Where My Heart Breaks (2 page)

The man seemed to consider my request. He looked at his watch. “You’re in luck then. My next appointment isn’t until three. I can probably help you out.”

As he drew up to me and his hand closed the space between us, I forgot to breathe. Then he took the jack out of my hands, and I realized that he wasn’t playing out the terribly idiotic and romantic fantasy I just conjured up in my head where we had a passionate encounter on a stretch of deserted highway after all. He was changing my tire.

He put the jack on the ground and pulled out the handle. As he started to loosen the lug nuts on the tire, I felt a rush of relief. I hadn’t lied. With no clue what I was doing, I could have been there for days.

Determined to overcome my damsel in distress image, I decided to make conversation. “How far is it to Bleckerville?” While he changed my tire, perhaps my new hot friend could also help me figure out where in the hell I was.

“Bleckerville, huh?” The man shot a look up at me with a raised eyebrow. “I would have figured you for someone just passing through.”

Just like that I had been assessed and judged. It stung just a little bit. “Who says I’m not?” Mildly annoyed, I slapped at a mosquito on my arm.
 

The fact that I had been banished for the summer to wilds of North Carolina still was a sore point for me. Finding a way to ditch the summer job at my aunt’s bed and breakfast was my number one priority. Millie already said I could stay with her for the next few months if I could manage to get away. Millie was pretty much the only person left in my life who treated me like a normal human being and not a five year old who needed to be told what to do every minute of her life.
 

“Unless you are actually going to Bleckerville, there’s no reason that you would even know it existed,” the man said as he continued his work on my tire. “There are the locals and then the honeymooners who are there to stay at the Willoughby. There’s no ring on your finger and nobody else traveling with you. So if you are going to Bleckerville for any other reason, you’d be in the minority.”

He’d checked out my ring finger. Impressive. Considering his assessment of me was wrong, I enjoyed the fact that he wasn’t as astute as he thought. It was nice being a mystery for once. Everybody else in my life thought they had me all figured out. “My Aunt Patrice owns the Willoughby,” I said. “I’m staying with her this summer. I take it by your knowledge of the local tourist hotspots, I’m not far from it.”

The man seemed to consider that information. “About ten miles,” he said. He pulled the tire off the rim and without warning sent it rolling in my direction.
 

I wasn’t proud of the yelp that escaped my lips as I lunged out of the tire’s path. I barely managed to grab it before it went careening past me out into the road.
 

“Hang onto that for a minute.” His casual attitude was infuriating.
 

“Sure,” I said tightly. I looked down and saw that, in grabbing the tire, I broke a nail. I hadn’t even made it to Bleckerville yet and already it was doing a number on my carefully polished image. “Do you know my aunt?”

He already had the spare tire on the rim. He made short order of tightening the lug nuts and lowering the car to the ground. I couldn’t help but admire the muscles in his back that flexed in a practiced rhythm as he expertly maneuvered the jack. A few more quick pulls on the lug nuts and then he stood.

“I do,” he said, which reminded me that I had asked a question. He took the flat tire from my grasp and tossed it easily into the trunk. Then he swept his hands together and started to walk back to his truck. “See you around, Princess.”

Who the hell did this guy think he was? “My name is Kate,” I called out. “Not Princess.”

The door to his truck was already open. He shrugged and then pointed. “The entrance to the Willoughby is going to be on your left hand side. If you aren’t looking for it, you’ll miss it.”

“Hey!” I called out. The guy had no manners at all. “What’s your name?”

He waved at me and then started the truck.
 
I walked toward it, but it was already backing up. Then he spun around and took off in the other direction.

I stood there with my mouth open, gaping like a lunatic. One of the hottest guys I had ever seen in my life just changed my tire. Then he left before making sure that I was okay. I thought for sure the encounter would have earned a possible follow-up opportunity like asking for my phone number. Or at least my name. Guys might not flock to me like they did to Millie, but I usually did okay in that department. The whole thing left me decidedly out of sorts.

