Somebody Like You: A Darling, VT Novel

by Donna Alward

  She took a step back. “But someone told their girlfriend, who told someone else, and I ended up finding out because I could see people looking at me and whispering and I had to ask what was going on.” The embarrassment still burned. Worse, when she’d found out the truth she’d had to keep all her emotions locked up. No crying, no hysterics, no acting like her heart was crushed. She’d had to grin and bear it like it meant nothing. Just like she had with the divorce.

  She wouldn’t tell him how hurt she’d been, because she had a scrap of pride left. Even after all that had happened in the last year, she still had a teensy bit of pride.

  “I was seventeen, Laurel. And I liked you and I was an immature guy who did everything wrong.”

  Not everything, Laurel thought. He’d known what he was doing in the backseat of his car. She’d considered letting him be her first, but in the end she held back. Things had gotten hot and heavy and … real. Her heart ached a little just thinking about it. Ten years. High school had been ten years ago. But she still remembered feeling beautiful and desirable and alive in his arms.

  He’d destroyed that memory, and the hope that had gone along with it. And it had been a long time, but not so long that she couldn’t still feel the hurt of that seventeen-year-old girl. Perhaps it was even more raw now, after the end of her marriage. That feeling of being the center of someone’s world … she’d felt it twice in her life. And both times it had been a lie.

  “Let’s just forget about it, okay? It was a long time ago.”

  “And we’re adults now.”

  “Yes,” she said, “we are.” So much had happened since those days. Sometimes it was hard to believe.

  “So we can be friends?”

  Ugh, he would ask. And how could she say no? Refusing would either make her look like a bitch or, worse, like what had happened still mattered. She smiled weakly. “Sure.”

  The silence that followed was awkward. She hadn’t sounded sincere and they both knew it. Why was she letting it bother her so much? They were at the gate now. The buzz from the wine made her head light, made her body a little bit floaty. She was such a lightweight when it came to alcohol. He was waiting, his hand on the top rung of the fence. They were close enough now that she caught his scent, the fresh shower smell of him mingled with spring grass and evening air.

  “Laurel?”

  Oh, the way he said her name. His voice was deeper now, husky with a little bit of grit. She looked up into his eyes and held her breath. Was it her or were they swaying closer to each other? She looked over at his hand on the fence, remembered the feel of it on her skin, how even at seventeen it had felt capable and … right.

  She let out her breath and stepped back, bent over to pick up the abandoned wine bottle. “Friends,” she repeated as she stood. “I think we’d better just leave it at that.”

  Aiden cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I’m glad we cleared the air. And glad you got things straightened out at work.”

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  Funny how a conversation could go from intensely intimate to stilted in just a few seconds.

  “I’ll see you around.”

  He opened the gate and it creaked behind him. As he walked away, Laurel closed the latch. One, she was going to have to lubricate that gate so it wasn’t so noisy. And two, they definitely hadn’t cleared the air between them at all. If anything, it had all just become more muddled.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Darling Chamber of Commerce met once a month for breakfast. The meeting generally rotated venues each month, reserving several tables at a local eatery or a meeting room at one of the businesses. For the month of April, however, they were meeting at the town hall in the boardroom.

  Laurel dressed carefully for the event. As a new business owner, she wanted to create a good impression among her peers—many of whom she’d known as a kid and who had many years of business experience compared to her “youthful enthusiasm.” Before entering the venerable brick building, she smoothed her hands down her white skirt and checked the buttons on her blouse. She’d tamed her blunt-cut, shoulder-length hair into a bun, hoping it looked like one of those deliberately messy topknot things. She rounded out the ensemble with a pair of pristine-white heels that she hadn’t worn since her days with the firm.

  One big inhale and exhale, and then she put her hand on the door and swung it open.

