by LM Spangler
Though he drank hard for those two years, alcohol had cost him his career as lead singer and guitarist for Urban Flood. He’d had to leave the high life in Los Angeles for a normal life in the small town of Dover. A town with a bustling Main Street and square, where row houses and businesses lined the streets, not chic boutiques and high-end restaurants.
The old-fashioned buzzer sounded and heels clicked on the sidewalk. Ian took several deep breaths to calm the turmoil swirling in his mind.
“Ian?” Autumn shyly asked, as if afraid she’d interrupted.
“Yes, Autumn.” He inhaled one last, deep breath to clear the anger still clawing at his system. He pasted a forced smile on his face.
“I have good news for you. Mr. Donaldson said your offer was ample for his needs and he graciously accepts.”
A real smile tugged at his lips as he looked at his future music store. Step three in the healing process. First had been realizing he was an alcoholic. The second had been relocating to a small, all but liquor-free town and purchasing a home. Dover had one restaurant that served alcohol and another had opened right outside of town. All other local restaurants were dry. Now the third step, finding a new focus in life besides booze, fell into place.
“How soon can you have the paperwork drawn up?” he asked.
“I can have it ready by tomorrow. We can meet here with Mr. Donaldson, and he’ll sign the building over to you.”
Ian offered his hand. “I’ll be here with the check.”
Autumn flashed her signature high-wattage smile, which matched the brightness of her outfit. Vibrant colors had always been her choice, which suited her personality. He understood how such a brilliant smile could be a plus in her line of work.
Sliding her hand into his, she replied, “Splendid. If you need any help with the renovations, just let me know. I can recommend general contractors. And I’m a licensed interior designer as well as a real estate agent.”
“Thank you for all your help and guidance during this process. I’m sure I’ll take you up on your offers.” His earlier blast of self-loathing seeped away. By tomorrow he would be a business owner.
“By the way, how do you like your new home?”
“It’s working out beautifully. Thank you for asking. I’ve played guitar for the five nights I’ve lived there and no noise complaints.”
Though incredibly small in scale compared to the Los Angeles estate he had owned, the single home on the square’s south side suited his needs. Consisting of three bedrooms, two baths, and a nice-sized kitchen that opened to a great room, it was more than enough for one man. But most important, it had a finished basement where he was able to hoard his guitars. He could play as loud as he wanted and the neighbors were none the wiser.
“Did your furniture arrive from LA?”
“Yes, it did. I had the movers put everything where I wanted it, so the transition was smooth. Fortunately, I was able to sell the extra furniture with the house in LA. I arrived with the right amount.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Autumn checked her watch. “I have an appointment to show a house in half an hour, so we’ll meet tomorrow. I’ll call when we’re ready to sign the papers.”
“I’ll be waiting for your call. Thanks again. For showing me the building and setting up a little reunion.”
Autumn winked. “You’re welcome.” She moved to her car at the curb, got in, and lowered the window. “Bye.”
“Bye.” He waved as she merged into traffic and drove away. Then he focused on his most recent purchase.
Pride welled inside him, which was a foreign emotion to him as of late. Nothing to be proud of when you’d drunk your life away and lost the most important things in your miserable existence.
With one last, brief look at his building, he started to stroll toward home.
The roar of an engine farther up the street flitted to his ears. A very rough-sounding engine. A tune-up was needed to take care of a loud knock. Shrugging, he strolled at a slow pace. When he stopped on the sidewalk outside his house, the knocking of that engine became louder and louder as the car accelerated. A split second later, the car jumped the curb, and he lunged onto the steps leading up to his porch. The large, 1970’s model car bounced onto and then off the sidewalk and drove away. He had no time to figure the make.
Footsteps raced toward him. “Ian, are you all right?” a winded, feminine voice asked.
Summer stood above him. She offered her hand and heaved him onto his feet.
“Oh my God. That car almost hit you. Are you hurt?” Her hands swept up and down his arms, checking for injuries, he figured.
“No, not badly. I dinged my shin on the edge of the step. Hurts like a bitch. Nothing worse than that.”
More footsteps thudded on the sidewalk. An average-sized woman with short, bright red hair bounded toward them. “I called the cops like you asked, Summer.”
Summer ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah.” She exhaled loudly and paced back and forth. “Thanks, Jolene.”
Jolene gawked for a moment before finding her voice. “You really are Ian from Urban Flood. When Summer told me to call the cops and tell them Ian Jacobs was nearly run down, I thought she was joking.”
“No joke. But now I’m just Ian.” His shoulders slumped.
To a lot of people, he was larger than life, a big, famous musician. Little did they know how weak he was—how a particular liquor brought about his downfall. At the moment, he was beginning to find his pride. The hope of a thriving new music store kept him grounded.
He glanced at Summer. Maybe he’d have her again. The want, the need, still ran deep in his veins. He’d never stopped loving her.
His biggest mistake—and his biggest regret—was leaving her. The band had rushed him into the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles, and away from Summer. But he wouldn’t blame her for hating him. Hell, he hated himself.
A Northern York Regional Police cruiser arrived with no flashing lights or sirens. A tall, heavily muscled man exited the car, placing his hat atop his head. Another smaller officer stepped from the passenger side.
