Someplace Familiar (Laurel Cove Romance Book 1)

by Teresa Tysinger

  “A more tender story of grace and love you won’t find. Teresa Tysinger’s debut, Someplace Familiar, is captivating, gentle, romantic, and so well-written, I was transported to Laurel Cove and its beautiful characters from the very first page. This is a stunning debut.”

  Mikal Dawn, author of Count Me In

  “This is a sweet and heartfelt reunion romance in which the Blue Ridge Mountains play a charming character. The small-town setting and Southern flavor compliment Jack and Livy’s poignant unexpected romance like a comforting bowl of shrimp and grits.”

  Laurie Tomlinson, author of With No Reservations

  “A heartfelt romantic journey from beginning to end, this novel will wrap you up in Southern hospitality, offer you a cup of sweet tea and make the reader not want to leave the colorful world of Laurel Cove, or say goodbye to Jack and Livy. A must read if you need to escape from the real world whether just through pages, or on vacation.”

  Meghan M. Gorecki, author of Wrapped in Red:

  A Three Rivers Romance Novella

  SOMEPLACE

  Familiar

  Teresa Tysinger

  © 2017 Teresa Tysinger

  Published by Good Day Publishing

  Fort Worth, Texas 76109

  http://teresatysinger.com/

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0-9990209-1-9

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9990209-1-3

  Non-commercial uses may reproduce portions of this book (not to exceed 500 words) without the express written consent of Good Day Publishing.

  Commercial Uses: No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any name, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brands, places, and trademarks remain property of their respective owners, have no association with the author or publisher, and are used strictly for fictional purposes.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the New Revised Standard Version – NRSV Standard Version, Copyright 2011. Used by permission by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved.

  Edited by Laurie Tomlinson, 1624 Communications

  Cover design by Teresa Tysinger

  Images from Lightstock.com

  Author photo by E.A. Creative Photography

  FOR ERIC

  My number one encourager. I would never

  have made it this far without you.

  FOR EMMA

  Because you were watching, I kept working hard.

  If you want it, make it happen, baby doll.

  FOR MOM AND DAD

  I’m a writer today because you let me be a writer back then. Thank you for always reading.

  I do not at all understand

  the mystery of grace –

  only that it meets us where we are

  but does not leave us where it found us.

  Anne Lamott

  CHAPTER

  One

  N ot much had changed about Laurel Cove, North Carolina in the ten years since Livy Johnson had last visited. Driving down Main Street, it was every bit as charming and picturesque as she remembered. American flags blew in the breeze in old store fronts. Two old men in overalls leaned lazily on the back end of a rusty pick-up, probably shooting the breeze.

  A red traffic light.

  Livy’s foot slammed against the brake pad, lurching the car to a stop about a foot into the quiet intersection. The cracking of wood behind her seat could only mean one thing. Her easel had broken. How was she going to get back into painting without the easel she’d used since art school? What a great start to her new beginning.

  With no traffic waiting, Livy steered the car left as the light turned. She needed no GPS to find the Laurel Cove Inn, a short, steep climb off Main Street. The car came to a much gentler stop in front of the grand white building sitting at one edge of the town square. Livy’s muscles ached from the five-hour drive from Raleigh as she stepped from the car and stretched her arms toward a cloudless sky. The building was every bit as beautiful as she remembered.

  The sight of a man looking down from a second-story window of the inn pricked at her insecurities. A gasp of cold, crisp mountain air stung her throat as her hand rubbed at the heat rising up her neck. Her eyes cut to the hood of her car, its engine still pinging as it cooled. The uneasiness of being watched eclipsed the serenity of her surroundings. She’d come to Laurel Cove to hide from her problems, yet someone had already found her.

  Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t like she was hiding. Plus, everything, and everyone, she remembered of Laurel Cove was good. Curiosity pulled her eyes back to the window. The man’s tall figure filled most of the space between the frame. Flat palm facing out, he nodded in her direction.

  Her heart skipped in her chest. Who was he? A tenant or maybe the owner? And why was he watching her so intently? She returned an awkward wave but not a smile, a tingling electricity traveling from her neck to her fingertips. Apparently satisfied, the man disappeared from the window.

  Hiding had been effortless in New York City. Getting lost in a sea of people was as easy as stepping onto a crowded Subway car. Sweet Laurel Cove would be very different. Generations of families filled its church pews, ran its farms, and schooled its children. Anonymity was as rare as lightning bugs in wintertime—as her Gram would say. Being new in town and keeping a low profile might prove tough. Yet, the memory of feeling so safe and loved during summers here with her grandmother made it seem like just the place she was meant to be.

  A cool breeze whipped at the few loose strands of hair around Livy’s face and pulled her away from her thoughts. She turned to gather her things from the backseat of the car. The easel fell apart as she removed a suitcase that had been holding it in place behind her seat. Ruined. But no time to dwell on more broken things. She straightened and retrieved the folded paper she’d carried in her purse the past two months, opened it, and scanned the contents. She refolded it with care and slid it back in for safekeeping.

