Taming Blake (A New Adult Romance): The Complete Trilogy (30 page)

BOOK THREE: BLAKE’S GIRL

“Oh my goodness! Jessica? Jessica Clark? Is that really
you
?”

I looked up startled from my well-thumbed Harlequin paperback. Sylvia’s Boutique had been so
dead
in the weeks after Christmas, any kind of sudden noise was liable to make me jump.

And the smiling female face, there before me at the counter, was a familiar one. I shook my head with disbelief. “Becca?”

She grinned and nodded.

No way.

I’d not seen Becca Taylor in
years.
We’d been friends in high school, but then of course I’d gone off to Savannah and Becca? Well, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I already knew from Mom that she had stayed right here in Glenbrook Falls, learning how to manage her family’s Dry Cleaning store. Mom was always telling me how lucky Mrs Taylor was to have her daughter right next to her all the time ...

When I’d left for college, Becca and I had promised to stay in touch, and at first we did, sending emails and taking time to make occasional phone calls. But after a while, I guess we both just fell out of the habit. And last Christmas? I didn’t even call her up when I was home for the holidays.

I felt a pang of embarrassment and regret, wondering if she maybe hated me for not getting in touch. But then, she hadn’t got in touch with me, either, had she?

“Wow, it’s so great to see you, Jessica,” she gushed, just as smiley and positive as always.

In fact, she’d hardly changed
at all
since high school. Small and delicate as ever, her hair was cut just the same as I remembered it, in a neat, shiny light-brown bob, and she was wearing a sensible pastel pink sweater and a navy skirt that reached right down to her ankles.

Becca had never cared about fashion and obviously still didn’t. She’d always said that she’d had enough of clothes, what with helping out at the dry cleaners all day, and didn’t care what she put on as long as she was comfortable. But she would have laughed if I’d told her that actually, her style was getting really hip right now in Brooklyn. The style blogs even had an ironic name for it. They were calling it ‘normcore’.

“Mom said she thought she’d seen you in here,” Becca continued, “but I told her you were probably some kind of hot shot fashion designer by now.”

I laughed and shook my head.

“I studied
Interior
Design,” I corrected her gently. “And anyway, all that’s over now.”

“So you’re actually back?” she asked, excitedly. “For good?”

“I guess so,” I replied, trying my hardest to muster a smile.

“That’s awesome!” she grinned. “Say, we should do something soon. Have a proper catch up. I’ve got so much to tell you. Got any plans this Friday?”

I didn’t even have to think about it; I knew that Friday night would be the same as every other night I’d spent in this sleepy little town since I’d returned home: lounging in front of the TV with Mom and Pop, then off to bed early, and, if I was especially lucky, I might not cry myself to sleep.

“Nope, no plans,” I said.

“Super! It’s a date,” Becca chirped happily. “I’ll see you on Friday night. Fred’s at seven?”

“See you there.”

She grinned and rubbed her hands together, and I realized that even her mannerisms hadn’t changed. With a rush of nostalgia, I felt myself transported back to high school: there I was, gawky and awkward, clutching my books to my under-developed chest, perpetually trying to keep my mouth closed so no one saw my retainer, which caused problems when talking, eating, well, doing anything really …

“Listen, I need to dash, but I can’t wait to catch up with you,” she said, leaning over the counter to give me a quick final hug before turning and bustling back out of the store, an absolute whirlwind of positive energy.

How does she live here and stay so upbeat?

I’ve only been back a month and already I can feel this place sapping the life right out of me …

Sylvia’s Boutique seemed doubly quiet once Becca had left. Suddenly, I felt terribly alone. Even with the battered old romance novel that I’d already read a thousand times to keep me company, I longed for human interaction, and I wondered hopefully if anyone else might come wandering in that afternoon.

I looked around the small, cluttered store: the floor was freshly vacuumed, the shelves and windows were gleaming from the vigorous polish I’d given them, the window displays were all arranged as artistically as I could make them, and I’d taken the trash out for the
second
time that day, even though it contained nothing more than the wax paper my mom had wrapped my sandwiches in and an empty juice box.

I flopped back down on the little chair at the counter, picked up my paperback, and opened it, trying to let myself disappear once more into the story. But as always, my mind was elsewhere.

In wonder where you are, right now.

Who are you with?

And do you ever think of me, the way I always seem to be thinking about you …

§

The only thing that had changed in Fred’s Diner was the color of Fred’s hair. As I waited at the counter for Becca to arrive, I watched him strolling cheerily up and down the length of the place, laughing and joking with customers, his once-brown hair now completely white.

Like almost everyone I’d encountered since my return to Glenbrook Falls, Fred seemed happy and content, as if everything he ever wanted in life was right here between these four walls.

So why can’t I feel that way, too?

I’d tried to settle back down here, I really had. I’d got a job. I’d rejoined the library. And I’d even finally admitted to myself that I was here for good, and had unpacked my suitcases, hanging my clothes back in my closet. But despite all of this, I still just felt so damn restless, like any second now I might stuff my clothes back into my case and take off again …

But where?

After all, even though I couldn’t go back to New York, wasn’t the rest of the world still out there? I began to daydream: a far-fetched fantasy about buying a one-way ticket to London with my remaining savings, spending my days wandering the winding streets, exploring all the wonderful museums, and perhaps finding work in a quaint tea shop or traditional English pub, living out of a suitcase in a cheap hostel, surviving on bread and cheese as I discovered a new country and a new culture, just like Blake said he’d done back when he was my age …

“Hey-hey!” a happy voice interrupted, breaking me out of my thoughts. “You been waiting long?”