Ian didn’t scare easily, but he’d have to think before tangling with the larger officer. Ian was six-foot, four-inches tall, and the cop was every bit his height. The man moved with ease despite his size, and with each step, confidence emanated. Ian was surprised they made uniforms in the man’s size. The shirt stretched over his barrel chest, and his slacks hugged what Ian had no doubt were powerful legs.
The smaller officer tipped his hat and nodded, but remained silent. Dark, flat eyes assessed the situation, moving methodically from one object to another.
“Thanks for coming so quickly, Officer—” Summer stepped closer to the giant and read his name plate. “Folsom.”
He tipped his hat. “That’s Officer Boyd Folsom, ma’am. Officer is sufficient. This is Officer Henry Burkhardt. Officer Burkhardt has lead on this incident. I decided to join him seeing as Mr. Jacobs is a celebrity. I’m also our media liaison and can handle them if the situation arises.”
Ian bowed his head. “Was a celebrity, Officer Folsom. I was famous.” He slumped onto the steps to his porch and rolled his pant leg up. Blood trailed down his shin from an ugly, red, open welt. “Son of a bitch.”
“Would you mind if Officer Burkhardt took a couple of pictures for our records?” Officer Folsom asked as the older policeman pulled a compact digital camera from his shirt pocket.
“Knock yourself out,” Ian answered.
The officer snapped several pictures.
“Thank you, Mr. Jacobs,” he said as he pocketed the camera.
Officer Folsom withdrew a voice recorder from his pants pocket. “Now for the details.” He cleared his throat before pressing the record button. “Officer Boyd Folsom questioning Ian Jacobs, and your names are?” He held the recorder close to Summer and Jolene.
Both women spoke concisely.
“Thank you. Can you tell me what happened?”
Ian explaine
d his part of the puzzle. Summer followed, saying she had heard the tires squeal and glanced down the road in time to see Ian jump.
Officer Folsom rubbed his chin.
Ian ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry. All I know is that it was a cream-colored boat of a car. It was huge. Probably from the 1970’s. Can’t tell you the make or model.”
“You’ve given me a lot to go on, believe it or not. We’ll run a couple of computer searches and see what happens. We’ll take what we have to the station and see what we can do. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact myself or Officer Burkhardt.” He handed his card to Ian, who tucked it in his jeans pocket. The other officer offered his as well. They entered their vehicle and bid their goodbyes as they pulled safely into the traffic.
“I’m just happy you’re safe, Ian. My heart was in my throat when I ran down here,” Summer confessed.
“I’m going back to the store. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Jolene said as she walked away.
Ian moved in front of Summer, blocking any retreat. He tipped her head up with a fingertip, locking eyes with hers. “You still care for me, don’t you?”
“You were nearly run down by a car. I ran here because you could’ve been hurt. I would have done it with anyone who almost became roadkill.”
He lifted a brow. “You’re trembling.”
“No, I’m not. I’m shaking. There’s a difference.”
“Hmmm.” The urge to touch her made his fingertips tingle. He reached toward her, but she evaded.
There was more than one way to touch somebody.
“I missed you.” He’d try words instead.
“Did you really miss me, Ian? You left Dover and me in such a hurry. Left me behind without a goodbye.” Her eyes, deep pools of swirling blue, searched his. Tears shimmered, turning the blue to glistening silver.
Ian did miss her. His heart had broken when he couldn’t find his way back to her. Her smile. Her laugh. The warmth of her hugs. The feel of her next to him.
Standing before him was the biggest loss because of whiskey. It wasn’t his career. It was her. He wasn’t sure he would be able to win her back, but she was worth any and all effort he could give.
“I’ve regretted it for two years. The longest two years of my life.”
She moved backward. “You’ve had those two years to contact me, to explain why you left me high and dry. You never tried.” Her voice was a whisper.
“I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to build a life here.”
“You once told me we’d have a life together in California. You see how well that worked.” She stepped around him and began the short trek to her store, but stopped, keeping her back to him. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you.”
The sun haloed her, setting her hair afire with light, creating an ethereal glow around her. Even from behind, she still managed to take his breath away.
“And now?” He risked asking the question. It could make or break his future.
“I’m not sure if I’d walk to the end of the block with you.”
A tiny crack of light opened in the wall around her heart, so small most would have given up. But that tiny crack of light shined like a beacon, giving him a ray of hope. “You didn’t say no.”
She stood with her spine stiff, her shoulders back. “No, I didn’t,” she admitted as she walked away.
He knew he was given a gift. The gift of hope.
And he refused to mess it up again.
* * * *
Summer walked into the store, dragging her feet. This day couldn’t get any worse. First her sister orchestrating her and Ian’s reunion. And then Ian was almost run down by a crazy driver. Her heart couldn’t take any more. The up and down of only an hour period. It sure was a Monday in every sense of the word.
“Are you okay?” Jolene asked.
Summer snorted softly. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“You were close to Ian once, weren’t you?”
She moved to the second stool behind the counter and sat. “We were close. Like really close. As close as a male and female could be.” She waited a beat until her statement sunk in.
