by Jacquie Gee
I promised Mom as much, as she took her dying breaths. That one day, when I was older, I’d jump on the bus and head to New York with all my designer dresses and take the city by storm. And I wouldn’t come back until I was a grand success—just as mother had always wholeheartedly believed I would be.
She died that way, completely happy, content in the notion I would go. I feel guilty most nights, alone in my attic sewing room, creating dresses that will most likely never be seen, or worn by anyone.
That’s why I entered the contest. I flip open my laptop, checking my email for the seventh time today. Checking to see if I’ve got a response to my entry. The reality TV competition Project Catwalk is offering an opportunity for young, undiscovered, designers to appear as contestants on their show this coming season. So, I mustered up all my courage and applied in a moment of insanity. I’ve told no one else about it. I sent the package off last Wednesday, in secret, and have been checking my email ever since.
In the meantime, I’ve binge watched the last season over again, holed up in my room alone, gorging on fresh blackberries and tart Gouda cheese, preparing myself for the moment I win. If I get in I’ll at last be fulfilling my promise to my mother and I’ll have a real reason to leave Heartland Cove. Though, I don’t know how I’ll break it to Dad.
But I have to go, if given the opportunity. I just have to. He’ll understand, I know he will.
I close my eyes and envision my submission, cradled in its lily-painted box. I painted the lilies on myself, by hand. I see the box arriving at the front desk of the television station, or wherever they drop submissions off, inside is my original designer dress—my one-of-a-kind organza and silk satin creation—lurking between layers of specialty laser-cut tissue.
The dress itself is a vision, if I must say so, with its triple layer ballroom-style skirt and near sheer corset bodice. Hand-cut-and-sewn silk lilies spill down the front of the dress’ daring décolletage front. The dress also features a severely cut Basque waist with more flowers sprinkled over it. Protruding from the silk flower accents are Swarovski crystals, attached to sprigs of fibre optic cable, adorned with clusters of raw pearls and shimmering faux diamonds.
The quality of the beads are second to none. I spent the last of my savings on them. The sleeves are made of crinkled organza, cut and starched into the shape of hundreds of tiny butterfly wings. It’s as though a group of them have all landed together to form a sleeve. The result is a pair of uniquely crafted jagged-edged puffs, delicate and light and airy.
I’m convinced the dress is a winner. I’ve never believed in anything more than I do this. It’s a one-of-a-kind show-stopping masterpiece. At least, I think it is.
I should be hearing soon if I’ve made the cut. I can’t imagine that I didn’t. I’ll be crushed if it doesn’t work out. But I know I’m getting in, I chant to myself. I have to get in.
I drag a sad finger over my empty email box when it pops up on the screen, then slam my laptop shut.
Chapter 4
Jayden
So, this is Heartland. I round the corner in my rented SUV, rambling off the regional road and onto a secondary one that looks to be made of clay. Doesn’t seem to have much going for it. I look around the town, leaning out over the steering wheel, taking in the panoramic view. Although I must say, that covered bridge is pretty impressive. I stare at it. It's a whole lot bigger than I imagined. My gaze traispes over the river and the falls, drinking their beauty in. It really is quite a pretty place.
My destiny. My new home.
I slow the car and roll down Main street, through the obvious heart of the town, toward the entrance to the bridge—every available neighbor gawking. Guess I won’t need to take out an ad in the paper to let them know I’m here.
I wave to an old geezer on a corner, squinting through my windshield, when I stop for the one and only light at the center of town. Old geezer waves back. One good thing, I won’t have to worry about getting lost, seeing the town consists of only one crossroad.
I step on the gas, accelerating slowly up the road, leading in and out of town, twisting my head left and right as I go, checking out the tiny side streets as they flicker past, before coming to the bridge. I turn right, rumble up the ramp, and into the depths of the old covered structure. Sunlight slats the sides of the car as I motor through, and sprinkles the windows in a prism-like fashion. The smell of old oiled wood seeps into the car cabin through the car’s open vents. Boy, this thing truly is authentic, isn’t it?