  Darling, as a town, had incorporated in 1827. But before then, since before the revolution, it had been a village surrounded by farms and rolling forests. There was history here, particularly in the old building that had withstood not only the years but a fire at the turn of the twentieth century. The lobby-type area boasted plank-width hardwood floors and lots of rich cherry in the counters and desks. An elevator had been installed for accessibility purposes, but altogether the sturdy and slightly scarred interior gave visitors a sense of stability and gravitas. When she’d been younger, she’d loved the sight of it.

  Now she found it more than a little intimidating.

  Darling used its history to its advantage in attracting both residents and tourists. Tourism was big business with the proximity to lakes, golf courses, skiing, and nearby cities. Many of the businesses catered to that seasonal traffic, while others were more specifically geared to residents. Laurel hadn’t been sure what to expect at the monthly breakfast, and she was surprised to see at least twenty-five people already milling about the boardroom, hovering mostly at the coffee station set up on one side.

  She looked up at the wall behind the pastry table. There, in all its glory, was The Photo. Her cheeks heated as she remembered standing close to Aiden just a few nights ago. In the photo they were five. It was a candid shot taken by the photographer at Laurel’s Aunt Susan’s wedding. Laurel and Aiden were standing on the Kissing Bridge, her basket of flowers in one hand while Aiden held the other. Her dress was long and white with a pale green sash, and he wore an adorable black suit. They were leaning toward each other, their eyes closed and lips touching.

  It was adorable. Or it would be, if she weren’t in it. But both their parents had given the town permission to use it. As a result the photo appeared not only in the boardroom but also on town promotional materials.

  “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Laurel turned to see Sally Ingram looking up at her. Sally had to be in her sixties now, but her wrinkles were hidden behind expertly applied makeup and her hair was the color of summer wheat. At barely five feet, Sally was a little powerhouse of energy.

  “Hello, Sally.” Laurel smiled. “And I’ve changed quite a bit. I can’t believe that picture is still up here.”

  Sally tittered. “Of course it is. The Kissing Bridge is our main attraction.”

  “I figured it would have been replaced by now,” she remarked.

  “Oh, maybe it will. I hear there’s a refresh happening in the town tourism campaign. Something about pushing the fall months and the colors and whatnot.” Sally looked sharply at Laurel. “Speaking of colors, you should come into the spa and let us put some foils in that hair of yours. It could use a lift.”

  Great. She’d already been feeling insecure about how she looked, but she’d been satisfied when she left the house this morning. Now she was back to square one, and resisted the terrible urge to raise her hand and touch her hair. “Maybe I’ll do that, Sally. Work’s keeping me quite busy right now, though. Spring and all.”

  “Yes, I heard about your little trouble.” She tsked and shook her head. “Though I did hear that Aiden was the officer on duty. You two have some history, if I remember correctly.” She winked at Laurel. “Oh look, there’s Owen Hardcastle. I’ve been meaning to speak to him about some renovations. Enjoy the breakfast, dear.” Sally turned to leave but at the last minute spun back and put her hand on Laurel’s arm. “Oh, and it’s good to have you home again.”

  That was all it took for Laurel to feel the warmth of homecoming that she’d been missing. Sally’s comment about her hair was an
occupational hazard; no different than if Laurel had suggested someone plant some hostas around their flowering crab or add creeping phlox as ground cover for their perennial beds. And the comment about Aiden was typical too; not much was missed in a town this small. Determined to keep her chin up, she made her way over to get a coffee, and then grabbed a plate and added some strawberries and an apple Danish to it before finding a seat.

  The hour went quickly and Laurel focused on not dropping anything on her white skirt while chatting to other business owners in the community. All had heard about the break-in, and several mentioned needing to stop by for planters and baskets for their storefronts in the next few weeks. It was mainly a social hour, and a chance for people to catch up on different things happening in Darling. Graduation and wedding seasons were starting up, and much of the conversation was dominated by the rush on flowers, hairstyles, photographers, and catering.

