by Lydia Reeves
A Fairfield Romance: Books 1-3
Box Set Volume 1
Lydia Reeves
Contents
Maybe It’s You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Follow Your Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Change My Mind
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Author’s Note
Connect with Lydia Reeves
Maybe It’s You
Chapter 1
ELLEN
My mother named me Sparrow. She claims it was because the trilling birdsong was the first sound she heard after I was born, but I maintain it was more likely that she’d been high as a kite on whatever magical drugs the hospital had given her, and never stopped to consider that her choice of name might traumatize a small child. My father, however, had had the foresight to sneak an extra middle name in on my birth certificate—just in case. And so, it was this name—his mother’s name, the somewhat more functional Ellen—that my friend Dana used when I called from the car to tell her I was about six hours away from her house in eastern Ohio, and probably wouldn’t get there until well after midnight.
“Ellen, it’s fine,” she said, seeming to understand that I needed to be reassured I wasn’t putting her out. “I’ll just leave the door unlocked and the porch light on. Come in and make yourself at home.”
It was true that I felt awful for keeping her waiting—after all, I’d originally planned to be there the day before, but time got away from me, as it so often did. But Dana just laughed and assured me that she knew me well enough to know I’d be there whenever I got there, and she was excited to see me whenever that might be. I blew her a kiss and hung up.
It had grown darker in the time I’d been on the phone, the clouds gathering to block out the setting sun, and the first drops of rain hit my windshield as my headlights lit up a sign for the next exit, just five miles down the highway. I realized I was starting to feel sleepy. After a day and a half on the road, I’d exhausted my music collection and was more than ready to get out of the car and into a real bed. I hated to make the trip last a second longer than necessary, but if I was going to make it through in one piece, I was going to need caffeine.
The exit appeared out of the darkness to my right and at the last second I took the ramp, glancing at the sign as I went. Fairfield, Indiana. Another sleepy midwestern town surrounded by cornfields.
Well, as long as they had coffee.
The rain was coming down harder as I made my way into town, searching for a gas station. It didn’t take long to find one, and I pulled in, figuring I’d go ahead and fill up my dented Honda Civic while I was there. Two donuts and a steaming paper cup of coffee later and I was waiting for my car to fill up, eager to get back on the road for the last leg of the journey.
I hadn’t seen Dana more than a handful of times in the nearly eight years since we’d lived together. She’d been my roommate in college, at the illustrious Savannah College of Art and Design. Or at least, she had been for the two years I’d been there, before I decided college wasn’t for me and moved across the country to try to make it as a freelance illustrator in San Francisco. But we’d kept in touch over the years, as she’d graduated and found a job in Ohio, then gotten married, had a baby, and settled down.
I, on the other hand, had quickly grown tired of the bustle of San Francisco and relocated to a tiny town near the border in southern Texas. Another year and I made my way overseas to Paris, then found myself bouncing around Europe for a couple of years. Back in the States, I tried my hand as a starving artist in New York City for about six months before I was offered something I’d never considered before—a job with a fixed location. So, with much trepidation—and much encouragement from Dana (less so from my mother)—I accepted the job and moved again, this time to sunny San Diego. And there I stayed, settling in the same place for three years—the longest stretch of my life.
It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise when that didn’t work out.
So, off I went again, to Phoenix this time. Six months there before the restlessness got the better of me once again, and here I was, back to the comforting familiarity of being on the road, driving through the middle of nowhere.
The pump clicked off and I replaced the nozzle, climbing back into my car and heading back out onto the road.
To be fair, this part of the middle of nowhere was pretty cute. It was hard to see through the sheeting downpour, but the little road ran right through what appeared to be the center of town on its winding way back to the interstate. Tall brick storefronts rose on either side, bright streetlights illuminating their colored awnings. I’d already forgotten the name of the town, but it seemed warm and cheerful, even in the pouring rain.
There was no one else out on the road tonight, and I slowed for a stoplight, looking around the intersection with interest as I waited for the light to change. The coffee was kicking into my system, and I felt a little more alert as I squinted through the darkness, reading the signs on the illuminated storefronts. An antique shop on one corner, a used bookstore across the street, and what appeared to be a barber shop next door, complete with old fashioned striped pole. Amazing. I didn’t know they still made towns like this.
After a long moment the light changed, and I stepped on the gas. My car, my sturdy little Honda Civic that had taken me across the country multiple times without complaint, chose that exact moment to give a mighty shudder, then stall out in the middle of the intersection.