I slowly picked up the remaining tools and my suitcases and placed them back inside the trunk. It was yet another odd and unexplainable experience to add to the laundry list of odd and unexplainable experiences in my life. Like my junior year of college. I barely remembered the first half of it, but apparently the damage that I did over that five-month period was enough to incur the wrath of my parents, who forced me to move home once they found out I was under academic suspension.
 

It also led to therapy with Dr. Kreger and the final insult, banishment to the outer regions of nowhere to be babysat by Patrice for the summer. But a deal was a deal. My parents would still agree to fund my senior year of college if I played by their rules. No deviations. No exceptions. No fun.

I got back in the car and started it up. I looked in the rearview mirror. Maybe he felt the vibe about me, the one that started all the chaos to begin with. I was a bad girl. Hadn’t I proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt? I was someone my mother said in my current state wasn’t worth of the time of day. I only seemed to pull toxic, unhealthy people into my orbit. People who didn’t give a shit about me. People like Trevor Franklin. That was more than enough to send most people running for the hills.

“Thank you,” I said softly before turning my eyes back to the road in front of me. Then I started to hunt for the entrance to the Willoughby Inn. Unless I found a way to convince my parents otherwise, it was going to be a long summer.

CHAPTER TWO
 

The handsome stranger was right. If I hadn’t kept my eyes peeled on the left hand side of the road driving slower than the speed limit, I would have missed the small set of black wrought iron gates that marked the beginning of a paved driveway that had clearly seen better days. A small wooden sign that blended almost perfectly into the background foliage announced “The Willoughby Inn”. I turned down the single lane road, which jarred both my body and the Accord up and down along it for about half a mile. When the driveway finally opened up, and I saw through the large clearing in the trees, I gasped.

Directly ahead of me was a large white house that looked freshly painted. House was an understatement. It was as if someone transported one of those old southern plantation homes from a movie set here to rural North Carolina. I saw the glittering waters of a lake beyond the house. I slowly followed the circular driveway around and brought the car to a halt outside what looked like a large white barn. I got out and walked across the driveway to the knee-high brick wall that lined the other side of the circle facing the lake. There was nothing but water and trees as far as I could see. It was eerily quiet and tranquil.

I saw a small sign that said “Registration” and an arrow on it pointed toward a stone path leading around the side of the house. I gawked upwards at the tall roofline of the house above me. The pictures on the Internet didn’t do the place justice at all.

Aunt Patrice bought the Willoughby Inn with her husband, John, after they both retired early from successful careers in finance in Charlotte eight years ago. It was their dream to own a bed and breakfast, and apparently, the Willoughby fit the bill. The Willoughby Inn’s claim to fame was that an author named Walter Moolen featured it prominently in his one critically acclaimed literary novel,
Where My Heart Breaks
. After he died, the book went on to sell a bajillion copies. The former owners, who had gotten on in years, couldn’t keep up with the influx of visitors who flocked every year to the Willoughby’s doors for their honeymoons and special occasions.
 

My mother told me that Patrice wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the Willoughby now that John passed away. That was the cover story for why my parents sent me here. Helping Patrice would give her the time and space she needed to make a decision about her future. My parents also neatly ensured that I was away from all the bad influences that wreaked havoc on my social and academic life my junior year of college. How convenient. Now my parents were touring Europe for the summer without me. I was sentenced to Bleckerville.
 

I rounded the corner of the house, and since I was staring at the lake I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. I promptly ran right into a guy who looked to be about my age. He caught my arm just before I tumbled to the ground.

“Whoa, sorry,” he said with a warm smile. “I didn’t see you there.”

Cursing my decision to wear heels, I finally managed to lock my knees to support my weight as I found my balance again. “My fault.” I held up my hands. “I was completely distracted.”

He peered at me and then smiled again. “I’m guessing you’re Kate, right?”

