She may not have made a lot of progress, but she was determined to eventually crack through some of Chloe's shell. Maybe she could help.
After all, there was nothing else to focus on this summer.
Chapter Six
Ethan opened the door and stood in the entrance of Bea's Diner. The ghosts of his past danced in his vision as his gaze took in the familiar surroundings. How long had it been since he'd stepped foot into town?
Too long, Harper would retort. News had leaked he'd returned home, but he'd refused to go into town for the last month, and his sisters had been covering his ass so no guests showed up at his bungalow door. But even he realized he couldn't keep pretending he wasn't part of the town to avoid questions.
The place hadn't changed. Still the standard diner model, with red booths, black-and-white checkered floors, and a large breakfast counter with high-topped spinning stools. The antique jukebox still stood in the corner, belting out classic hits from the nineties and the occasional disco pop. He'd spent his youth in the right back booth with his crew of friends, eating bacon burgers with cheese fries and spinning elaborate dreams of what they'd accomplish: His best friend, Kyle, vowed to be a famous writer on par with King. His cousin, Hunter, swore he'd take Manhattan by storm and be richer than Bloomberg. Ophelia intended to sing onstage and change people with music. And him? He'd wanted to save people and get into Special Forces. Be the fucking hero of the world.
So that others may live.
His gut clenched. The room began a slow, sickly spin that was all too familiar. The breath strangled in his lungs, and he grabbed for calm, closing his eyes, trying desperately to focus on an empty room with no noise, no sound, no memory. Not here. Not now, when he was facing people for the first time. One breath. Two. Three. Slow and steady. Four . . .
"Ethan Bishop!"
His name came from a distance, but somehow he managed to connect back with the present, and the panic attack slowly receded to lie in wait for another time. He blinked, focusing on the woman wearing a high beehive of gray hair, blue eye shadow, and hot-pink lipstick. Her outfit matched her lips, from the frilly, pink apron wrapped around hot-pink leggings and matching T-shirt that was way too tight for her age, to the pink Converse high-top sneakers. He was immediately attacked in a warm hug, and the scent of lilacs still clung to her skin.
"Bea, good to see you."
After the hug, she belted him hard in the arm, brown eyes filled with indignation. "Where the hell you been hiding? I spoke to your sisters, asking when you'll be in for your usual, and all I get is a bunch of excuses. You too good for us now? You get your burgers at the fancy-schmancy Five Guys now instead of us?"
He laughed. Bea was both the owner and the best waitress in town. "Never. Just needed to settle in. Fixing up the bungalow and helping out a bit."
"When are you going to shave that atrocity? I can't see your face."
His lips twitched. "I will, eventually."
"How's your leg? You seem to be walking fine. No cane?"
"No, the PT has helped. Surgeries were successful. I'm good."
"Then I expect to see you more. Brian's been asking about you at the comic book store--you know how damn grouchy he is--and Fran's driving me nuts since she opened up that natural-foods market in town. She says it's failing and not competing with Whole Foods in the town over. You need to see Tattoo Ted--his cousin had leg surgery, and he wanted to talk to you--and Lacey said she wants you to come to dinner to meet her coworker, who's single, pretty, and dying to meet you. Heard you got a new worker at the horse farm."
"Yep, that's why I'm here. I need to talk to Judge Bennett."
"Right at his usual table, sweetie. I'll bring you over coffee. Still like the ham-and-cheese omelet?"
"Yes, please."
"You got it."
The scents of coffee and bacon filled the air. He stopped to say a few casual words to the locals throwing him greetings and a barrage of questions before finally reaching the booth. "Judge Bennett?"
The older man was reading the paper and didn't look up. Ethan waited patiently, knowing the drill. The man's bald head gleamed to a high polish, and he wore his usual black suit, freshly pressed, with one red carnation in the lapel. He went to Sally's Floral Shop every morning before heading to court. Ethan once asked him why he bothered to wear a fresh flower when it was covered by his robe. The judge replied he knew it was there, and the routine reminded him to make a fresh effort each day to offer his best, so it didn't matter that no one else knew. Now Ethan realized the wisdom of the words that hadn't made any sense when he was younger.