  Armed with a few bags and one large rolling suitcase, Livy took in the entirety of the picturesque inn. This would be home—at least for now. With its large pillars, wraparound porch, and grand hanging ferns, it epitomized southern charm. Her eyes wandered along the lines of the white siding, to cornices adorned with carved ornaments, and finally up to a red tin roof. It had been well maintained over the years.

  As Livy took the uneven stone walkway toward the front steps, she dared to revisit the window. Empty. The encounter with the man had been harmless, yet something inside her stirred. Would she make friends easily here? Would they treat her differently once they found out she’d been living up north? Southerners may be known for their hospitality, but some could be wary of outsiders. Her future here was anything but clear. Yet she’d made it this far. With a deep breath, Livy opened the door.

  ***

  Jack Bowdon stepped back from the window. When the woman standing in the parking lot had returned his wave, the soft lines of her face had stirred something deep inside. Absurd, of course. Laurel Cove may be the small town where he’d been born and bred, but that didn’t mean he knew everyone. Visitors came and went from all over. One thing was for sure, though. She didn’t look the least bit happy when he’d waved. Some folks just weren’t keen on strangers—no matter how friendly.

  Jack closed the white lace curtains and lifted his tool bag from the floor. With that stubborn latch fixe
d, he had only a running toilet in Room 10 to check before being finished for the day.

  Old wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, the only noise on the second floor. Since the crowd of skiers had departed a few weeks earlier, it was so quiet he could practically hear dust settling. The last of the early spring snow had melted, and it would likely be this quiet until the summer vacation season began in June.

  At the door to the guest room, Jack paused at the sound of voices downstairs. Thank goodness it was almost time to go home. Besides seeing his friends, he preferred to keep to himself these days. Even after a year, his divorce continued to be fodder for talk around town, and he’d rather avoid the looks of sympathy tonight.

  Jack twisted his master key in the door to Room 10. A relaxing night alone at the cabin sounded perfect, even though he’d built the house for two.

  ***

  Livy squinted to adjust to the lobby’s dim lighting. A short, rotund woman standing next to a large wooden desk waved her over. The woman—maybe in her sixties—wore a crisp, white apron over a light-blue collared dress with little yellow flowers. Her grey-white hair, secured neatly at the sides with simple bobby pins, reminded Livy of her own Gram.

  Livy smiled at the woman and the memory. “I’m checking in.”

  “Well, we’re so glad you’re here, honey. You must be that gal coming all the way from the Northeast—New York City, was it?”

  When Livy had called to make her open-ended reservation, the inn keeper had had a few questions—curiosity surely getting the best of her. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’m Beatrice Hall, but most people call me Aunt Bea. Not to be confused with that Mayberry character.” She stepped behind the desk, shuffling some papers.

  A chuckle teased in Livy’s throat.

  Before she could respond with her southern-trained yes, ma’am, Aunt Bea continued. “I bet you’re tired. You didn’t drive your pretty little self all the way today, did you?”

  Livy let the duffle bag fall from her shoulder and rested her arms on the high counter. “No, ma’am. I drove from Raleigh today after staying with my mama a few weeks.”

  “Well, we’ve been ready. I personally spruced up Room 12 for you. Since the outdoorsy folks skiing over in Boone left a few weeks ago, things have been as quiet as a sleeping cat around here.” Aunt Bea put a check next to Livy’s name on a blackboard behind the desk, retrieved a key from an ornate pegboard, and pulled out some brochures. The way the woman darted forward, Livy half expected to be hugged, but instead Aunt Bea reached for the duffle bag and started for the staircase.

  “You’re just up this way.” Aunt Bea paused to look over her shoulder. With her other things in tow, Livy took slow steps behind Aunt Bea as they climbed the wooden staircase. The woman’s smile was warm and inviting. “This inn was the first in Laurel Cove. Built in 1833. Except for the years it was used as a Civil War hospital, it’s stayed open for business. Our family wasn’t the original owners, but we sure love the old place an awful lot.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  Livy ran her fingers along the rail’s flawless craftsmanship and admired antique frosted glass sconces adorning the wall. The warmth of this traditional inn was a stark contrast from her New York apartment’s sleek white walls and expansive windows. The moment she’d seen the apartment, she imagined how perfect that natural light would be for painting. The city had lured her almost ten years ago with promises of adventure and realized ambition. She’d found neither. Instead, heartache, disappointment, and uncertainty marred her memories. At the top of the stairs, golden sunlight pierced through a window, a choreographed dance of particles interrupted into chaos as Aunt Bea led them down a narrow hall. That swirling chaos was all too familiar.

  They stopped at the second door on the right down a narrow hallway. Room 12.

  “This room is my favorite.” Aunt Bea turned an old key in the knob and motioned for Livy to enter. It mirrored the charm of the town itself with a four-poster bed, dresser, side table, and desk all made of matching dark wood. With its white cotton curtains and quilted bedspread, Livy could have been in the guest room at her parents’ house.

