Sideways Page 9

  And who would ever want the scrutiny and headaches that came with being a member of a political family?

  She had baggage the size of a steamer trunk. She’d need a decade to unpack it.

  But seeing that couple, so obviously in love with each other—still!—after so many years was both inspiring and incredibly saddening.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you think something is wrong?”

  “You are projecting.”

  She kept a vapid smile on her face. “You must be mistaken.”

  “Don’t think I am.” Then he did the oddest thing. He reached his hand, scarred and nicked, rough with calluses, and placed it over hers. His touch was warm, comforting. Sweet. Offering her a small gift. “You did good, Cee-Cee.”

  Her heart expanded filling her chest like a balloon with helium. It was the first time he called her by name, her fake name, but still.

  “You feeling okay?” she teased.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You are being awfully sweet.”

  “No one has ever accused me of being sweet.” His voice was gruff, embarrassed.

  “Why’d you come meet with Lottie and Chuck?”

  “Phoebe asked me to.”

  “So you were looking out for your friend.”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s really nice.” There was an awkward pause.

  “Nice and sweet.” Colt rolled his eyes. “That’s me.”

  Colt

  Colt hated to see her looking sad. Her joy lit up a room. And without it the day felt unbearably gray.

  He’d cut off his left nut before he admitted that to anyone. However his current goal was to bring a smile back to her face. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  She blinked at him. “You want to go for a walk?”

  “I’ve been reading a nonfiction book on neuroscience. Getting outside is good for the soul.”

  “You think my soul is in need of goodness?”

  He wasn’t touching that one. “It will clear your head before you start your shift.”

  Cee-Cee stowed her laptop, state-of-the-art and expensive, in a locker in the employee break room.

  They snuck out the employee side entrance and Colt led her to the path along the Winooski River.

  An air of melancholy surrounded her. “Why so blue?” he asked.

  “You ever want something so badly that you bypass all reason and forget all logic in your quest to achieve it?”

  As much as he hated delving into her issues, he thought she needed it. He didn’t have any desire to be her therapist. But what she was describing sounded like him two years ago. He’d forsaken everything in his obsession to become a famous chef. Then he’d ingested alcohol and cigarettes to fuel his ambitions, winding tighter and tighter until he’d snapped.

  He wondered if she was about to reveal why she was in Colebury and what she was doing in a small town hiding when she was clearly a city girl with a rich life and many connections. He shuddered. He really shouldn’t want to find out what drove her.

  Right now he liked her. Grudgingly. “What is it you want that you’re willing to do anything to get?”

  “That perfection Chuck and Lottie had.” Cee-Cee waved her arm toward the Speakeasy. “But we know that’s a myth, right?”

  Relationships. She was talking about a relationship. Not some blind aggressive ambition to succeed in business.

  While he had not experienced love like Chuck and Lottie, he thought about his family. “My parents make it work. I mean they fight, and sometimes it’s loud and chaotic. But they also always make up. It’s like…a release rather than a battle.”

  What would it be like to share in life’s troubles and its triumphs? And why the hell was he thinking about that now? The last thing he needed was someone else to worry about. He was still working through his own issues and dealing with his lingering neuroses. But he was curious about her. “What’s stopping you from reaching for that kind of relationship?”

  She didn’t answer right away. “I’d rather help other people.”

  But he knew that wasn’t completely true or she wouldn’t have brought it up. “Why can’t you also help yourself?”

  “I can’t imagine ever being so vulnerable with a man.” She gave him a side glance.

  When he thought of her sharing her innermost thoughts and feelings with another man, he was uncomfortable with how much he hated the idea of her with someone else. “If it’s something you really want, then you have to reach for it.”

  At least she knew what she wanted. Lately he’d been floundering, hiding, and not moving forward. Stuck in place. Afraid to start dreaming and wanting again. In the past he’d had too many goals and ambitions, and now he didn’t have any.

  “Yeah, well. That kind of connection is rare,” she said wistfully. “Plenty of people pretend that their marriage is perfect, but the truth is, it’s rotten beneath the surface.”

  Wow. Again with the unexpected negativity. That cynicism threw him off balance. She always appeared to be an eternal optimist. Someone must have hurt her badly. How could he cheer her up?

  “Rotten, huh?” Colt teased. “Aren’t you the Debbie Downer.”

  “No one has ever accused me of that before.”

  He’d bet.

  They walked further away from the bustle and noise of the Speakeasy kitchen. The river gurgled in the background.

  As if she had just tracked into their conversation from earlier, she said, “You read?”

  He snorted. “Yeah.”

  He hadn’t in the past. He hadn’t had time. But the transition from the frenetic pace of owning several restaurants, competing on chef shows, to living in a quiet cabin in the woods had enabled him to make time for things he’d forsaken.

  “Trying to figure myself out,” he confessed.

  “Reaching for your higher self?”

  “Something like that.” Trying hard not to repeat the mistakes from the past.