  When Laurel had nearly finished her second cup of coffee, the mayor, Brent Mitchell, stood up at the front and tapped a microphone to see if it was live. When the tap echoed hollowly through the room, he cleared his throat.

  “What’s happening?” Laurel leaned over and whispered to her table companion, a middle-aged man who’d recently opened a new law firm off of Elderberry Drive.

  “Whoever hosts the meeting gets the mic,” he whispered back.

  She sat up again and crossed her left leg over her right. Folded her hands in her lap. It hadn’t been so bad, the social hour. And in another thirty minutes she could head home, change into jeans and her golf shirt with the Ladybug crest, and head to the greenhouse.

  The mayor greeted the group, spoke briefly about moving from the winter months into spring, a new year of tourists and plans to re-energize a “buy local” campaign. He welcomed new members—including Laurel, who smiled weakly and gave a little wave—and then began his spiel about the new promotion plan for the town.

  Laurel had started to tune him out a bit and was wondering if she could possibly sneak out unseen, when the words “Kissing Bridge” and “famous photo” reached her ears.

  She snapped her eyes upward to stare at Brent, only to realize that tens of pairs of eyes were focused solely on her. Because she was in that damned photo.

  “Laurel, we all know how cute you are in that photo. We’d like to update it this year, though. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Have that picture disappear? Not have a reminder of Aiden in her face every time she saw a Darling brochure or rack card? “Of course I don’t mind,” she replied, smiling. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Terrific. Someone in the office will be in touch with you about it, then.”

  He moved on while Laurel considered his words. In touch with her? The only thing she could think of was that her parents had signed a release and maybe she needed to do something with that. Show me where to sign, she thought, her lips twitching just a bit. She’d be glad to be done with it.

  When the meeting broke up, Laurel made her way across the room as quickly as possible, stopping to offer tidbits of conversation as she went. Chatty was great, and she really did want to take part in some of the spring and summer promotions coming up, but she was on the e-mail list. Right now she just wanted to get back to work.

  Finally she was outside again, in the fresh air and sunshine. She gave her shoulders a quick roll and adjusted her purse strap before walking toward her car, her heels tapping on the paved parking lot. The emergency-services building was next door. On this side, the building was small and compact, with a small public entrance and a line of parking spaces along the edge where the cruisers waited for officers. The other side of the building was big, brick, and housed the two firetrucks owned by the town, as well as the Chief’s van and the ambulance.

  A cruiser drove in, parked, and the officer got out just as Laurel reached her vehicle.

  There was no reason at all for her pulse to skip, or for the weightless, giddy feeling that swirled about in her stomach. Just because it was a police officer didn’t mean …

  And then he turned around. Even in his uniform, and a pair of aviators shielding his eyes, she knew it was Aiden. It was in the build. In his stance. And … in the stupid way her body was betraying her right now.

  He lifted a hand in greeting, and smiled. The power of it was like a punch right to her gut.

  She raised her hand and returned the greeting, and there was a moment of hesitation. She wasn’t really thinking of going over there, was she? Talking to him? A memory flashed; the way he’d looked at her the other night in the dusky twilight, standing by her gate, smelling like sin and his voice soft and low. She saw the holster on his hip; wondered if he had a bulletproof vest under his shirt, and found herself stupidly turned on by the idea.

  She dropped her hand and pressed the key fob to open her door. No, she was not going over there. She wasn’t going to say hello or watch as he slid those sunglasses off his eyes and looked down at her.

  Instead she got into her car and put the key in the ignition. That damned photo of them was going away for good, wasn’t it? And so should they. Nothing had really changed. She didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, and wasn’t interested in romance. This physical … aberration that kept happening signified nothing. It was just that. Physical.

  She backed out of the parking spot and glanced over at the police station lot. It was in her line of vision, after all. It wasn’t like she looked on purpose. Aiden was gone, probably inside. And that was it. Photo retired, they’d moved on, end of story.

  Somehow it didn’t feel as satisfying as it ought.