I turned in my seat and there was Becca, looking just as smiley and squeaky clean as always, her brown hair shining and her eyes sparkling as she shot me a big wholesome grin.

“No, I’ve only just got here,” I lied, unable to quite bring myself to admit that I’d been sat here for almost an hour. It wasn’t that she was late (Becca would never even
dream
of arriving anywhere late), more that Sylvia’s closed at six and I couldn’t face the boredom of going home first. At least here, I’d been able to people-watch and daydream while I waited. 

“So, shall we?” she asked cheerily. “Our usual table? Remember? For old time’s sake?”

I nodded, hopping off my stool at the counter and following her over to the little booth in the far left corner, the very same one we always used to sit in, sipping our malted milks, joking and whispering and gossiping about boys we were crushing on but never dared
look at
, let alone talk to. And I couldn’t help but smile, glad that at least I had a friend here once again.

I guess when I came back to Glenbrook Falls, I just felt like such a failure. I’d failed at New York, I’d failed at my relationship, and I’d failed at my career. I didn’t feel like looking up anyone from my past. I didn’t want them to see what a loser I’d become. But of course, Becca Taylor was never gonna think I was a loser. She was a true friend and I was sorry that I’d lost touch with her. I should have just called her up when I first arrived back here. The past few weeks might not have been so tough if I’d had a friend to talk to. Dear, sweet Becca. She was happy because she knew what was important in life.
She
didn’t feel like staying in Glenbrook Falls was any
kind of failure. This was her life, and she loved it here. And what’s more, she was never going to judge me, no matter what had happened.

“So,” she began, almost the moment we’d slid into the booth, “tell me all about it.”

“About what?” I asked, honestly confused.

“Well, you broke up with your fiancé Greg for a
billionaire
, right?! That’s what Mom told me! Sylvia told her. She said you’d been engaged to this guy, in New York, and then you broke it off with him for some celebrity billionaire or something” The words flew from her lips in an excited rush, as if she’d been thinking about it all, over and over, perhaps for weeks, like some kind of silly celebrity gossip or a particularly juicy episode of a soap opera, not my
real life
…

“Woah, woah, woah,” I interrupted, holding up my palms to stop her, mid-flow.

Then I took a deep breath as I gathered my thoughts, trying my hardest to keep cool. I guess, deep down, I knew Sylvia had been telling the whole town about my little adventure. Hadn’t she told Mom, after all? What she’d seen in the gossip columns? But I suppose because nobody was saying anything to my face, I’d hoped that this was last week’s news, and everyone had moved on, the way town gossip always did after a while.

And I had no right to be angry with Becca. It wasn’t
her
fault Sylvia had gone around town, blabbering about me. As much as I hated confrontation, I wanted to ask Sylvia just what right she had to spread rumors around town. But she was my boss, too, and I couldn’t rock the boat. After all, it wasn’t as if I had a great track record with employment, right now, was it?

I realized I was going to have to set Becca straight on a few details. And then hopefully something more like the truth might start flying around the town rumor mill.

“Actually it’s not quite like that,” I began. “For a start, Greg and I were never
engaged
…”

“But,” Becca interrupted, then stopped herself.

“What?” I asked.

She smiled shyly and shook her head, her face reddening. “But I thought you were
living
together?” she asked quietly, and by the hushed, embarrassed way she said ‘living’, looking around first to see if anyone at a nearby booth was listening in, I knew she meant something else, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.

“Yes. We were,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said, “I see.”

Becca and her family were deeply conservative. She wouldn’t
dream
of living with a guy before marriage. And certainly not sleeping with him.

“And what about the billionaire?” she continued. “Blake something-or-other?”

“Blake Matthews,” I said, feeling that familiar rush of heat whenever I spoke his name aloud. “Yes, he’s a billionaire. But he was just my … boss. You shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet, you know. Or at least everything
Sylvia
reads on the internet.”

Becca laughed and nodded. “I suppose I should have known better than to listen to Sylvia. But what
did
happen then? Why did you come back here? After high school you couldn’t get out of this place fast enough. I always thought someone like you would never return …”

“Oh, it’s complicated, Becca,” I said gently. “I don’t think I even know quite how to begin. New York can be crazy. There are some crazy people, trust me. You know what, though? I’m kind of sick of thinking about it. Let’s just say, I’d had enough of city living, and missed my mom’s meatloaf.”

Becca nodded thoughtfully. She was obviously still dying to know exactly what happened, but I knew she would never push me for information.

“Hey, enough about me,” I said, glad to change the subject. “How are you? How’s … Mark? You two still together?”

And as Becca began to fill me in on her love life — a long-running engagement to Mark Harris, the exact same boy she’d been dating since senior year, I began to realize just how different our lives were. Because even after years of ‘going steady’ with Mark, it became pretty clear that Becca was waiting for marriage before she took things any further than second base. Becca’s problems were all about tasting menus and finding the right wedding photographer.

How in the world was I going to be able to open up to her about
my
problems? I had a suspicion that if I told her the whole truth about Blake and his parties, she wouldn’t even believe me.

“Hello ladies,” the voice slurred from above us.

Becca and I both looked up from our conversation to find two red-faced, wet-mouthed guys in dirty overalls leering down at us hopefully.

“You girls want some company?” the first guy said, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

The second guy opened his mouth to add something, too, but in the end just put his hand to his mouth to stifle a burp.