  “This will do just fine. Thank you very much.” Livy couldn’t wait to kick off her shoes and lie down.

  The woman giggled as she patted Livy’s arm. “Oh, honey. We’re just thrilled to have a guest. You’re the only one scheduled for weeks.”

  Aunt Bea opened a small door on the side of the room. “Your bathroom is just in here. The toilets in this old place have a mind of their own, so let me know if yours keeps running and I’ll have my handyman take a look.”

  Livy nodded as a yawn escaped.

  “I’ll let you get settled now. You holler if you need anything.”

  “I will. Thank you, again.” Livy grinned, watching the sweet woman scurry toward the staircase.

  It took no time to unpack. Most of her things were in storage at her mother’s place. After sliding the empty suitcase into the closet, Livy reached in her purse and unfolded the worn paper again. She scanned the text circled in red from a listing in a Yancey County Real Estate book. Her grandmother’s cottage.

  “Oh, Gram. Am I crazy?” Her words mingled with the light scratching of branches on the window.

  With creaking floorboards underfoot, she went to the window and admired the outline of gentle peaks and valleys of western North Carolina that rose and fell along the darkening horizon like a sleeping giant. Life had changed so much in the last six weeks. The breakup with Sam after years of emotional abuse was long overdue, and honestly, New York City had never really become home.

  Chilly air pressed into the old seams of the window with a strong gust of wind. Livy wrapped her arms around her middle. Would she find the fresh start she needed here in Laurel Cove? Could fixing up her grandmother’s rundown home—bought with a small inheritance from her father, now gone too—also repair her broken life? So many questions, uncertainties. Maybe she was just running, hiding from the still palpable pain and disappointment.

  A long sigh escaped, and she turned from the beautiful springtime scene starting to turn golden as the sun sank lower. The bed looked so inviting, but her stomach growled in protest. A quick walk down to Main Street for some dinner would feed her hunger and stretch her legs.

  Locking the door behind her, Livy fixed her purse across her shoulder and turned for the stairs. Wham! She crashed into a figure that came from nowhere. Large hands grabbed her by the shoulders. She braced herself against soft flannel fabric covering the wide chest of a rather tall man.

  ***

  “Whoa, there. You all right?” Jack released his hold on the woman he’d just collided with. The woman from the parking lot. He leaned to catch a glimpse of her face, but dark flowing hair hid her features as she bent to pick up her keys.

  “I’m … I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

  “No, please, it’s my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She didn’t speak and seemed to be avoiding his gaze. “You pulled up a few minutes ago, right?”

  She straightened and looked up at him. Good gracious. She had the most piercing green eyes, the color of freshly cut grass. He’d only seen eyes that color once before, a long time ago.

  “Um, yes. I just checked in.”

  Jack readjusted the tool bag on his shoulder. He didn’t want to be rude and stare, but he had to be sure. Could it be her? Same freckles across the bridge of her nose—though lighter now—delicate features, and full round lips. Adrenaline surged through him. She shifted her weight and looked toward the staircase as if searching for an escape.

  “I’m Jack Bowdon.” Slender, cold fingers slid into his outstretched hand. “And you are?”

  She offered a timid smile. “Oh, sorry. I’m Olivia Johnson. But most people call me Livy.”

  His heart soared to heights it hadn’t known in a long time. It is her.

  ***

  The tightness in the pit of Livy’s stomach knotted like gnarly roots, ce
menting her to the hallway floor. She didn’t have it in her to make acquaintance with some tall-dark-and-handsome southern gentleman who made habit of staring at strangers. But, my goodness, he was handsome. Clear blue eyes, hair the color of chocolate, and a thick layer of stubble that covered dimpled cheeks. She guessed him to be a few inches over six feet. He studied her, too, eyes dancing as if working to catalog her features. Then something surprising.

  His eyes locked on hers—and the tightness in her stomach found subtle relief, the knots of anxiety loosening enough to let Livy breathe deeply again. What should she make of it—and that look of his?

  “So, where’s home?” His velvety voice matched the friendliness of his smile. He twisted sideways and motioned for her to go ahead of him toward the staircase.

  Where was home? She didn’t know. Certainly not New York. And though her parents’ farm would always be a welcoming respite and safe haven, it had lost something magical the day her father died. Livy prayed for a place to call her own. Maybe Gram’s cottage would be the place she desperately needed.

  “I drove in today from Raleigh where I grew up, but I’m moving from New York City.” Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. She usually didn’t share much with strangers, so why was opening up to a man she’d just met so easy?

  “New York City, huh?” Jack’s calm and casual demeanor struck her as almost foreign. She’d grown accustomed to New Yorkers who, on the whole, were more closed-off and rigid.

  His mouth parted as if he were about to say something, when Aunt Bea’s voice bellowed from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Jack, you still up there, honey? I’d love to show you that fencepost out back before I head home to feed Floyd his supper.”