  * * *

  April rolled on and turned into May. Laurel put in long hours at the garden center, with new stock arriving every day. She hired two university students for the summer, and once she had them trained on cash and basic upkeep, it freed up a lot more of her time to do admin and arranging. With the risk of frost waning and spring in full swing, it seemed every business owner in town was after urns, planters, baskets, or annuals for window boxes. And that didn’t include the residential customers. In a town like Darling, keeping yards at a certain standard was a given. Right now her shrubs and perennial stocks were diminishing at an alarming rate. It was great for her bottom line, but she was exhausted. She was considering going to see Sally at the shop, not for foils but to get her hair cut short, just to cut down on maintenance time.

  She arrived at work on a Saturday morning to find graffiti on her fence.

  The fencing around the perimeter of the shrubs and trees was metal, but by the front signage there were two sections of six-foot wooden fencing. Each section was now painted with black spray paint. One side had a crudely drawn penis. The other a pair of breasts.

  Anger rushed through her as she stared at the lewd pictures. A lilac bush, okay. A break-in for the cash box? Maybe it was random. But things continually happening to her? Bullshit. Someone was taking their shots and she was mad as hell about it. She felt … violated.

  She whipped out her phone and called her dad first thing, asking if he could pick up another gallon of the paint they’d used and a roller. Then she looked up the main number for the police station. She didn’t want to use 911; this wasn’t an emergency. But it needed to be reported. The incidents kept happening and it was time something was done about it.

  A female officer answered the call, arriving on scene thirty minutes later. In the meantime, Laurel had draped a few tarps over the offensive paint and had gone about the business of getting ready to open. Staff gave her a wide berth as drawers and doors slammed. When the police arrived, she took off the tarps. The officer merely sighed.

  “Well, I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing to tell you that this isn’t the only penis we’ve found around town,” she said.

  The dry delivery had Laurel laughing despite herself, possibly from a little relief. “So I shouldn’t take it personally?”

  The officer—her tag said Holbrook—shrugged. “Added to the other incidents here
? It wouldn’t surprise me if it ended up being the same person. But since other properties have been hit in similar ways, I don’t think it’s vindictive. They didn’t get caught the last time, there are no cameras here, and you have this lovely big canvas right out front.”

  “Maybe I should have rethought the fence.”

  Then she got angry all over again. Why shouldn’t she have the fence? She’d done nothing wrong here. She certainly hadn’t issued an invitation. “You say it’s not vindictive, but this keeps happening to me. Something’s got to be done to stop it. All this damage is costing me money.”

  Her outburst didn’t seem to affect the officer at all. “Let me take some pics for the report, and then it’s all yours.”

  By the time they were through, it was nine o’clock and time to open. Being a Saturday, business was brisk. Her dad dropped off the supplies and offered to stay to help cover the tagging, but with the heavy shopping traffic, Laurel decided to wait until things died down. For now the tarps covered the tags, and she’d focus on her customers. Otherwise her anger would get the best of her and that was bad for business. By six p.m., things had slowed considerably. Laurel had been going flat out for ten hours, stopping for only fifteen minutes to run to The Purple Pig for a sandwich. Her stomach growled, her feet hurt, there was dirt beneath her nails and she really, really wanted a shower and a glass of wine—in that order. Laurel had just dragged out the hose to water the fruit trees when a half-ton truck drove into the lot and parked in an empty space.

  The driver hopped out, and her heart slammed against her ribs as she immediately realized how she must look. Dirty jeans, mannish golf shirt that did nothing for her figure, scrubby ponytail through a Ladybug Garden Center ball cap, and probably smudges of dirt on her face and arms. Not that she was trying to look nice for Aiden or anything, but it was him getting out of the truck, looking sexy as hell in faded jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his chest and shoulders.

  She could pretend she hadn’t seen him. Resolutely she turned on the hose and started watering the apple trees.