I marvel at the old rusty bolts that hold it together, as I pass. A gust of sunshine blinds me as the car pops out the other end, onto yet another Main Street, this one dubbed, Downey. Now to the Bed & Breakfast.
I hesitate, wondering if I’m to turn left or right. Aah, there it is! I swing the car left, spotting a Victorian sitting high atop the hill at the far end of town. That was easy. Now to find Barnaby Real Estate. I swing my head again …And there it is, right across from the infamous Bate’s Bait shop. Perfect. And look, there’s even a nice little diner where I can grab some lunch.
I pull the car to a rolling stop in front of the restaurant’s plate glass window. Looking behind me, I proceed to parallel park my rented SUV, flawlessly, I might add, maneuvering it into the only empty parking space out front of the greasy spoon. I imagine this won’t be the only meal I have here. I glance over at the name on the window. Sal’s Burgers and Fries. I drum my thumbs on the steering wheel. I wonder if they serve sushi.
Ping! A text. I grab for my phone.
Hey, Jay Day, how’s the adventure going? Everyone misses you here.
It’s Luna. Luna who’s been texting every few hours since I left New York. It’s Luna who’s missing me, not everyone. Luna, my good friend from the office, who’s been hinting she has bigger and better plans for us than just friends. Better answer this one cautiously.
Jay Day is Luna’s pet name for me, although she knows I hate it. My first indication things between us were headed the wrong way. The first sign that I needed to start putting the brakes on. But, she is a friend. A close friend. A loyal one. So, I at least owe her an update.
Not bad, I text back, purposely vague. Just landed at my destination. That’s all I’m willing to share at the moment.
Awesome.
Big, long awkward hesitation, and then.
Look, I know this quest is super important to you and all but, the boss has been asking questions. He wants to know when you’re coming back. What do you want me to tell him?
Tell him I’ll be back in about a year. I joke.
Silence.
Kidding. I think.
All jokes aside, I don’t think I can cover for you much longer.
Then don’t. I text Luna back.
What?
Tell him whatever you’d like, Luna.
What’s that supposed to mean?
I’m being short, I know, but this is just Luna, trying to pin me down, trying to find out my plans, when I’m coming back. But I’m not coming back and she shouldn’t wait for me. How do I tell her that?
The boss won’t hold your job forever, you know?
So tell him I’ve decided to freelance.
Have you?
You know what they say about freelancers. They make more money.
But they also struggle. I wouldn’t wanna be on my own in today’s work world. It’s hard enough to get story assignments as a paid journalist.
Then it’s a good job you’re not me isn’t it, Luna?
I suppose.
I immediately feel guilty and resolved to take her out for coffee when I get back to set her straight in person. Nothing screams ‘jerk’ more than letting someone down over text. And I pride myself on not being a jerk.
I’ll see you soon, I text, adding a smiley face emoji.
Okay, she returns. Until then, don’t go doing anything stupid.
Don’t worry. I twist around, lifting the blanket on the cache of highly-specialized electronic ghost-busting
equipment hidden beneath it, in my back seat. I won’t.
Chapter 5
Jules
I sigh, shifting from my dream world back to the real one, where bait is still waiting to be canned in the sink. I move in, snapping the lids down on the last of the worm canisters, and start on the grubs—my least favorite job of the day.
Closing my eyes, I dig into the bin of dirt. You’d think after years of this they wouldn’t still bother me. I comb through the soil, searching for the creepy little suckers. In my mind, I’m busy sketching out the dress I'll create when I win a spot on Project Catwalk. It helps take my mind off the grubs—which feel suspiciously like maggots. Don’t let your mind go there, Jules.
I shudder at the thought, as the front door of the shop pops open at my back, causing me to jump. Customer warning bells tinkle overhead.
Who could that be? My eyes spring open. I check the clock. It's not time for the second tour bus, yet. That's not due for another half an hour. Who the heck could this be? It can't be a fisherman. I served them all this morning, and gosh knows they don't come back until after sunset. Not around here, anyway.
