Broken Hero

“In the Marines?”

I shouldn’t be surprised that she knows. People will have told her all kinds of stories.

“Yeah,” I say. “He lives a few towns over.”

“He’s not very talkative, either,” she says, a smile in her voice. “But he seems great. Handy with a drill.”

“Not very talkative either? Are you referring to Austin again?”NôvelDrama.Org content.

Lucy shoots me an amused glance, biting her lip to keep from smiling. “Yes. Who else could I possibly be referring to?”

I give a show of glancing around. “Beats me, because I’m often told I’m a chatterbox.”

It’s a lame joke, and I’m reminded again of how long it’s been since I’ve done anything like this, but then she laughs like I’ve said something funny. Like I’m good at this. At having a conversation about normal things with normal people. At making jokes.

Her grin is wide now. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t actually know yourself very well.” She makes a show of counting on her fingers. “Not very spirited, he says. Has a ‘small’ ranch and is a chatterbox. What will you call yourself next?”

She’s flirting with me. Adrenaline is rushing through me, kicking me into action.

“Easy-going,” I say. “Laidback.”

Lucy chuckles again and the sound is a victory. “Flamboyant.”

“Social.”

She frowns at that. “You’re social.”

“Right. Ask anyone in town.” All the people who’d wanted the boy who was prom king back and got a scarred man instead.

“I don’t need to ask anyone,” she says as we walk through the half-empty parking lot. “I prefer to get to know people all by myself.”

We reach the parking lot and I look around. “Where’s your car?”

“I usually bike here.”

“You bike from town?”

“Yes. It’s not far.”

I frown. The roads are small, and cars often drive at very high speeds. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

“I’m a very good cyclist.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m heading into town this evening anyway. Why don’t I give you a lift?”

She pauses, her eyes widening. “Oliver, it’s safe, I promise. You don’t have to-”

I wave her off. “I’m going down anyway. Come on, I’ll throw your bike in the back of the pickup.”

Lucy bites her lip, deliberating for a moment. Say yes, I think. Don’t let this conversation be over. Let’s prolong this for a little bit longer.

Finally, she shrugs. “If you insist, Mr. Laidback.”

“I do.”

We handle the practicalities in companionable silence as I lift her bike up and until the back of my truck. It’s a shoddy thing, rust visible on the frame.

I frown. “How old is this thing?”

Lucy shrugs. “Very. Phil has had it since I was a kid.”

She should have a car, or at the very least, she should have a better bike. I don’t say any of this as I hold open the passenger seat door for her. She jumps in, her hair flipping behind her, and it smells like perfume and woman. I shake my head at myself and climb into the driver’s seat. I should focus on things I can control-like keeping her talking.

“Where are you from? Originally?”

“I grew up in Acton, a few hours north.”

“It’s bigger than Claremont, right?”

“It is. Have you ever been?”

“A few times. You have that massive antique sale every year, right?” I say and see her grin out of the corner of my eye.

“We do! You’ve been?”

“Sarah’s dragged me with her a few times, to get pieces for the guest rooms.”

She must have heard my tone, because Lucy’s voice is teasing. “Your favorite day of the year?”

“Better than Christmas,” I say.

She laughs again like I’m funny-like she’s enjoying my company. “At least it’s paid off. The ranch is gorgeous. I can’t believe you grew up in that place!”

“It has its charms,” I say. The Morris family’s pride and joy, the Mayors’ home, the ‘Morris Mansion’ as my grandfather liked to refer to it.

Endless fields pass by outside, the way to town one I could drive in my sleep. We’re not far now. “Where do you want to be dropped off? At Phil and Claire’s?”

“No, I’m staying at the bakery.”

“What?”She laughs at my obvious confusion. “There’s a studio on the floor above. My uncle renovated it last year.”

I remember the small space he wanted to transform, the material I’d gotten for him with my truck. “But it’s tiny.”

“It’s not! The perfect size for one. Besides, I like helping out at the bakery and it’s where I spent parts of my childhood.”

“So you were here as a kid?”

“I spent a few weeks here most summers, yeah.”