allie lifted an eyebrow. “None of the residents come around the bridge during the day. Nobody will ever know you were here.”
A harried-looking father surrounded by four kids slapped down a large bill. “Five bags of fries—and plenty of ketchup.”
While Marla disappeared to the back of the line, people of all sizes, shapes, and ages mingled about the area, buying drinks, food, or hiking down to the bridge along the tree-clustered pathways.
Allie handed over white cardboard boxes of golden crispy fries, blinked against the sweat threatening to drip into her eyes, and tried not to think about the reality of what her life had become.
She was supposed to be on her honeymoon in the arms of Sean. Enjoying the beach, endless piña coladas, breathtaking sunsets, and cheek-to-cheek dancing in the evening while tropical perfume spiced the air.
Thinking about her honeymoon was surreal, but the ache in her heart was much too vivid. A hot ball of grief that would last the rest of her life.
Allie had finally stopped responding to Sean’s text messages and his “apology”. What was there to say? He didn’t get it. That was the part that hurt the most.
Despite the fact that the wound was still fresh, Allie was coming to the realization that she wasn’t as important to Sean as she wanted to be—as she should be.
Unable to reconcile any of it, Allie mindlessly poured hot, greasy, salty fries into paper baskets, handing them to the next customer with an accompanying wad of napkins.
The line finally began to dwindle as her mother set the last wire basket into the deep fryer and stood back, a roll of sweat making its way down her brow.
Allie glanced up at the final customer, a man just a few years older than herself, and alone, without a noisy family entourage. “At last,” she murmured.
His mouth curved into a smile. “Is it that bad?”
Allie’s face flamed. “You heard me, eh?”
“If it helps, I do empathize. Gotta be tough slinging fries on a hot day in June in an even hotter truck with fryers and ovens going.”
He pulled out his wallet, counting out bills. A black camera bag was slung over his left shoulder—broad shoulders, Allie couldn’t help noticing. His build was like a professional baseball player; a trim waist in khaki-green slacks with a pullover jersey shirt showing off bulging biceps.
Allie wrenched her eyes away. She had to stop thinking about honeymoons and sexual relations—everything she was now missing. This guy was just another tourist taking pictures of the Heartland Cove County famous bridge. But her eyes kept roving over his physique in appraisal. He had a nice face, too, and a straight nose unlike Sean’s where he’d broken it in high school playing football. Photographer guy also had eyes that looked like melting Hershey chocolate bars ready for dipping strawberries.
Allie chided herself and stared at his camera bag. An awfully nice one for a tourist. Most people used their cell phones these days to snap pictures on vacation. He was more than an amateur. Maybe she should introduce him to Marla.
“Seasoned or regular?” Allie asked, poised over the register.
“Which do you recommend?” His teeth were startling white, and his hair a deep chestnut color, wavy and cut just below his ears. Stop it, Allie ordered herself. It was ridiculous to get burned at the altar, only to start admiring every male within a hundred yards.
“Um, I prefer seasoned,” Allie answered, beginning to babble nervously. “But it’s up to you—if you like a little extra saucy flavor to your French fries.”
The corners of his brown eyes crinkled. “Saucy French fries, eh? Does that mean they’re impertinent or merely cheeky?”
“I mean spicy—kind of like barbecue—but not hot. Just—” Allie broke off. She was stumbling over her words like a teenager who’d never had a boyfriend.
“Sorry,” he said, pushing a twenty toward her, that crooked smile crossing his lips again. “I couldn’t resist.”
Allie deliberately looked away and punched the buttons on the cash register, then pushed his change back across the counter.
He reached out and slid it back again. “Keep the change.”
“What are you talking about? A twenty could have bought you three trays of fries.”
He gazed at her, and then finally she got it. The change was a tip. Feeling stupid, Allie felt heat rise up her face again. “Oh, right. It’s, um, been awhile . . .” Her voice petered out, as if she’d just forgotten her vocabulary.
“First bus of the day done,” Mom announced, loosening her apron and pushing back her damp hair. “I’ve got cold lemonade when you’re ready, Allie.”
“Allie,” the stranger repeated and Allie cursed her mother.
Was this guy flirting, or just being annoying?
“You’d better gobble down those fries and get to the busses before they leave,” Allie told him pointedly.
“How do you know I’m headed to the bridge?”
