Chapter One
Tristan
What a cluster fuck.
Sitting in the front seat of my ancient, blue Ford Escape, I stare at the front of the townhouse that I’m going to be renting. On the seat next to me, my cell phone beeps, signaling its low battery life, like a little taunt of one more thing that’s going wrong at this particular moment. As if I really need a reminder of how big of a screw-up I had just made.
I’d driven late into the night, which hadn’t been the original plan, but Stella had fallen asleep, and I’d calculated how much money I had left in the bank until I got my first paycheck from my new job. The low funds meant that I’d have to put us up in a sleazy hotel, and the thought of Stella sleeping on questionably clean sheets hadn’t sat well with me, so I’d pushed on.
I apparently hadn’t given it enough thought, seeing as I didn’t have a meeting scheduled with the realtor until tomorrow morning, to sign the final lease on the townhouse. She hadn’t returned my phone call from earlier this evening, which meant I had no key to get inside said townhouse tonight, and a sleeping three-year-old in the backseat, and no money magically appearing in my bank account to cover the cost of a hotel room.
The decision to move the two of us from the small one-room apartment, on the outskirts of Washington DC, to the two-story townhouse in Broward, Georgia, had been surprisingly easy. I had never lived anywhere else other than in or around DC, so the small-town life that came with Broward was bound to be a shock, but still held an appeal I wasn’t able to deny.
Situated neatly between Hilton Head, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia, Broward offered its visitors pristine beaches with a small-town atmosphere that was perfect for family vacations. Starting in spring, the population of the town would swell with tourists boasting varying stages of sunburn, and a vast array of bathing suits and flip-flops.
The pictures I had seen online of the town had shown sidewalks made of dark red brick, with tall, black streetlights decorating each corner, and periodically there were black benches situated in front of the row of shops, bakeries, and coffee shops that line each side of the street. There had been pictures of children happily eating ice cream cones during summer, dressed in cute Halloween costumes as they paraded in and out of local stores, and at Christmas there appeared to be a large tree in the middle of town, expertly decorated, along with picturesque bows and Christmas lights scattered up and down Main Street. The town’s website made it seem like you were walking straight into a Norman Rockwell painting when you entered the town limits. Hopefully, Broward lived up to the hype. Because it was everything I wanted for Stella and I, and maybe a little more.
The townhouse I was renting was situated within walking distance of Main Street and included a small yard where, heaven help me, maybe one day, the puppy that Stella had recently decided she was dying to have, would have plenty of room to run around.
My new boss, Doctor Julian Jacobs, had recommended the rental company I used to find us a place to live, and they had offered a slightly larger place, with an even bigger yard, a couple of miles outside of town, but the city girl in me hadn’t quite been ready to give up easy access to restaurants and shops.
In three days I would start my new position as a nurse at the doctor’s office, which was a significant reason it had been so easy for me to make the decision to move to Georgia. I would have regular hours, which would allow me to spend more time with Stella than my previous position as an emergency-room nurse.
Not that any of that mattered at the moment, because all I really wanted to do was figure out where in the hell the two of us were going to sleep. Stella might be comfortable sleeping in her car seat, though with the way her head was tilted, I couldn’t imagine how, but stretching out on a bed was a necessity for me.
I contemplate calling the realtor, but a quick glance at the dashboard shows that it’s closing in on eleven. In DC I might not have hesitated, but when I’d been driving through the streets of Broward, every single shop window had been dark. When I’d hit the residential area, streetlights and porch lights had been illuminated, and not much else.
Apparently, the people of Broward, Georgia, didn’t exactly live it up. At least not past ten at night.
Resting my forehead on my hands on the top of the steering wheel, I mentally start recalculating my budget to afford a hotel for the night. Eating is overrated, right? Stella could live off macaroni and cheese, and bologna-and-cheese sandwiches, and be perfectly content. I might not be nominated for mom of the year anytime soon, but I’d save us from sleeping in the car.
It was totally worth it, right?
A sharp knock on the window startles me. I jump in the seat, swallowing the scream that threatens to break through, when I look over and see a young blond woman standing next to my car. Three calming, deep breaths later, and I am able to roll the window down without my heart feeling like it’s going to explode.
“I am so sorry.” The soft southern drawl swirls through the night air. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you. Which, of course, I would have, because you weren’t paying me any attention, so you didn’t see me coming over. You probably thought I was a serial killer or something.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“You’ll be happy to know serial killers are few and far between in Broward. The most excitement we’ve had all week is when Mr. Rooster’s dog dug up Mrs. Potter’s flowerbed.”
Mr. Rooster? I wait for a beat, expecting a punchline that never comes. “You’re serious,” I finally say carefully. It’s obviously a regular hotbed of criminal activity around here.
“Oh, Mrs. Potter is incredibly serious about her flowerbed.” Her full lips tip up in a smile. “So, no serial killers, just wayward dogs. My name is Monroe Gallahanger.”
“I’m—”
“Tristan Maddox,” Monroe interrupts with a quick laugh. “Small-town life, Tristan. Everyone in town knows everything about you. Sometimes before you do.” She laughs softly again, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. “You worked with Nora Beaumont to find your rental, right? Nora and I have known each other all our lives. She wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Well isn’t that comforting, I think. I’ve been in town less than ten minutes and they already know more about me than the lady who lived in the apartment next to mine in DC for the last three years. “Yeah, I made better time than I thought I would.”
“Well, Nora had a dinner date over in Savannah tonight, which she was hoping to stretch into a breakfast date, as well, so she isn’t around to get you inside.”
“Oh.” Damn it. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I chew on my bottom lip. “Can you recommend a good hotel for the night?”
“Well, not in town. There’s the B&B over on Hampton Street, but I heard they were booked out this weekend. We’ve done our best to keep hotels out of Broward. It’s mostly rental houses along the shore. You’d have to head back to the interstate to find a place.”
The interstate that was a good thirty minutes away, through a stretch of road that was literally lined with trees and little else outside the occasional house or gas station. Sleeping in my car was, unfortunately, starting to look like the better option.