Two years ago, I accepted a job at a prestigious academy outside of Fresno. I loved my job and had a wonderful experience there, ending with a Teacher of the Year trophy for yours truly this past May. Shockingly enough, my superintendent told me three days before the end of the school year that they would no longer be needing my services.
My principal assured me she would figure something out, but the only thing that was taken care of was her libido and the divorce papers my husband made sure I received when he and Principal Garris ran away together. Turns out, they had been carrying on an affair for five months right under my nose.
Not only did they ensure my marriage came to an end, my benevolent former boss decided to forge a bunch of documentation, claiming I was inept at my job and was written up multiple times for various infractions. Something she claimed she addressed when she wrote me up for insubordination.
As if that wasn’t enough, my loving husband decided the best post-divorce gift he could give me was to leave the bank foreclosure notice on my nightstand—after he cleaned out his things from the house over the weekend I went to visit my college roommate Mel. Coward. Apparently, Kenna Garris wasn’t a cheap fling, so my ex-husband decided to spend it on her instead of making the house payments the last three months we lived together.
They can both go fuck themselves and an ill-tempered porcupine while they’re at it.
Between dealing with my tattered reputation and spending my summer vacation fixing the fallout of Allan’s assholery, I realized Fresno was no longer a place I wanted to be. A few calls to my great aunt—and Melanie too—gave me the courage to leave everything behind in California.
Now to start a new life in a not-so-new place.
Driving along, I search for the number she gave me, realizing the number is nowhere to be seen. I count the house numbers again. 12 Housley Lane. 13. 14. 16. 17. Huh. No 15?
I pull in front of where her house should theoretically be and park Tink. Built like a tank and sparkly like a new penny, my old Jeep Wrangler never fails to catch some stares and even catcalls.
When we first saw it last year at Fortelli’s used car parking lot, Allan thought it was tacky and ridiculous. Its rich green color was striking, but the bass boat glitter-like metal flake caught every square inch of sunlight that shone on it. The previous owner had dolled it up inside, but the adorable Tinkerbell decal on the back glass with the phrase “Second star to the right and straight on to Disneyland” tugged at my 5’1”, Disney-loving heartstrings.
Low mileage, fair price, in good condition, equal parts rugged and rambunctious?
I was immediately in love.
Climbing out of Tink, I stretch my sore limbs. A 2000-mile jaunt over the last week does a number on the old joints—hers and mine. Loud popping sounds fill my ears as I jostle out the tiredness in my body. As I limber up, I peruse the house numbers within sight again, still not seeing a one and five together anywhere.
Did she give me the right number?
Several vehicles sit in driveways and near the grassy strip separating the road from the fence line down the country road to my left, but no people are milling about, minus a jogger who’s now pounding the pavement towards me.
Dark sunglasses shield his eyes, but his wavy blond hair and handsome features are in clear view. A sweat-soaked shirt clings to his trim body. Blond scruff covers his face. I can hear him panting as he sidles up towards me. “Looking for someone?”
I look down at the address Vera Kay texted me once more. “Um, yeah. I’m looking for 15 North Housley Lane, but I—”
“Can’t find the number?” He finishes my sentence for me before taking the hem of his sweat-soaked t-shirt to wipe his face. The movement grants me a peek at some well-defined ab muscles underneath.
I nod in agreement as he takes his glasses off, revealing a mesmerizing set of grayish-green eyes. “All you’ve gotta do is drive to the end of this road, turn left at the giant metal rooster, and it’ll be on the other side. Between the houses numbered 43 and 44.”
One of my eyebrows raises involuntarily, ringing a laugh from him as well as a further explanation. “They messed up on the 911 address system years ago. It’s a small town, so Janie remembers it well.”
“Who’s Janie?”
“Our mail lady. She’s a bit near-sighted, so if you are planning on planting any flowers, make sure they’re not by the road,” he adds, motioning to where the grass meets the asphalt before extending his hand. “My name’s Grey, by the way. Grey Kasen. I live on up the road.”
I take his kind gesture and return it with a firm shake of my own. “Nova Whitmore.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Nova,” he beams. I bet that million-dollar smile makes all the girls in town go crazy.
“Likewise.”
He looks me up and down. Not in a sleazy way, just more in an “I’m trying to figure you out” sense. “How do you know Vera Kay?”
“She’s my great-aunt. You know her?”
He flashes those perfect pearly whites again. “Yeah, I know all the neighbors here. Fine lady, that one.”
Now it’s my turn to grin. “I’m pretty biased, but I have to agree. She’s amazing.”
“She sure is.” A quiet moment passes before he switches gears. “Are you in town visiting?”
“More like moving,” I add.
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood. Silverton’s a great place to be.” As if on cue, a few birds start chirping in the trees peppered throughout the neighborhood. A nice endorsement if nature is satisfied here.
“I don’t remember much about it, but Aunt Vera Kay is absolutely in love with it.” I hear about it often during our chats, so I know that to be a truer-than-true statement.
He squints his eyes, searching for something. Recognition, maybe? “Did you used to live here?”
“My parents and I moved away when I was five. I’ve visited a few times over the years, though.”
“Guess I should’ve said ‘welcome back’ instead. I hope you’ll love it as much as we do.” The man really should be the welcome wagon for this town. As he looks over towards Tink, his eyes light up with amusement. “Nice ride, by the way. It suits you.”
“Thanks?”
A chuckle of his own returns mine. “I just mean with all the green and your hair and height, you’re like a little pixie yourself.”
Sweeping my longer ash-blonde bangs to the side, I nod. “Then, it’s a good fit because Tinkerbell’s my favorite fairy.”
A curious look clouds over his face. “You mean there’s more than one to choose from?”
Tsk-tsk. “Oh, Grey. So much to learn in the land of fairies,” I muse, shaking my head at his sad lack of knowledge when it comes to the mystical minis.
We chat a moment or two longer until a big truck eases down the road and comes to a stop beside us. Seemingly familiar with the driver, Grey greets him as the driver's side window descends.
A pair of dark aviators obstructs my view of what’s behind them, but the close-cropped blond hair is a match for the man I’ve been talking with over the last few minutes. “Forget what time it is?” the driver inquires matter-of-factly, a smile nowhere to be found.
“Damn,” Grey mutters as he glances at his watch, grimacing when he looks back at me. “Sorry about that.”