Allie wondered if he was daft. “You arrived on the Heartland Cove Covered Bridge Tour bus, correct? And your camera is a dead giveaway that you came here to take pictures.”
He patted his outrageously expensive camera. Was he really a photographer, or an amateur with too much money? “Right. I’ll go shoot some pictures now. As soon as I finish these delicious seasoned French fries.”
“Saucy,” Allie said, not letting him get away with flirting, or being obtuse.
“Touché.” He quirked an eyebrow and then added, “See you around Allie.”
“Cheeky dude.” Allie tried not to scrutinize him while he walked across the grass toward the bridge. Tried not to stare at his physique, mentally comparing him to Sean—while guilt washed over her as if she was cheating on her husband. Which totally didn’t make sense.
Sean Carter was not her husband. He wasn’t even her fiancé any longer. Allie’s shoulders slumped over the cash register.
What an outrageously depressing week this had been already, and it was only Tuesday.
Chapter 4
The first night home was painful and awkward. Allie’s canceled wedding with all of its expense and embarrassment was like the proverbial elephant—or dead body—in the living room.
Mr. and Mrs. Strickland had brought home the lilies and roses—now wilting on every table and chair throughout the main floor of the small house, including rows of them along the porch railings.
Uneaten wedding food was stuffed into the overflowing refrigerator and deep freeze.
“After a long day at the Fry Shack,” Allie said, picking at her plate with a fork. “We are now eating three-day old wedding hors’doevres, meat and cheese plates, and crackers and dip.”
The wedding cake with its whipped butter cream frosting and blood red roses, a layer of Sean’s favorite dark chocolate hidden inside the middle tier, was sitting in all its sad glory on the washing machine—a spot where Allie wouldn’t have to look at it ten times a day.
“At least I didn’t have to cook,” her mother said, bringing out a veggie tray and peeling back the plastic wrap. “Anybody want Ranch dressing to go with the carrots and celery sticks?”
Allie pushed her plate away. At the same time she wanted to secretly gorge on the wedding cake. She needed a sugar rush, with lots of strong hot coffee.
“I can’t eat anymore,” she finally said.
Her mother touched her hand. “You’ll feel better tomorrow. The sun always comes up.”
“Mother, your Pollyanna sentiments are not helping my mood.”
“Mooning about the house and being negative only begets more negativity.”
Allie crashed her chair
back against the wall. “If I see one more plate of old wedding food, I’ll throw myself off the leaky roof. I know you’re only trying to be understanding, Mom, but it’s just pissing me off.”
“Now Allie,” Dad said, eyes rising to hers. Even her father, that bastion of strength and goodwill, was beginning to drive her crazy.
“Not you, too, Dad.” Allie slammed her plate into the sink, but refrained from cracking the china. She gulped down a glass of water and stared out the window to the backyard with its overgrown shrubbery and tall silver birch. “Let me be angry, okay? I have to be angry as hell so don’t try to comfort me, or placate me, or speak to me like I’m going to fall apart—even if I am about to fall apart.”
Her mother’s face was forlorn, as if Allie had rejected her.
“Don’t look at me like that, Mom! I should never have come home. This whole idea was stupid. What was I thinking?”
“Come back to the table,” Dad cajoled. “Let’s talk about it. Help you make plans after this—this little vacation away from your job and Toronto life.”
“See, that’s the problem.” Allie’s tone sharpened. “I used to have a life in Toronto and my Heartland Cove life is too far in the past so now I have neither. Nothing is the same. I’m not a kid and I’m not an adult either if I’m living here. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken a leave of absence from work. In Toronto I could have buried myself in work, but I was afraid of running into Sean.”
She could see her father silently agreeing.
“If I ran into him I’d probably punch him in the nose.”
“What are you saying?” Mom asked with a quiver in her voice.
“I can’t return to the city like nothing ever happened. I loved my apartment, but I’d already given it up to create a new home with Sean. Now that’s gone. Coming home feels like I’ve regressed back to a kid. I have to be on my own.”
“What are you proposing, Allie?” Dad asked, but Allie could tell he already knew what she was implying. Of both her parents, Dad had always seemed to miss her the most when she left for university. He was the steady rock, but right now he couldn’t help her. Only she could figure this out.
The Neighbor's Secret (A Secret Billionaire Romance #1) Page 3