And shipments only come once a week. On Wednesdays, not Fridays. This time of the day, the bait shop is typically dormant. In fact, the entire Cove is a pretty much a ghost town, so who on earth—
"Hel-lo?" The voice is deep.
I spin around, peering out from behind the backroom partition, into the main belly of the shop.
A figure stands propped half in and half out of the doorway. It has shoulders that could stop a truck.
Backlit by the sun, I can't make out any features, but the silhouette is pretty brawny. And the hair. Great hair, as thick and wiry as an eagle’s nest. And just about as big.
“Hey there.” He waves and tilts his head. The man, the one with the shoulders. The light catches his hair, revealing a full stock of blonde twisty curls, laying in soft, haphazardly-shorn swoops on top of his head. The sides of his head are closely shaved. They look like a sheep in spring. What is that on his face… a beard? I lean. And not just any beard. One of those cool, well-trimmed beards the guys are wearing in the bigger cities right now—in any city but here. "Excuse me," he says, leaning further through the door, and the tips of his curls shimmer a dark gold, like the peaks of blow-torched meringue. "Don't mean to disturb but—"
Is that an accent I detect?
Trust me, you're not, I think.
"It's just that, bangers, I seem to be lost."
Bangers? What’s that supposed to mean?
I want to giggle, but I don't because that would be rude. Two things I pride myself on are not being boastful or rude. Besides, the scenery’s too good to chase it away.
"I—ah…" He runs a hand through his hair and his waves shimmer. Look at those hands, wide and strong, attached to sets of incredibly stoked pipes. And those eyes—deep-set and cobalt blue.
Gobsmack, he’s beautiful. I blink, disbelieving my luck.
Can it be? A Greek god just wandered into my father's bait shop? What was that about Anna thinking this impossible.
"I'm looking for the Caldwell place—manor, I should say," he corrects himself, glancing down at some papers in his hand. His accent is thick, indistinguishable. He has sort of a Swedish-British hybrid thing going on.
Swedish-British? Where have I heard that?
Omigosh, this is Anna’s man.
“I, ah, probably should be able to find the place, but I’m ashamed to say I’ve been up and down the strip with no luck.” His last words come out sounding girly, flustered—totally out of sync with his bad-bottom looking self, yet, at the same time, James Bondishly cool. He glances up from the papers and his azure blue eyes meet mine this time. That’s right, azure blue. They’ve changed. It must be the lighting. Whatever it is, it’s super cool.
His gaze penetrates every ounce of my mind. I haven't seen a guy this hot in years.
I may never have seen one this hot.
I may or may not have just internally shrieked.
"I wanted to get there early, you know? Thought I'd poke around the place on my own a bit before the realtor showed up. Flip a few rocks. Turn over a few stones. That kind of thing." He does this crazy-cute wriggly-dipping thing with his eyebrows, then smiles and his beard shifts slightly right. "You don't happen to know the place, do you?" He grins, and full lips appear from under his beard, surrounding a set of sparkling white teeth.
“I, uh—yeah, I know the place…”
I hate that this is Anna’s guy. The one she plans to unload the Caldwell Manor on. Maybe she won't be able to do it. Maybe he won't like the place. Or maybe, Jules, you should just do this guy a solid and tell him the truth about it. Although, Anna is your best friend, who stands to win a trip to Hawaii.
Either way, this doesn't end well.
"I'm sorry to have to ask, but—"
Gawd, Jules, you’re being incredibly rude. Talk to this man, just don’t stand here, staring.
"It's just, I have an appointment"—he quickly checks his watch—"which, sadly, I think I'm gonna be late for.”
“Oh, we can’t have that.” I charge forward.
“Again, I don't want to disturb—"
"Oh, no. It's fine. No disturbing." Is that what one says to that prompt? "I mean, it's okay!" I wave away the inquisition, still stammering. "I mean, not that you're almost late, but, that you’re lost—I mean—"
“It’s okay. I get the gist.”
It’s like my brain is drunk and my body is nervous. I haven’t been this jittery since junior high school. What are my hands doing? I look down at them, swinging girl-like at my sides. Okay, stop that.
