The Story Of Us - Teri Wilson Page 0,33
somehow just gone from bad to worse.
Sawyer would be lying if he’d said that the sight of Jamie Vaughn holding a cup with Ridley’s logo didn’t infuse him with a definitely sense of triumph. Maybe it was childish, but so be it.
Rick had been right. Embracing the community had been the way to go. His vintage barista stand had been attracting passersby for a solid two hours already, allowing him to engage in conversation with business owners from all over Waterford. It was amazing how willing they were to listen to what he had to say once they had complimentary caffeinated beverages in their hands. The cinnamon had been an especially deft touch—homey, just like Waterford itself. There wasn’t an IKEA in the world that smelled like cinnamon.
“I love Waterford,” he gushed, heady with victory. He was regaining some of the ground he’d lost in the wake of the viral article about True Love. He could feel it. “My mom and I moved here when I was twelve years old.”
Sawyer then used the Ridley cup in his hand to motion toward Chuck, both for emphasis and to spread the comforting scents of cinnamon and chocolate far and wide. “Chuck, your dad gave me my first job at the pizzeria.”
He’d been great at it. There’d been no arugula. And no Jamie Vaughn throwing a wrench in his plans at every turn.
“Oh, I remember.” Chuck nodded. He looked exactly the same as he had back in high school—except for the thick beard. That was new.
“So, this isn’t going to be just some random teardown,” he said, hoping they understood that he’d never let that happen. “I’m a hometown boy who’s come back to his roots to do what I can to help make things better for a place I care a lot about.”
It was the truth. He wasn’t the big, bad monster Jamie seemed intent on making him out to be. He was on Waterford’s side. The town council had reached out to Ridley for a proposal because they wanted a change—needed one in order to keep the business district going. This plan would be good for everyone. Sooner or later, she’d realize that.
Preferably sooner, because she’d already beat a hasty trail toward him from across the town square and was now staring at him with open skepticism.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, as if what he’d just said made no sense whatsoever. “‘Hometown boy?’”
He attempted a confident laugh, but it came out shakier than he’d planned. “That’s me.”
She arched a brow. “And when was the last time you were here?”
Jamie knew good and well how long he’d been away—fifteen years. In fact, she seemed to love throwing that number around as if it were confetti.
He flashed her a tight smile as Chuck and Beth looked on. “Um. Well. It’s been…a while.”
“Since you graduated high school,” Jamie said flatly. “Right?”
The smiles on Chuck and Beth’s faces faded ever so slightly. Was it only his imagination, or had they both stopped sipping from their Ridley cups?
“About that.” Fifteen years wasn’t that long, was it?
Jamie’s gaze narrowed. “So how did you even come up with these designs if you haven’t even been here in a decade and a half?”
Okay, put like that, it definitely sounded like a very long time. “Well, I don’t need to be on location in order to create my designs.”
Again, it was the truth. Any architect would agree, but of course Jamie had to make it sound like nothing more than an excuse.
“Because it’s all the same? Just some stores to be torn down…” She waved her coffee cup at their surroundings.
He shook his head. He could see at least one shop in the far-off distance that would remain unscathed. “Not at all.”
“…History to be ignored,” she said sharply. Then she gave him a long, meaningful look that he felt deep in the pit of his stomach.
Were they still talking about Waterford? Because it suddenly felt like they were talking about themselves. As a couple.
Sawyer’s mouth grew dry, and he was suddenly very aware of the perfect shape of her impertinent mouth. Bee-stung lips, perfectly pink, like a bow on a present, just waiting to be opened.
Then she abruptly looked away. “Beth, how long have you had your hobby warehouse?”
“Thirty-five years,” Beth said.
“Thirty-five years,” Jamie repeated, clearly for Sawyer’s benefit. “People have been coming to your store for everything they need, from scrapbooking needs to their homemade Christmas decorations.”
“That’s right.” Beth’s chest puffed out a little.
Jamie was on a roll