Blinking in surprise, I turned the key in the ignition, shutting the car off, then back on. Nothing happened. The headlights flickered once, twice, then went out. I tried the key again. Nothing. In the darkness, the pouring rain was loud against the windshield as I sat, dumbfounded in my unresponsive car.
It only took a moment for my wits to kick in. Sitting in a car with no lights in the middle of an intersection during a storm at night wasn’t ideal. I tried the hazard lights, and again, nothing, so I grabbed my purse from the passenger’s seat and ducked out of the car.
I was drenched in a matter of seconds. The rain plastered my hair to my head and soaked through my clothes as I hurried through the rain and tried to figure out what to do.
It was late enough that all the stores were closed, and I was miles away from anyone I knew. I hugged my purse to my chest, hoping my phone was safe and dry inside. Okay. First step—get out of this downpour and figure out who to call for help.
The antique shop was closest, with an awning stretching over the sidewalk, so I headed toward the dry spot there, glancing nervously over my shoulder at my car, sitting dark and lonely in the road, just waiting for someone to come along and hit it. Everything I owned
filled the trunk of that car, and I really didn’t want to deal with being rear-ended right now.
Under the relative safety of the awning, I huddled against the glass storefront and dug my phone from my purse, dialing the number for roadside assistance. That was one thing I’d learned from years of traveling, and I felt a pang of gratitude toward my parents for drilling its importance into my head. I could still hear my dad’s voice. Always have someone to call for help, and always make sure someone knows where you are.
“Hello,” a friendly female voice answered.
“Hi, I’m—” I broke off when the voice continued to speak, and I chuckled when I realized it was obviously automated. “Your call is very important to us. Please hold for the next available representative.”
Ten minutes later I was still on hold. I fidgeted, pulling my damp shirt away from my torso. I turned, looking worriedly back toward where my car sat, dark and lonely in the middle of the road, and only then did I notice a dim light coming from inside the bookstore across the street. The store was clearly closed for the night, but the light came from deep within the store, shining faintly through the rain-spattered windows. Was someone in there? Someone who could help me?
Praying for luck, I ended the call and dashed back out into the rain. I hurried across the street and pounded on the door.
I’d knocked three times and was on the verge of turning away when the door swung open and my breath caught in my throat.
The man in the doorway was tall—a foot taller than me easily, and I wasn’t exactly short—and not just tall, but big and solid. Backlit in the entryway, all I could see was that his hair was dark and his eyes were dark, and he had a presence about him that for a brief moment made me forget why I was there in the first place.
It was only when he wordlessly stepped aside and gestured for me to enter that I remembered my car and managed to form a coherent thought.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling grateful as I stepped into the dry warmth of the store. “I know you’re closed, but my car broke down in the middle of the road,” I gestured back with one hand, “and I don’t know anyone here; I barely know where I am, I was just passing through—I needed coffee—and now I need to. Um. Call someone. About my car. And I’m dripping water everywhere. I’m so sorry.”
The man still hadn’t said a word, but the side of his mouth quirked up almost imperceptibly at my rambling. Embarrassed, I grimaced, and his grin grew slightly wider.
He watched me for a moment longer with those dark eyes, no doubt waiting to see if I would keep going if left to my own devices, before finally taking pity on me. “Wait here. I’ll call a tow truck for your car, and I’ll get you a towel to dry off.”
His voice was low and gravelly, like he didn’t use it a lot, and I could feel it reverberate all the way through me. It took a second for his words to sink in.
“I called roadside assistance,” I told him, “but I was on hold forever. I can try to call again.” But he was already turning away.
“It’s okay. My friend Tony does auto repair just down the road; he can be here in five minutes.”
I nodded, half my brain processing his words, the other half watching as he walked a few steps away into the store. His back was a broad expanse under a dark green sweater, and I was mesmerized by the way his muscles shifted beneath the fabric as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. I let my eyes drift south, then pulled them guiltily back up when he turned, covering the phone with his free hand to ask me, “What kind of car?”
“It’s a Honda. Um, Honda Civic. Red. I stopped at the light and it just died. I thought…” But he had already gone back to his phone call, though his eyes lingered on me as he spoke with his friend, humor lurking in their depths.
“Great. Thanks, man. See you soon.”
He ended the call and slid his phone back into his pocket.
“Tony’s on his way,” he told me, and I gave him a grateful smile.
He smiled back, a full smile this time, and I felt my entire body heat. The expression looked warm and easy on his face, well-worn smile lines creasing by his eyes and mouth, suggesting that while his gravelly voice may not get a lot of use, his smile definitely did.