"Ethan Bishop." His name snapped out with perfect precision. "Please join me."
He slid into the seat. Bea dropped a mug of coffee and creamer in front of him. "It's good to see you," he said politely. "How are you?"
The judge snorted. His dark eyes gleamed behind his sparkling black-framed glasses. "I have arthritis and a lack of tolerance for acidity. Doctor said to stay away from all food and drink that causes a flare-up, so I'm stuck shopping at Fran's new organic cafe. It's too expensive, though. She's not doing too well with her rate of consumership."
"I heard. Sir, I was hoping I could discuss something important with you."
"Chloe Lake."
"Yes. I appreciate you thinking of Robin's Nest, but I don't think it's the right fit. She has no experience with horses or farms, and I think she'd be a better fit serving her sentence at Tantillos Farm. They're always looking for extra help in the summer at the warehouse. She can check people out, help with the ice-cream stand, and I know they'd appreciate it."
Judge Bennett forked up his egg on a piece of toast and neatly popped it in his mouth. Bea floated over, set down Ethan's omelet with ketchup, winked, and disappeared. "Do you know her father is running for mayor?"
"Yes, I do. Her aunt is here for the summer since Lake was unable to be here. Did you ever think of allowing her to serve her sentence in Manhattan? It would be easier for the family that way."
"Professor Altman was approached by Lake to make the charges go away. As if just the mention of money, power, or politics is enough to forgive a crime. Chloe needs to be taught actions have consequences. I worked with your mother for years, and every time I sent her a troubled youth, he or she emerged differently. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. I miss that."
Ethan's heart panged as he stared at the elderly man who'd served his town with pride and believed old-fashioned work could cure ails. The judge had always been good to his family and respected his mother. "I miss her, too," he said a bit gruffly.
"I deliberately assigned Chloe there because she needs an experience contradictory to her city culture. Animals help heal wounds if allowed." Judge Bennett's gaze suddenly lifted and drilled into his. Ethan swallowed. "You should know that best out of all of us, Ethan."
He ignored the words loaded with meaning and focused on the real problem. "I'm sorry we can't take on volunteers like we used to, but Harper is slammed. The farm has grown, and there's no people to train her."
"You can. Never seen anyone so skilled with a broken horse or a person in trouble. Always had a gift."
Pain exploded in his gut. Ethan no longer had that skill, but arguing would be useless. The judge sipped his coffee, flipped the page, and fired another bomb at him. "Why haven't you been in town? It's been a month since you got back."
Ethan shifted in his seat. The judge never avoided sticky subjects--just dove right in without apology. "Been busy."
"Bullcrap. You've been avoiding us because it's easier. Easier to ignore us and pretend nothing ever happened. That you didn't go away and get hurt and come back changed. But you're also not allowing us to claim you as ours, and even though it's been years, you belong to this town, Ethan Bishop. The faster you realize it, the better things will be."
Shock rippled through Ethan. The words hit home, but the judge didn't even bother to look up. Just kept reading his paper and continued speaking.
&
nbsp; "Do you remember when you damaged the stone wall at the college during an evening of debauchery with your friends?"
Ethan bit back a groan. "How could I forget? You made Kyle and me scrub the stone wall with small specialty brushes. It took us over four hours to get it clean."
"You never damaged another item in this town, though, did you?"
He sighed. "No."
"Chloe Lake needs to feel needed. There's something she's hiding about the crime, too. Maybe you can get it out of her."
"I'm not a child therapist. I'm just here to oversee her work so she can return to school and I can get back to my life."
The judge nodded. "A worthy goal. Just not very honest."
Ethan refused to touch the comment. It stung too much. "You won't change your mind?"
"No. You need to contact Lacey Black. She'd like to invite you to dinner so she can introduce you to someone."
"Yeah, I heard. I'm not interested in being set up with anyone right now."
"Understood. But it would be nice if you called her anyway."