Jolene’s eyes widened. “Wow. You guys dated?”
Summer’s finger traced a circle on the countertop. “For four years. Then he became famous, and I became left behind.”
Jolene leaned her elbow on the wooden top and rested her chin in her hand. “He is dreamy.”
A laugh escaped. “Too bad being dreamy doesn’t make a person a good human being.”
“He broke your heart?”
“Yeah. He didn’t even say goodbye. He and his aunt and uncle got out of town so fast.” Summer shrugged. “Not much of a story to tell.”
“Really? You dated Ian Jacobs of Urban Flood. You’re my hero.”
Jolene was a responsible young adult, smart as a whip, but still naïve. “I dated Ian Jacobs from Dover, not Ian Jacobs from Urban Flood. They were...are different people.”
Her cellphone rang and vibrated from her back pocket. She glanced at the screen.
“Oh, great. It’s my mom. I guess my nana already filled her in about Ian’s return.” She rolled her eyes for effect. “Hi, Mom,” she answered.
“Are you okay, hon?” her mother asked.
“I’m good. But I’m still debating if I’m going to strangle your oldest daughter.”
Her mom laughed. “She always was one to poke her nose into other people’s business. She means well.”
“I guess.”
“Nana said you pushed him into a display rack. Pissed you off, did he?”
“Yeah. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to jump him or murder him. And he knew it, damn it. I called him some names, shoved him, and then speed-walked to Raine’s. It’s been a craptastical start to the week.”
“I heard a driver lost control of his car and almost hit Ian.”
Summer laughed, the action relieving the tension that stretched tight over her shoulders. “Nana doesn’t miss a beat, does she?”
“Nope. Never has either.”
Summer and her mother spoke for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. Thanks to her mom’s calming voice, she was confident she’d make it through the rest of the day. As long as it didn’t continue to tank like the morning had.
Chapter 2
The following morning, Summer had risen at her normal time, seven-thirty AM, and showered. With a towel wrapped around her head and her body encased in a paisley patterned robe, she sat in front of her laptop at the kitchen island and hit the power button, striving for normalcy. Yesterday had not been what she’d describe as a good day.
After scanning the news and weather, she closed the computer and made her way to the bathroom. Though not huge, it was spacious enough to house a state-of-the-art shower. Not one for taking baths, she’d insisted her spa-like sanctuary consist of multiple heads—one overhead and three in the wall, an all-over body experience.
Summer unwound the towel and hung the dampened terry cloth on its rack. She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Large blue eyes, dogged with shadows, dominated her oval face. Her nose, pixie-like and pert, was dusted with golden freckles, as were her cheeks and her upper body.
While finger-combing her hair, she chose the disheveled look and left her hair alone to air dry. She applied the only makeup she wore—mascara to accent the shape of her eyes and a light pink lip-gloss to emphasize her full lips. Dark circles marred the porcelain skin under her eyes. She dug through her makeup drawer for a tube of concealer and applied it in an attempt to hide the purplish marks.
Satisfied with her appearance, she wandered to the walk-in closet. Wasting no time, she dressed in black rayon slacks and a short-sleeved top in the same material colored the shade of pink cotton candy. She grabbed a pair of black sling-back heels and slipped her feet into them.
As she exited the room, she stopped for a quick glance in the mirror. She had
managed to look like she slept for eight hours. In reality, eight hours was actually two. And she wouldn’t necessarily call it sleeping. It was more like dozing in short bursts.
When she closed her eyes, Ian was there. When she dreamed, Ian was there. He teased and taunted her. Made her want. Made her need. Damn him. She had expected him to return someday. Thought she’d be ready. Thought she was over him.
She’d thought wrong.
Dover was where he was born and raised. His father wasn’t around much. Rumors were he was in prison. His mother had passed away during childbirth. His aunt and uncle stepped in and raised him.
“Knock it off, moron,” she chided herself.
The past was called the past for a reason. Their time had come and gone. Why did that bother her? Two years could change a person. She wasn’t the same person. She’d matured. Grew wiser. Learned the value of a good day’s work.
The truth slammed into her, staggered her.
She had spent the last two years alone. Yes, she had her family and friends. She had her customers, whom she loved. But she struck out in the relationship department. She dated and on occasion slept with her suitors. Both were few and far between.
Summer frowned. None of them were Ian. None of them could simmer her blood with a touch or a look. Or infuriate her. The quick flashback to the previous day flooded her with guilt. She owed him an apology for shoving him into a display stand. She wouldn’t admit to him that he was dead-on and she was still attracted to him.
With an eye roll, she gathered her stuff and left her house for the short walk to Raine’s. Since she had a little extra time this morning, she’d get her and Jolene’s coffee before opening the store.
The stroll to the coffee shop took five minutes at a slow pace. Summer lived on the street behind Donaldson’s old hardware store, which allowed her to walk to work and for java when the weather permitted.
She paused in front of the row of shops. Clad in brick, most were two or three story, single or row type buildings. Duncan Candles, which she had sided with vinyl, anchored a row of three structures, which included Raine’s on the other end. In the middle was Dover’s post office.
