Almost Perfect: A Sweet Small Town Opposites Attract Romance (Back to Silver Ridge Book 1)

by Claire Cain

  Warrick snapped and pointed at her. “Actually, I’ve been wondering about that. I texted you to make sure you were okay but couldn’t get you. I didn’t press it since you were with Wyatt and I knew he’d take care of you, but I’m wondering if maybe you’ve got some other missed messages.”

  Maybe this could all be explained once she checked her phone, which I definitely hadn’t seen. She’d used it as a light that first night and must’ve left it in her room as she packed. Maybe Kristoffer had finally set up that interview her publicist had thought would help things.

  “I have to get home and check in. I’m sure it’s there—I didn’t worry about leaving it because I’m trying not to pay attention to it, and obviously, I’ve been distracted.” She glanced at me, but her eyes flickered away before I could read her expression. “I’m going to run.”

  She actually jogged out of the kitchen, and Warrick and I eyed each other.

  “This didn’t strike me as that big of a deal. I heard about it two days ago, but he kept sniffing around yesterday and I saw the guy today again, so I figured it was more than just a dude wanting a scoop. I don’t know.” He looked toward the hallway where she’d disappeared.

  “It could be nothing. Just the usual, and she’s frustrated.”

  Or it could be terrible, and this would mean she was leaving and never coming back. The front door clicked closed, and her words echoed in my mind. “I’d at least get out of here without this happening.” Had she been planning to leave soon this whole time? Did “get out of here” mean here or Silverton?

  I jumped into the shower so I could be ready in case she needed me, refusing the other thoughts that kept trying to push in. On the off chance I had something to offer, or could help, I wanted to be prepared.

  I wouldn’t think about saying goodbye. I wouldn’t acknowledge the sinking sensation in my gut that whispered how inevitable all of this was.

  I just wouldn’t.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Calla

  More than usual, my room looked like a bomb had gone off. Emblematic of the whole situation, it felt oddly accurate. I tossed another pair of socks into the suitcase laying open on my bed, then shoved my wireless earpiece into my ear so I’d be ready when Kristoffer called back.

  I’d left my phone at my place since the first night I’d spent with Wyatt. And honestly? I hadn’t missed it. I’d been working to trim the time I used it anyway, and I didn’t spend time on social media right now, full stop. So when I needed the Internet, I used my laptop. When I wrote songs, I used pen and paper. All very low-tech for me, but it meant that I hadn’t missed the device in the last forty-eight hours.

  I hadn’t missed the device or the seventeen texts and three calls from Kristoffer, not to mention several attempts to contact me from Jenna late yesterday, all giving me the bad news: the press knew I was here, and they were framing it like I’d run away because I was guilty and ashamed.

  I hadn’t seen it and hadn’t been able to give anyone a response. Or make a plan. Because my stupid phone had been here on my nightstand, right where I’d left it the night the power went out. And so this little problem I might’ve otherwise dealt with quickly had ballooned while I’d been in Lalaland with Wyatt. It’d spun out, based on everything I’d gathered during my frantic read through of the messages from Kristoffer, and now I had to act. I couldn’t stay hidden away anymore.

  If it’d just been a reporter looking for a shot of me around town, that’d be one thing. But it was more than that, and the narrative that I’d run away in shame because of Candy or whatever tale they were telling had come to a boiling point. Time to face this head-on and turn down the heat.

  But I could be honest and say I’d had the best possible distraction. My heart brightened and glowed as I pictured Wyatt’s handsome face. He was sweet and generous, and I was in love with him.

  I dropped the shirt in my hands and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

  In love with him?

  My throat cinched closed, and an attempt to swallow proved just how much. The neck of my shirt felt tight, and I slumped onto the bed and held my head in my hands.

  Was I in love with Wyatt? Truly?

  My mind pinged around what felt like an empty space, frazzled and delighted and terrified.

  My phone buzzed on the nightstand where it sat plugged in to charge since it’d been on its last leg when I’d gotten home.

  “Kristoffer, hi. Could he do it?”

  He’d called Julian Grenier about a plane again. This was short notice, and if I had to, at this point, I could fly commercial. But it’d cut hours of travel and hassle and probably a whole pile of ridiculous photos of me at the airport people would no doubt share far and wide like their snapping a photo of me was some kind of ultimate coup.

  Bitter, much?

  “He did. The plane’s already here, and they’re going to de-ice and get the pilot. Should be ready in about two hours.”

  God bless you, Julian Grenier! But the minute I thought it, my heart sank. My silly, sick heart, that’d fallen hard for a good man. A wonderful man. The kind of man I wish my mom had found at some point, and that women everywhere would love to have.

  But you can’t keep him.

  That truth struck me at my core, deep and wounding. This one would mean bleeding out eventually. But for now, I’d pack it with, uh, whatever they packed terrible injuries with, and keep moving. I had to deal with this crapstorm once and for all. My life couldn’t progress until I’d seen to that. The reverberations of Candy’s death and my general failings wouldn’t disappear anytime soon, but I had to clarify that I hadn’t had a hand in her death.

  I blocked out the voice that attempted to tell me I had.

  I hadn’t.