The man turned back to his paper, and the table fell silent. Ethan finished his omelet, all hopes of shedding himself of Mia Thrush vanishing as quickly as a man the morning after a one-night stand.
Hopefully, he scared her enough yesterday. Hopefully, she'd be happy enough locked up at the inn and content to stay away from his rude, boorish behavior.
Hopefully.
Mia pushed her laptop away and stared out the window. This was her third day at the inn. So far, she'd logged in countless hours of work in her air-conditioned room and, with the aid of Gabby, had all her current clients under control. There were no crises, scandals, or dramatic interludes to fix. She checked in with Jonathan daily and was able to report Chloe was doing well. She disappeared at nine a.m. to go to the stables, worked all day, and arrived back at the inn around four. She retired to her room until about six, and then Mia took her to eat somewhere in town. They made strained conversation, then returned to their separate rooms. Mia worked some more in between bouts of television, went to bed, and started all over.
She was bored out of her frikkin' mind.
Everything was too quiet. Too peaceful. Too . . . perfect. It was like being trapped in a robotic Stepford-land where nothing could be real. The colors were bright, the air was sweet, and even the sounds of birds chirping and horses softly neighing added to the mystical element of falseness. Ophelia was always cheerful, giving her helpful information and running the inn with ruthless organization. Mia had stayed far away from the guests, choosing to eat breakfast in her room instead of the packed porch, and only ventured out when everyone had scattered for the day to engage in various activities.
She hated it here.
Groaning, she covered her face with her hands and wondered what she should do. She'd go stark-raving insane if she had to spend eight more weeks doing this. Her business was usually full of chaos and activity, but summer was definitely a downtime, and it seemed her clients had retired to laze away on vacation and not cause any issues. No one had leaked the news about Chloe. Other than a few appearances, the summer was clear for Lake, and most of the craziness wouldn't begin before fall. Add her awful insomnia problem, and she'd go mental. Her dad had diagnosed her as high strung, but it was only the past few years that her failure to sleep had reached epic proportions. At least in Manhattan, she always had a place to go. She'd walk by the bagel place at four a.m. just to smell the scent of carbs. Hit the all-night gym for a good workout. There were endless possibilities to help her not think about how she never slept. But here?
Nothing but silence. Who was the idiot who said silence was golden? It certainly didn't help her sleep. And she had no place to go but the front porch.
What if she was stuck doing nothing all summer trapped in la la land?
She had to get out of here.
Decision made, she freshened up her makeup, donned her favorite camel-colored Ugg sandals, and headed into town. She'd explore a bit and pick up some groceries. She'd been living on fruit, Greek yogurt, and tuna, portioning out her meals. She'd managed to drop another pound and a half, which was a huge success, even though she was hungry and regularly cranky.
At least she'd be able to order that new Gucci dress now.
She climbed into her Kia and headed into town, turning right and deciding to do a drive-by before parking and exploring on foot. The standard Main Street was small but had a quirky, artsy type atmosphere she appreciated. Indie bookstores, yoga-and-art studios, cafes, and various restaurants adjoined the uneven sidewalks. There were at least three college bars, one boasting a nightclub, and a tattoo parlor that looked deserted. She wondered how many people got tats after getting drunk. It was a good location but looked kind of seedy.
She'd always wanted one, but it seemed too reckless. Too permanent. Too bad girl.
Now, she was too old.
Tamping down a regretful sigh, she parked the car and took her time investigating the town. She bought a skinny vanilla latte in the organic coffee shop and had to admit it was better than any Starbucks she'd ever had. There was a diner, movie theater, and a few standard stores, including a supermarket, hardware, and pharmacy. The boutiques were filled with cotton blends, vintage designs, and yoga wear. Cute, but nothing she'd buy.
The real problem was the sweets.
Mia had never seen so many shops dedicated to sugar. There was the bakery that tempted her with scents of fresh bread and pastries. Then there was the chocolate shop, filled to the brim with truffles, chocolate-covered pretzels, chocolate-dipped gourmet apples and strawberries, and dozens of other items meant to drive women with PMS mad with lust.
