SO IT GOES….
Early every morning, a car arrives and whisks Ford away. While he’s at work, I spend my days exploring Bristol. His house is on the water, and along the shore is a bike path that leads directly to a beautiful park and downtown area. Even in the winter, the town keeps the path clear of ice and snow, and the fresh air does me good.
I spend most of my time working on music, but by day three, I’m getting cabin fever, and walking by the water isn’t going to cut it, so I head into town.
With the red beanie that Paul gave Ford pulled over my hair and my red scarf wrapped around my neck, I’m almost unrecognizable. Especially when I skip my signature red lipstick and throw on a pair of sunglasses.
The main street is adorable. Every building is decorated for Christmas, even though it’s the first week of January. The vibe is very Dickens. Quaint and scenic and crisp. When I stroll past a sign advertising homemade donuts in the window of a bakery, I can’t resist. Inside the shop—Jules, according to the sign—I’m greeted by a pretty redhead who tells me she’s got a fresh batch coming out in a few minutes. She suggests a warm drink while I wait, and I pick a chai tea. Once she slides the paper cup across the counter, I sit at a table in the corner and people watch.
Two guys wearing Bristol Fire Department jackets enter a few moments later, their banter livening up the quiet shop.
“Where’s Jules?” the shorter guy asks the other.
The other guy, who looks suspiciously like Shawn Chase, the Dodgers’ pitcher who got injured a few years ago and disappeared from the spotlight, rounds the counter and whistles. “Red, you here?”
The nickname has me perking up. I love that Ford calls me that. That the sentiment belongs to just us.
Only it looks as though it belongs to this couple as well.
Strangely, it makes my heart flutter. It’s like Ford and I are a normal couple. I haven’t been normal for close to ten years. That feeling is magnified when neither man even gives me a second glance.
The taller guy pushes through a swinging door and steps out carrying the redhead over his shoulder in, adorably, a fireman’s carry.
She laughs and screeches the whole way. “Shawn, put me down!”
Oh my God. That is Shawn Chase. If anyone understands the need for anonymity, it’s me, so I say nothing when his girlfriend delivers a white box full of fresh donuts to my table. “Sorry about that. The boys get crazy sometimes.”
With a smile, I stand and slip the box into the bag she offers me. “It’s sweet. Thank you again.” I leave feeling lighter.
The aroma of the warm donuts is so damn tempting, and I’m just considering taking one out for a sample bite when I spot a flower shop with gorgeous arrangements in the window. The shop is outfitted in teal, pink, and purple pastels and calls to me just as fervently as the bakery did. I step inside, set on picking up a bouquet to put on the table for dinner. Maybe I’ll pop into the grocery store I noticed down the block next so I can try my hand at cooking tonight. Each night, when Ford appears, he’s equipped with takeout, but the idea of surprising him with a home-cooked meal to thank him for all he’s done for me makes me giddy.
I’ve never been so seen or supported. Not to mention the sex. And the orgasms.
Especially the orgasms. I never knew sex could be so explosive. I’ve been writing about it for years, but now I finally understand what my friends have been saying all along.
Sex with Ford is anything but boring.
“Be right with you.” The muffled words come from somewhere on one side of the shop.
Just inside the door, I pause and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sugary sweet scent. The entire store is bright. Even the floor is a light pink. Greenery hangs from baskets high up in corners, and ivy snakes the walls.
A little overheated, I slide my hat off my head as I wander. It only takes a minute to spot the perfect bouquet. It’s all golds and reds that fit the vibe Ford and I have quickly adopted. With my heart floating in my chest, I grab it and bring it up to the register.
“Find everything you need?” a woman asks as she makes her way toward me from the other side of the shop. When she strolls behind the glass case and catches sight of me, her eyes double in size. And so do mine.
“Amelia Pearson!” I shout in surprise.
“Lake! What the heck are you doing here?” Without hesitation, she comes around the counter and engulfs me in a hug. Amelia is not a hugger, so I appreciate the warm welcome.
I met Amelia in Nashville eons ago, when she and her boyfriend and I were playing in bars, hoping to be seen. Though those years weren’t always easy, I look back on them now with nothing but fondness. I’m a few years younger than they are, and I got picked up not long after I met them. But Amelia and Nate, who is now her husband, recently released an album with three number-one hits on it. Their star shot right to the top, though they’ve yet to tour or make many public appearances. And here she is, in this tiny coastal town. To say I’m surprised to see her would be an understatement.
“What are you doing here is the better question.” I step back and squeeze her arm.
With a soft smile, she wanders back to the register and waves a hand around the store. “This is my flower shop.”
“What?”
“You know me. I don’t love the limelight. I agreed to do the whole music thing with Nate so long as we lived in this town and he didn’t force me to give this up.” She presses her hand against the counter, and instantly, her body relaxes. As if the simple touch has the power to ground her. “Now tell me, what are you doing here?”
“I’m sure you’ve seen the news…”
Amelia frowns and tilts her head. “I don’t really follow all of that.”
“Oh.” I take in a deep breath and go for it. “Paul cheated on me with my tour manager, so I hooked up with his father to get back at him.”
Amelia sucks in a breath and immediately falls into a coughing fit. Yes, it sounds ridiculous when I put it like that. All I can do is laugh as I pat her on the back.
“Oh my God. I so did not expect that,” she says, flattening her palm to her chest. With her other hand, she wipes at her eyes, and when she straightens, she beams at me. “But girl, that is the best thing I’ve heard in a while. My friend Hailey would worship you for that.”
“She sounds like a good time,” I chirp.
My old friend grins. “She sure is. How long are you in town? You should come over to Thames on Friday. Nate likes to play for the crowd, and then they do open mic night. It’s how we test out new music.”
The dread that hits me must be evident on my face, because she holds out her hand. “Not for you to perform. But you know, like old times. Hang out, have a drink, listen to good music. Some of the kids who show up are so good. It brings me back,” she admits.
When she puts it that way, it does sound nice. I find myself nodding even though I’m not even sure I’ll still be here on Friday. Ford and I haven’t discussed an expiration date. When will our little fantasy run its course?
Just the thought has my stomach in knots.
“Maybe. That actually doesn’t sound awful.”
Amelia laughs and picks up a coat from the back counter. “Nate’s over at the bar now. Let me put up a closed sign and we can go have lunch. He’s going to be thrilled to see you.”
I take a step back and wring my hands as all the consequences of showing my face in public like that flash through my mind.
She slides one arm into her coat, then the other, then pats my arm. “Don’t worry, the people here are used to seeing celebrities. They don’t bat an eye. Except Carmella. She sometimes freaks Shawn and Nate out. She’s always asking to squeeze their muscles, but to be fair, she does that to all the guys in town.”
“Who’s Carmella?”
Amelia smirks. “You’ll know her when you see her. She wears muumuus with crazy sayings. I’m pretty sure yesterday’s said something like It’s just a joke, not a dick. Don’t take it so hard.”
I let out a loud laugh and allow Amelia to loop her arm through mine and lead me to the bar. Suddenly, this charming town just got a heck of a lot more intriguing.