  9

  Colt

  Colt found himself back at the Speakeasy.

  He’d been at home and the silence of his little cabin had been oppressive. He’d paced the small area, tried to read a book on self-improvement, even tried to get a little work done.

  For the first few months, he’d just hibernated in the cabin and wallowed. But eventually he needed a job and income and frankly, something to do.

  His new gig was freelance editing and ghost writing cookbooks. He wasn’t testing the recipes. He just looked over proportions and judged if they were correct. So far, he hadn’t run across any that seemed out of balance.

  But lately he couldn’t seem to focus on anything. He was antsy and out of sorts.

  He spirited in through the employee entrance and headed toward an empty table. Dusk was falling. A scruffy guy with a guitar sat on a stool lit by a single spotlight, crooning a lonely folk song.

  He sat at one of the two tops near the stage. He couldn’t believe he was back here again. But he couldn’t seem to stay away.

  Colt’s gaze automatically searched for Cee-Cee.

  But she wasn’t there.

  He ate a quick dinner and then left, surprised at the level of disappointment when he realized he wouldn’t see her.

  He stopped off at the tractor supply store on his way home for more gardening supplies. On his way to the correct aisle, he glanced at the clothing wall, remembering his encounter with her and he laughed. She’d been convinced those little ballet flats were fine. However she’d been wearing supportive but far less fashionable shoes the last time he saw her at the Speakeasy. Everywhere he turned, small snippets of their conversations came back to him.

  On his way to register, he saw her distinctive cap of blond hair.

  He paused, noting her unnatural stillness as she stood in front of a wall of cleaning supplies. Based on her horror when he’d mentioned cleaning the bathroom, he couldn’t imagine what she was looking for.

  Just thinking about her respon
se caused him to smile.

  He headed toward her, a lightness in his heart, as if he’d conjured her up from his daydreams.

  He was about to tease her when he saw the very clear distress on her face. “Everything okay?”

  “I have no idea which one to buy.”

  This wasn’t Costco. The choices were relatively limited.

  “I need to do laundry,” she whispered, “It shouldn’t be hard. Right?”

  “How dirty?”

  “Work clothes. I’ve been handwashing in the sink every day but after a long shift they really need a more in-depth cleaning.” She looked completely out of her element. She touched each of the detergents with a light fingertip. “Which one is best?”

  He studied her three options and then chose the best one. “This is what I would use.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m not usually this indecisive,” she clarified.

  He figured her to be in her late twenties. “Haven’t you ever done laundry?”

  She snorted.

  Once again he wondered what kind of background she came from. She had the bearing of a woman used to a certain level of comfort. She was obviously wealthy and certainly privileged. Seriously, why was she waitressing in Vermont?

  “Thanks for your help,” she said softly. She gripped the plastic bottle tightly as if she were hanging on by a thread. Uncertainty surrounded her like a cloud.

  “You want a lesson?”

  He heard himself make the offer, his mouth talking before his brain could catch up. But he felt lighter as soon as he made the offer. He could have told her to read the directions. He was sure there were videos on YouTube or the internet that would show her how. But she seemed so alone.

  “That would be…nice.”

  “You’re gonna need quarters.”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “To pay for the machines,” Colt said.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an O.

  For some reason, he found her ineptitude cute. Clearly he was losing his mind. But Colt followed her back to the motor lodge anyway.

  Tracy

  Tracy was the first to admit that she was thrilled to have help.

  The graying linoleum in the laundry room of the motor lodge had probably been stylish and new in the sixties. Now it was just a dingy reminder that many feet had shuffled through this room throughout the years.

  There were two orange hard plastic chairs near the door to the small room. A small table between the chairs held old copies of People magazine and various tabloid papers. Tracy clutched the paper grocery store bag that doubled as a laundry hamper in her arms.

  There were three washers and three dryers.

  She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to let him help her with the laundry. She could figure it out on her own. Of course she could. She wasn’t an idiot.

  But she was lonely.

  “I could do this on my own,” she felt compelled to explain.

  “I know.” But there was an indulgent tone to his voice that caused her hackles to rise.

  “I graduated at the top of my class at Boston College in marketing and neuroscience.” She should be able to remember a flipping lunch order. And she could definitely follow laundry directions.

  “Congratulations.”

  “It’s not like I’m a simpleton.”

  “No one said you were.”

  “I could totally figure this out.”

  “Do you want my help or not?” He sounded exasperated.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t like feeling out of my element.” And the past week had been one long “let’s poke Tracy where she was most vulnerable” fest. Cut off from her family, as annoying as they could be, and her friends, she was adrift. She hadn’t realized how much she counted on her support network until she didn’t have one anymore.

  “No one does,” he said mildly. “Put your clothes in.”

  She dumped the whole bag in at once.

  “Hold up.” He raised his palm. “Don’t mix the dark and light. Didn’t you watch the Friends episode where Rachel turned her whites pink?”