But Mia surmised the worst of the worst were the ice-cream shops. Every person walking down the streets seemed to be holding an ice-cream cone. Her body shuddered with longing, and her stomach growled in protest. What was wrong with this town? How could they offer vegan specialties and organic coffee on the same block as candy, ice cream, and cookies?
By the time she'd finished exploring, she was in a bad mood. Maybe she'd stop at one of the cafes and surprise Chloe with lunch. She was due a few more calories before dinner, right? Even Gucci would allow a little bit more.
She pushed her way into the Market Food Pantry and browsed the aisles, more and more impressed with what New Paltz had accomplished in the food industry. It rivaled Whole Foods in many ways, from the packed deli and fruit-and-produce aisles, to the assortment of homemade soups and salads for lunch hours. She filled her basket to take home to the inn and wondered why the store was empty. It was prime time, and no one seemed to be here.
Did everyone eat ice cream for lunch here instead? Did people magically not gain any weight in this town?
She picked out a vegetable soup with miso broth, a kale salad, and organic balsamic vinaigrette dressing. When she came to the prepared food aisle, she gasped.
It was perfection.
Fresh salads with grilled Japanese eggplants, mashed sweet potatoes, perfectly rare tuna with wasabi and peppercorns, chilled jumbo shrimp with homemade horseradish cocktail sauce, quinoa with cranberry and walnuts--the list was endless. Each was beautifully labeled, calories counted, and available in various sizes.
"Welcome to the Market," a cheerful voice greeted. "We have free samples for you to enjoy. Is there anything specific I can help you with today?"
The woman had tight, curly brown hair, as if it had been permed too many times and had finally surrendered. She wore jeans, a hunter-green shirt with the Market logo, and no jewelry. Her dark eyes looked weary, but her smile was genuine. Mia noticed that her name tag pegged her as MANAGER.
"Your store is amazing," she said genuinely. "So much better than Whole Foods."
And then it happened.
The woman's lip began to tremble. Her chin quivered. In horror, Mia watched the manager struggle for about half a minute until she surrendered fully to the emotional experience.
She burst into tears.
r /> Mia swallowed hard and took a step back. Her New Yorker instincts told her to run and let this woman handle herself, but her heart softened at the outpouring of real emotion she rarely saw in her daily routine. Emotion was the first thing to go in the PR business. Mia lost her ability to cry or grieve a long time ago. This woman still had a chance.
"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" she asked gently.
The woman grabbed a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. She wasn't a pretty crier, either. Her nose swelled and turned red, and her eyes dripped messy tears, not the dainty trickle, like in the movies. "No, I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I just don't understand! I did all the research, poured every last dollar into this endeavor, yet people won't shop here. They're still traveling half an hour to go shop at the other places! What have I done wrong?"
Mia bit her lip. "Umm, when did you open?"
The woman gave a big, messy sniff. "Over a month ago. We had traffic the first few days, then nothing. It's like we don't exist. They'll go to the cafe and the farmers' market and the diner, but no one comes here. Are you from out of town?"
"Yes, I am."
The woman cried harder. "That's what I thought! I'll never make this business run on the occasional out-of-towners. I can't figure it out. I haven't slept with anyone or made Sylvia Daniels mad at me or picked a fight with Darla from bingo. I've done nothing!"
Mia looked frantically around for help, but there was no one there. "Umm, maybe it's just going to take some time to catch on. With good referrals and a solid landing page on Yelp, maybe you can pull in more traffic from the surrounding areas."
The woman mopped her face with a tissue. "Maybe. I'm sorry, this isn't your problem. What's Yelp?"
Mia blinked. "Yelp. On the internet. It's a reviewer service where people rate stores, hotels, shops, etc. You should be on it."
"Okay, I'll look it up tonight."
Mia shook her head, wondering what owner in her right mind didn't know about Yelp. This town was definitely strange. "Great. I'm sure things will pick up. I think it's a lovely store."
The woman beamed. "Thank you. I'm Fran. What's your name? Where are you staying? What are you doing in town?"