The space between us felt charged, like an electric wire connected us, and I opened my mouth to speak, but before I got a chance, I saw his gaze drop to my hands.
“You’re shivering,” he observed. “Let me get you that towel.”
He was gone before I had a chance to question why he kept towels in a bookstore. He was right though. It wasn’t exactly cold outside, and though it was already September, the heat of summer was still clinging fiercely. But the rain had soaked me through to my bones, and in the chill of the air-conditioner, I found myself shaking with cold.
Wrapping my arms around my sodden torso, I turned to take in the interior of the shop. It was small and cute, with a little area near the door set up as a cafe. Wrought iron chairs framed sturdy tables, and a display case showcased a variety of pastries. Beyond that, the store stretched out, tall heavy wooden shelves filled with all variety of books. A staircase to one side led up to a thin balcony that wrapped around three sides of the room, with more shelves climbing to the ceiling. At the back, a large brick wall stretched from the floor up to the two-story ceiling.
The wide expanse of brick was only broken by a single door, through which the mystery man had disappeared, but he reappeared not long after, carrying two fluffy dark blue towels. I stayed where I was, not wanting to track water through the store, and he crossed the room and handed them both to me.
“One for your hair,” he said at my confused look, and I accepted them gratefully. “Thank you…?” I trailed off, and he dutifully filled in the blank.
“Sam. Like on the sign.”
I hadn’t noticed the name of the store as I’d run through the rain, but I saw it now, the logo emblazoned across the floor mat I was currently dripping water onto. Sam’s Books.
I grinned and offered my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam. I like your bookstore. I’m Ellen.”
The hand that enveloped my cold, clammy one was huge and dry and blissfully warm, and I found that I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to grab his other hand too and let more of that warmth seep into me.
Fortunately, I was saved from what might have been an awkward situation by the sound of the bell over the door, and the well-timed entrance of a man wearing a rain jacket over a plaid shirt and worn jeans, a pair of jumper cables gripped in one hand.
Chapter 2
SAM
Tony’s well-timed entrance broke me from the trance of the shivering stranger’s sparkling eyes and the feel of her hand, small and cold in mine. When the door opened, I dropped her hand and she turned to him, smiling a wide grin that seemed to light up her whole face.
She was gorgeous, small and petite with dark hair—currently a wet curtain dripping down her back—and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were a bright, clear green, wide set, with droplets of water beading on her lashes. She looked like the kind of girl my brother, Jeremy, usually went for. The thought was sobering.
“That you in the middle of the road?” Tony asked, gesturing back with one thumb.
She nodded. “Tony, right? Am I glad to see you! Yes, it just died. It was fine all day; it’s never given me any trouble before now.” She eyed the cables he was holding. “Are you going to jump it? Will I be able to keep going?”
Tony shook his head. “I was gonna try, but the rain’s getting worse out there. I think I should get it back to the garage. My place is just down the road. Are you in a hurry? I can take a look at it in the morning and figure out what’s wrong.”
Ellen shook her head. “It’s fine. I was supposed to be in Ohio tonight, but I’m already late. I can wait an extra day.”
“Where you coming from?” Tony asked.
“Arizona. Phoenix.”
He gave a whistle. “Just you? That’s a lot of dri
ving.”
I blinked. That was a lot of driving, especially for one person. I wondered what her story was.
She gave him a shrug and another smile, but this one didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m used to it.”
She had wrapped one of the towels around her shoulders, but she was still visibly shivering. I repressed the urge to reach out and pull the towel tighter around her. Her gaze turned to me and I looked away before I got lost in those bottomless eyes.
“Come on, Tony,” I said quickly. “I’ll help you hitch up the car. Ellen, you can stay here and dry off.”
She nodded as I grabbed my own jacket from the small office behind the checkout counter. “I’m going to call around and look for a hotel room,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Anywhere you recommend?”
I thought for a second. “There are a few places closer to the interstate, and a couple of bed and breakfasts here in town. Let me know where you find a room and I’ll drive you over when I get back.”
She nodded again, already thumbing through her phone as I headed out the door.
Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, and we worked quickly together in silence, pulling Tony’s truck into place and hooking up the little red Honda. The fresh air and cool rain on my face was invigorating, and it felt good to get out of the bookstore. I loved the place, but I’d been shelving books and balancing receipts since before the sun came up this morning and I was beginning to feel a little stir-crazy.