  I hadn’t.

  I’d been working through my feelings on that issue through songwriting and reflection and generally grieving openly for the time I was here. I could tell even those darker thoughts didn’t pack as much punch now that I’d let myself look closely at how messed up things between us had always been and still admit I’d loved her.

  But right now, I had no time to spend on feelings-sorting.

  “You’ll need to be there at least a half hour early. Can you get there in time?”

  Kristoffer spoke in his usual measured, patient tone. Never condescending, and apparently never ruffled. Thank goodness, because I was one snag in the material away from a meltdown. If I stopped now and let the revelations about Wyatt crash down right along with the media’s arrival, I wouldn’t move forward.

  “Yes. I’ll make it happen. I’m packing now, and I can get a ride down there.”

  “Good. Call me when you’re in the car.”

  I confirmed I would as I piled items into my bag and hung up. Via text, I asked Wyatt if he’d drive me to the airport. For half a second, I thought about asking Warrick, the cowardly part of me nervous to face Wyatt in the midst of this and confirm what I’d just discovered. As much as I feared seeing him and knowing I had to leave right when I’d figured out how I felt about him, I trusted him. I loved him, apparently, so even though I knew so much of the drive and certainly the goodbye would hurt, I wanted him.

  And hopefully, if he was the man I thought he was, he’d forgive me. Eventually.

  In twenty more minutes, I’d done my best to tidy up the mess in the kitchen, start the dishwasher several days later than I should’ve, and generally put the place back together. As far as I knew, I’d be coming back, but I didn’t want either Saint brother wandering in and being horrified by the mess I’d left. The cleaning service wasn’t due for another day or so.

  Wyatt’s knock startled me from the sticky tangle of thoughts. I pulled the door open and walked right out, not taking in his face or the concern I knew would be written there. Just being near him sent my already racing, adrenaline-fueled heart into overdrive.

  He opened the truck door and took my bag. I hauled myself in and closed it for myself as he moved around the vehicle to
his side. I could practically hear the words clouding the chilly air between us.

  I couldn’t get past two things. First, I was in love with this man, and sitting close to him made me feel something like panic and peace at the same time. I felt those mingle together, inextricable from each other, even when I’d been knocked off-kilter by waking up in his bed and expecting another beautiful day with him to discovering someone had leaked my location and the media was having a field day.

  And they were. They were reporting on my being here like I was a murderer hiding out in the mountains. Like I’d slunk away from LA to escape the consequences of my actions.

  In some ways, perhaps that was what I’d done. I’d definitely wanted escape. But not because I was guilty. Because I was sad and lonely and horribly burnt out in a soul-deep way.

  I inhaled slowly, begging my body and mind to calm down.

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?” he asked quietly, navigating us to the main road.

  “Kristoffer’s working on bumping up my interview for the tell-all to sometime in the next two days if at all possible. In that, I’ll acknowledge being here, but since I’m from here originally, we think it’ll be fine. My bio has always said ‘woman of the world,’ so no one knows that, and I think it’ll help.”

  He nodded, and the muscle in his jaw flexed.

  “I actually need to call Kristoffer on the ride if that’s okay. I’m hoping my phone will have service in the canyon. Do you mind?”

  He glanced at me with a small frown but shook his head. “Of course not. Do whatever you need to do.”

  So I did. The ride down to Silverton’s airport was a little shorter than to the town itself, so sooner than I would’ve liked, we pulled up to the small terminal. My stomach had tied itself into a square knot.

  “What can I do?” Wyatt said as I hung up my call.

  I’d been on the phone all but the first few minutes of the drive. Kristoffer had arranged the interview, for hair and makeup before, and a hundred other small things. He was working on finding my stylist Gareth and probably twenty other tasks. I made a mental note to review his salary because whatever I was paying him was unlikely to be anywhere near enough.

  But as for what Wyatt could do?

  My heart whispered a hundred responses. Come with me. Hold me again. Tell me it’ll be okay. Tell me this is more than just a fling. Don’t go inside my little cottage and be horrified by the mess while I’m gone. Don’t go on any of your stupid dates while I’m away. Don’t be nice to me, or I’ll lose it.

  “Uh, I’m not sure. I guess the most important thing would be please don’t talk to the press. If someone approaches you, just give them the old ‘no comment’ and move on. You can remind Warrick of the same.”

  “Okay. Done.”

  “And, uh—” my stupid traitor voice broke. I cleared my throat. “Just… don’t hate me?”

  “Calla, what could make me do that?” He gathered up my hands and held them tight. “I couldn’t hate you.”

  I laughed. “You did.”

  He shook his head. “No. I never hated you. Not ever.”

  My raised brow had him smiling as he answered.

  “I swear it. I never did—I could never have hated you. May have tried disliking you there for a while but couldn’t do it.”

  His blue eyes spelled those earnest words right into my mind. “I guess that’s good.”

  “Yeah, it’s good. So don’t talk to creep reporters, don’t hate you… anything else?”

  He made it all sound so small and easy. But when he saw the interview, which I knew he’d watch, his good opinion of me might die out. Hearing the gritty details of my life would throw how not like his usual women I was. How public and messy my life was. And I didn’t relish the idea of him having to fight off that feeling that we were too different all over again, if he’d ever stopped.