  “Nope.” She’d been too busy learning table etiquette and memorizing the names of dignitaries’ kids.

  “Okay. Lesson number one. Put like colors together. Separate into light and dark.”

  He opened the lid of the machine next to the one she’d already dumped her clothes in.

  Tracy picked out the whites, flushing at the lacy bra and panty combo.

  “Nice undies.” His voice was gravelly.

  She tossed them in the second machine quickly and finished separating the dark and light colors.

  “Choose your temperature.”

  “Does that have something to do with fabric type?”

  “Chef—” he held up his hands “—not fashion designer. I just throw everything in on cold water. Except my sheets. Those I wash on hot.”

  Sheets brought up beds. Suddenly Tracy had a vision of him wrapped in white sheets, his tan limbs and dark hair a striking contrast, lean body, muscles on display. The sexy image burned in her brain, and the daydreams she’d had of him came roaring back.

  She cleared her throat. “Okay. So cold water works.” She set the temperature.

  “Now you need the quarters.”

  She pulled out her phone and frowned, pressing her phone to the top of the washing machine. “No TouchPay?” Her mouth twitched with amusement.

  He opened his mouth to blast her and then stopped. “I see what you did there.”

  Now she was the one messing with him. Except she still had to pay to get the washing machine started. “How much?” She couldn’t believe she was reduced to counting quarters. She also wondered how people on tight budgets managed to do their laundry. “Laundry is expensive.”

  She had to push in the change tray hard. As if the universe was resisting her spending the money.

  “Welcome to the real world, Deb.”

  Great, he was back to calling her Deb. There was a teasing lilt to his voice but still the nickname rankled. However he wasn’t wrong. She’d had no idea.

  “Your mom did it for you.”

  She laughed. Her elegant, always perfectly dressed and made-up mother hadn’t set foot in a laundry room since she married Tracy’s father. Just the thought had her bending over with laughter. “I’ve never seen my mother do laundry in my life.”

  He raised a brow.

  “The maids did our laundry. I dropped my clothes in a hamper and a few days later they were cleaned, folded or hung up, and put away.” She could admit that she was wishing for her parent’s household staff right about now. Then she thought about how much she took for granted.

  She made a promise to send them thank-you notes. Working on her feet all day had given her a new appreciation for how they had taken care of her family.

  “Wow. Must have been nice. My mother worked two jobs, and as the oldest I was in charge of laundry.”

  “You did the laundry?”

  “My dad worked in a restaurant and my mom was always working, it seemed. I was in charge of a lot of stuff. But I mostly tried to pawn the laundry off on my sisters.”

  “How many sisters do you have?”

  “Three.”

  “Oh my gosh. Any brothers?”

  “Two.”

  “Wow.”

  “My parents are devout Catholics. They don’t believe in birth control.” Colt shook his head. “I probably would have more siblings, but they worked a lot.”

  Tracy’s eyes rounded. His house must have been chaotic.

  “You?”

  She’d grown up in a mansion with her brother and staff. Her parents always seemed to be gone. Either together or separately. There had been more staff in the house than family. And it had been quiet.

  “Me and my brother.” Concern shimmied down her spine, but she shook it off. Damn Thomas. She needed to talk to him and her family. She wanted her life back. She sighed.

  “What now?” />
  Nothing. But her motel bill was eating into her remaining funds big time. She was already staying at the cheapest place around.

  She knew that if she really needed the money, she could find a way to get it. But somehow supporting herself through this strange time had become a point of pride. The allegations of elitism that her father’s opponent had leveled at her company had surprised her. Her knee-jerk reaction had been denial but while she was subsisting on a waitress salary and tips she realized that he had a point.

  “Wondering how people do this all the time.” Her money woes were temporary. She’d be back in Boston soon and this whole crazy financial experiment would be a distant memory. But other people lived this way. Without the safety net she had. She wasn’t about to start whining to him. She was curious though. “How long did it take you to adjust to living here?”

  “Thinking about making it permanent?”

  She thought about the regulars who came in every day or most every day. And the owners and staff of the Speakeasy. Instead of getting frustrated with her, they’d coached her through learning to wait tables.

  Chuck and Lottie.

  Phoebe and Matteo and Ty and Grace. Alec Rossi and his girlfriend, May Shipley. Griffin Shipley and his wife Audrey. Everyone had been nothing but kind to her.

  For a hot moment she thought about what it would be like to live in a place where people went out of their way to lend a helping hand.

  But then she abandoned that thought. Her Fairy Tale Beginnings spin-offs were in Boston. Her career with her father’s office was in Boston. Her charity work on the Thayer Family Foundation was in Boston. Her good friends were in Boston. Her life was in Boston.

  There was no way she’d end up living in a small town in Vermont permanently. But she would damn well enjoy it while she was here.

  Tracy Thayer would sit on the freaking hard plastic chair and make small talk.

  But Cee-Cee didn’t have to do that. She pushed up and sat on the empty washing machine while he waited for her to mentally work through the answer.