"The name’s Jayden Sievert." He lunges toward me, extending a beautifully bronzed hand to shake. "And you are?"
"Jules. Jules Bates." I shoot forward, sticking out a hand to shake his, then thinking better of it. Worm guts. Omigosh, what have I done?
I've just transferred worm guts to this godlike creature's hand. Honestly, Bates, Anna's right, you've gotta get yourself together!
Jayden squints, his eyes the color of sky now. "Is that dirt you have under your nose?" He points to my upper lip.
"Oh. Yeah." I reach up, embarrassed, and wipe my nose with my sleeve, then realize how utterly unladylike that movement was. "Sorry, I was just, uh…" I turn. Don't you dare tell this gorgeous man what you've been doing!
"I'm not taking you from something important, am I?" he asks.
"Oh, no. No, no, no." I shake my head. The freakin’ worms can wait. Besides, important? In Heartland Cove? Clearly, he's not from around here.
"In fact…" I sigh, mentally tapping my chin. I have a delicious idea. "Why don't I take you up there?" I blurt.
Before I can control them, my arms drop to my sides again and swing in a weird, playful way. I stop. Cross my arms.
"Well, if it's no bother." He breaks into a smile.
"Oh, no bother at all." I shoo the thought away.
"Cause I really don't want to disturb—"
“Like I said, no disturbing. Just let me go get my jacket.”
Don't want to disturb. I absolutely love that phrase. How very English, or whatever, of him!
"Besides, I can use the break," I shout back over my shoulder. "It's only a short drive around the corner of the Bay and up the hill." I flip a graceful finger behind my head.
“No wonder I couldn’t find it. You're sure it's not a bother—"
Not unless hot and bothered counts. "Please, stop," I say.
"All right then." Jayden smiles and his perfectly groomed brows rise in a Douglas-Booth-meets-Ryan-Guzman kind of knee-melting way.
"I'll, ah…" I stammer, taken with the look. "I'll just go get that jacket." And clean up a little. I bite my lip.
Tugging at the strings of my apron, I loop it over my head and toss it away, and smile as I head off to the back room—a deep and genuine smile. A smile that makes my cheeks ache. I haven't smiled this hard since—
I
stop myself. Why did I just think of her?
"By the way.” Jayden's voice catches my step. “I love the tats."
"What?" I crank around. At first, I think he’s insulted me, and then I realize he means my sleeve.
"Your tattoos." He points to my arm. "I said I like 'em."
"Oh,” I breathe. “Really?" I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.
"Yeah, they're pretty cool." He grins.
"You’re being serious?" I lift a skeptical brow.
"What else would I be?" He scowls. "You get them done around here?"
"Yes. Up the road a bit," I answer robotically, still surprised by his interest.
"Cool. Do they hold special meaning?” He narrows his eyes.
"A little bit of both.” I gasp under the tickle of his gaze, as it traces the lines of the art across my chest. “It represents two of my favorite book characters."
"You read books?”
"Yeah."
“Fancy that. So do I.”
“Really?” Okay, when am I going to wake up from this dream. A hot man with a cool beard, who reads books, right here in my shop. I’d like to pinch myself, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.
"I'm guessing one character is a butterfly, and the other's a spider?"
"Something like that," I gasp.
"And the quote, what does that mean?" Jayden presses.
Quote? What quote? Omigosh, he sees it.
His gaze falls to the words woven into the web in the crook of my arm, and my mouth drops wide open. No one has ever noticed the wording hidden in the webbing before. Not even my own dad.
"Is the quote from the book?"
“Uh-huh,” I nod, extending my arm and tracing the words with a slow finger. "The last book my mother ever wrote."
"Your mom’s an honest-to-goodness author?"
"She was an author, yeah.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Jayden's enthusiasm fizzles.
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago,” I lie ineffectively.
A hint of empathy plays on my lips."Still, how freakin' cool is that?" he says, allowing his gaze to cautiously reexamine my inkings.