  “Just be in touch, okay? Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I’m gone.” It sounded stupid, but I hoped he believed it. I was trying to convince myself of the same.

  I could step outside this dreamy little bubble of beautiful snowy mountains and gorgeous cowboy gentlemen, do what I had to do, and make my way back here. Make my way home without becoming tarnished and worn like I already felt just thinking about returning.

  “Of course.” He dropped his forehead to mine and rocked it back and forth like he was trying to nudge his assurance into my skull.

  I smiled and gritted my teeth against the tears that jumped to my eyes at his sweet, odd move. I love this man. My heart nearly broke over the confession, the nth one today, but I wouldn’t tell him.

  Not now, certainly. But maybe if we could weather this storm together like we had the last actual one, if we could stay close and he didn’t get pulled into the quagmire of rotten failures and rumors that was my life, maybe we could actually have something.

  Something more like what he’d always dreamed of and I’d never dared to. Something powerful and lasting and real.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said when Julian Grenier’s stern face peeked out the door of the terminal.

  “Come back when you can,” he said, then pressed an achingly sweet kiss to my lips.

  I hugged him one last time after he handed my bag to Julian, who definitely wasn’t used to being a bag boy, but he didn’t balk. I hoped Wyatt could feel my care for him and how much I didn’t want to leave him. Not today. Not after the night we’d spent together, and certainly not to go back to California and deal with the mess waiting for me there.

  We parted, both of us trying to smile but, at least for me, hiding so many fears and worries. I’d never had something like this before, and as the plane took off for LA, I realized with a dawning horror just how much, how desperately, I wanted it.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Wyatt

  She’d been gone less than an hour when I received a call from Kristoffer.

  “How can I help?” I’d hated saying goodbye to Calla but understood she had to go. Since I was only ten minutes from downtown, I’d made the short trip and slipped into the library and read the papers and magazines, searching for mention of her. None of it seemed eventful, just more of the same.

  Mayhem on the Run.

  Mayhem Seeks Solace in the Mountains.

  Mayhem Source Says She’ll Do Anything To Have Control.

  How did any of that rate as news? Who was the “source,” and what did that person get for gossiping about Calla? Irritation had twisted in my gut, so Kristoffer’s call was a welcome, if surprising, distraction

  “Someone just tipped us off that there’s more coming. Supposedly someone close to her has given the press information that implicates her in her mother’s death and confirms she cheated on Bri.”

  I swore under my breath and glanced around. Thankfully, the place was empty at the moment. I spoke quietly when I asked, “Who would do that?”

  “We have a few ideas and are looking into it. The bigger point is that I need you to keep a tight lip. She told me she explained to you and your brother not to talk to the reporters, but I’m going to say it again—please don’t.”

  “Of course not.” I had nothing to say to them, anyway. Anything between me and Calla was just that—between me and Calla. “Warrick won’t say a word either.”

  “Good news.”

  A loaded pause followed. I shifted on my feet and waited for him to hang up. “Well, thanks—”

  “Let me be honest—”

  We both stopped, halting the overlap.

  Kristoffer spoke first. “Apologies. I was just saying, don’t be surprised if you don’t hear much from her. She’s going to need to focus. She forbade me from sending you and your brother NDAs, but I’m going to at least say that much.”

  “Sure.”

  What else did I say to that? I guessed the lack of paperwork was a sign of her trust in us, but I would’ve gladly signed one. If it makes her feel more secure, I’ll do just about anything.

  That thought e
choed through me, the truth of it spiraling down into my gut and taking root.

  “And please don’t speak to anyone about anything.”

  This guy was paranoid to the gills, but maybe that was what Calla needed now. And if that helped her, more power to him. I wasn’t about to make her or his job any harder. “You have nothing to worry about from me. I live a small life, and I like it that way. I’m not looking to use this, or her, for my gain. I care about her, and I’m not going to expect her to be thinking about me while she deals with this.”

  Silence met me, but after a few seconds, he said, “Well, good. I’m sure she’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  With that, he was gone, and I slumped into a chair set at a little table at the end of the line of stacks where I’d paced.

  Shutting my eyes against the flood of worry for her, I thought about Calla when she left. She’d seemed focused and sure about the choice to go now, to get this interview done and address all the nonsense. Her publicist had assured her it was the right move, and everyone in her circle had agreed.

  But I wanted her here. I wanted her hidden away with me, safe, where I could make sure nothing harmed her. And yet, I couldn’t offer that anyway. Because something had been hurting her, gnawing at her, for years—first the loss of her mother, and then the spiraling insanity that was her life.

  This interview wouldn’t put a stop to all that, but I hoped it might slow the spin. It might ease away some of that sense of doom she seemed to carry around with her. She embodied strength and resilience, but she’d been knocked down, and hard.

  I didn’t want her to have to face this alone.

  I should’ve gone with her.

  I shot to my feet, restless with the realization that I could’ve at least offered. What did I have to stay behind for? Someone else would check on Sheridan, and my business was as hands-off as it could get.