“How did you know that?” I asked suspiciously. I looked him over. Tall and lanky with wavy blond hair and hazel eyes, he didn’t look threatening. Then again, most potential stalkers didn’t. Yet another helpful tip I learned from the movies. In fact, he looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
 

“I’m Sam,” he said, extending his hand. “For the summer, I am the bellhop and short-order cook at the Willoughby.”

I couldn’t resist smiling at his proud declaration. “Nice to meet you, Sam. Sounds like we’ll be working together this summer.”

“Patrice is excited to have you here. She’s been talking about you for days,” Sam said.

“That’s nice.” I felt anxious. I hadn’t seen Patrice in years, and I had no doubt that my parents filled her in on everything I had been up to at school before they intervened. Based on the hushed phone conversations I overheard between her and my mother, I doubted that she was half as enthusiastic to see me as Sam seemed to think. “Speaking of Patrice, can you tell me where to find her?”

“Last time I saw her, she was in the office.” Sam pointed behind him. “Go through the front door and you’ll see the registration desk just inside. Stick to the left hand side and follow the hallway. The office is the second door on your right.”

“Thanks,” I said.
 

“Let me know if you need any help with your bags. It’s part of the job description and all. Welcome to the Willoughby, Kate,” Sam said with a wink.

Self-consciously I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and ducked my head with a small laugh. Sam seemed nice enough, but he wasn’t my type at all. I seemed to like guys who had an edge of danger about them. Guys like Trevor. I thought again about the man who changed my tire. He was exactly my type, which probably meant it was a good thing nothing else happened. My mother would so not approve. Still, there was no need to encourage anything with Sam, especially if we were going to be working closely together.
 

I followed the path to a stone patio and paused to take in the view again. A long stone pathway led away from the door and down to the water’s edge. I could just make out several couples lounging in beach chairs down by the water.
 
An expansive green lawn off to my left held several picnic tables and swings, each a comfortable distance from each other to guarantee privacy.
 

It seemed the perfect getaway to share with someone you loved, or at least someone you were in lust with. For someone like me, single, and no hope on the horizon, it felt as if the walls of boredom were closing around me. I wondered if the handsome stranger lived close by. While a summer romance wouldn’t be unwelcome, my ability to pick men sucked, if Trevor was any indication. No. I needed to focus on why I was there and not on a guy, no matter how mouth watering he was.

Sighing, I made my way up the steps and pushed open the massive wooden door. I found myself in a large foyer. A grand staircase curled up the right hand side of the room up to the second floor. A small desk sat in its shadow and based on the computer and small book lying open on top of it, I guessed I found the registration desk. A small bell rested next to the guest book, and a part of me wanted to tap it. I ghosted past the desk and into the small hallway behind it.

Two doors down, just like Sam said, I found one with the sign ‘Office’ on it and knocked. The door swung open, and I started to say hello before I saw that Patrice was on the phone. She offered me a tight smile and motioned for me to come inside.

“Frank, that’s not going to work. I have twenty people who will be here next Saturday expecting lobster for their
lobster
bake. You need to rearrange your weekend delivery route,” she said, frowning at the phone.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation as I tried to find a place to settle. The office was slightly larger than a broom closet, and I thought that it was possible that it
was
a broom closet at one point. Every visible horizontal surface was stacked with paperwork. In the end, I decided it was safer to stand than bother trying to find a place to sit down.
 

“Fine, call me back. And don’t make me track you down, Frank. I mean it,” Patrice said.
 

She hung up the phone, and I looked at her expectantly.
 

“Kate, you made it!”

It wasn’t as if I was expecting a hug and exclamations of joy, but Patrice just stood there and looked me up and down with her hands on the small of her back. Patrice was my mother’s oldest sister. Her hair was grayer than I remembered, and she had it pulled back into a small ponytail at the base of her neck. She wore a white blouse and khakis, perfectly appropriate attire for someone who probably ran all over the house all day.