CHAPTER TWO
Natalie  

The problem with living a lie was that there was no great way to sleep. My brain never stopped replaying all the ways I was a terrible person. Why were the mean voices in my head their loudest in the middle of the night?

Liar. They’re all going to find out and kick you out of town. You were never meant to be here in the first place.

“Welp. Time to get up and live another day of lies,” I said to my ceiling, which I’d been staring at wide awake since two a.m.

I shot out of bed and took a shower. I brushed my wet curls into a low bun, wincing with the brutal force I used to contain them. This wasn’t the curly-hair treatment that they deserved, but I preferred them slicked back, gelled down, and out of my face. If I put in enough product, they mostly stayed put throughout the average day. Before the sun came up, I left my apartment and set off to my Thinking Place.

As always, I detoured a block out of the way to pass my favorite house: a part-time rental for a couple who lived in Florida. I liked to sometimes pretend that I would own it one day. Maybe when I was a Real Resident of Slippery Slopes. The single-family home was paneled in white, but light purple trimmed the large front windows and the edge of the roof. There was a small porch big enough for two chairs to rock at night, drinking margaritas and watching the sun set behind the surrounding mountains. Most importantly, it had a lush garden that, come summer, would be overflowing with lavender and loads of wildflowers great for the local bee population.

“One day,” I said as I passed.

I’d lived in Slippery Slopes for ten years, but the timing still wasn’t right for home ownership.

My Thinking Place was a hidden and long-forgotten room along Main Street, past the town square with the Jane Smith statue and the gazebo. It was where I went when I needed to relax my face muscles or take off my bra after a day of tours. Or hide from the people who thought me a savior. I often came here to get ready for the day because it felt more like home than the apartment I lived in.

I got to work once I was settled in the only chair in my Thinking Place. Ignoring my gritty eyes and the heavy weight on my chest, I made plans as Slippery Slopes’ resident tour guide. I tweaked some notes to include more fascinating local facts and reviewed Gabe’s thesis pages he’d sent me so far.

I could hardly look at myself in the mirror as I finished getting ready for the day’s big event. Not even a thick layer of concealer could hide the puffy bags under my eyes or the perpetual crease of worry between my brows. The guilt had begun to manifest physically, and I had to come clean to Deckard Sparks before it ate me alive. The mayor’s son deserved the truth. For the last three weeks, I’d been tormented with the guilt of out-of-control bad timing.

“Deckard. I wasn’t the one who saved your life that day,” I practiced with my reflection. “It was a complete misunderstanding. I was just walking by. I was pissed off at Miles Asher for coming into town and toying with my heart like the pompous jerkwad he is. Even though he had been so nice and we’d gotten along so well . . .” I stopped applying mascara and blinked at myself. “Great job. Talk about another guy while you’re asking him out.”

I groaned, already losing the nerve. The accusatory voices in my head weren’t as loud in the light of day, but I still wanted nothing more than to curl up with a book and hide here. Unfortunately, today was the lottery drawing for the Governor’s Ball, and I was expected to be there. I was a bit of a town ambassador at this point.

More guilt pushed on my shoulders until I thought I might sink into the earth. I couldn’t go on like this much longer.

I’d tried to talk to Deckard before, tried to tell him the truth, but every time I was near him, I just froze up. There was too much pressure to say the right thing and act in the right way. It didn’t make any sense. If I could just get him alone, away from all the prying eyes and listening ears, then maybe it would be easier.

I could ask Deckard out finally and get him alone to come clean. If Deckard and I were dating, then we could put this whole misunderstanding behind us. Nobody was more beloved in town. Therefore, I would be beloved in town. And I would never have to leave.

An image of the townsfolk with pitchforks and flaming torches chasing after me, calling me a liar, flashed through my mind.

I needed to find Deckard.

I took a deep breath before leaving my sanctuary.

The bright New Mexico sun filled the center of town with a warm light that was just perfect on this fine spring day. I plastered a smile on my face, set my shoulders back, and slipped into the role I needed to play. I buzzed with urgency as I half walked, half ran my way toward the town square. My eyes found Rochelle right away. My best friend was easy enough to spot because she stood several inches taller than most, and her perfect bone structure and tiny pores always led my gaze, and the gaze of most people around us, right to her. She could have been a model in another life, but she was content here in Slippery Slopes, rocking the lawyer life, married to the only other lawyer in town, and keeping Slippery Slopes equipped for all its lawyer-y type needs. Like property deeds? Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I should probably know more about the woman I’ve called my best friend since I was eighteen.

Spotting Rochelle was one thing, but getting to Rochelle was another story. I had to squeeze my way through the whole town’s population, stuffed into the small park in the town square. But this was typical on a day like today. This was typical in general. Slippery Slopes loved an event. Several people smiled and said hello to me, and I returned the gesture like the big fat phony I was. A few even patted me on the back like I was some hero. Each step grew heavier.

“Hey, Ro,” I said, winded. When I finally made it to Rochelle, I saw she was husband- and kid-free. “Where are John and Olive?”

“The churro truck is here. And you can’t mention anything sugarcoated around Olive without her giving puppy dog eyes.”

I nodded in understanding. Olive had turned those bad boys on me more than once, and any and all boundaries went crumbling. Which incidentally was why all sugar was hidden when I babysat.

“Well, good. Not that I don’t love those attention hogs, but I have news for grown-up ears only,” I said and shimmied my shoulders with excitement. She blinked slowly at me.

“We can play the game where I guess witty things that are hilarious and not related at all to the truth, or we can skip straight to the point.”

I gave my best Olive-inspired pout. “Aw, but guessing wrong answers is half the fun. ‘You finally cleaned out your fish tank and found a buried treasure,’ for example.”

“You don’t have a fish tank.” She tilted her head. “Just tell me.”

“Boo. Lawyers.”

“Even in the Land of Mañana, time is still money, baby.” She shrugged. “Fine. You are going to rent the house on Cherry Street?”

“Okay, this isn’t fun.” I shook my head. “No. I’ve decided today is the day. I can feel it. I’m sure of it.”

“Does this have anything to do with your sudden fixation on the mayor’s son?”

I guffawed with insult. “Sudden? I have always liked Deckard Sparks.”

“Sure.” She looked me over with narrowed eyes.

Not even Rochelle knew the truth about the fake saving. I had planned to tell her so many times, but ultimately decided Deckard should know first.

I must have gone frozen because she flipped her hand, gesturing for me to go on. “So you’re asking Deckard out finally. Is that the big news?” One dark eyebrow arched skeptically. I’d been saying that I wanted to ask Deckard out for weeks. Ever since I saved him. I just hadn’t explained why. If I could just get him alone, then I could find my words and come clean.

And I did want to ask Deckard out. He was perfect. Anybody in town would agree.

“Yes. Well. Sort of. I need to find him. Have you seen him?” I asked.

“About time. And no, I haven’t seen him yet.” Rochelle arched her head to where John and Olive were queued. When she looked back at me, the smile melted from her features. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

“You just look all cute and hopeful. You’re like a little cartoon chipmunk that found a stash of nuts.”

“I am hopeful.” I felt my whole face lift with a smile as I said it. Hopeful to make the right moves for once.

“But I have to be ‘the friend’ now—”

“You don’t have to use air quotes. We are actually friends, you know.”

“—and that means saying truths you might not want to hear.”

I felt my mouth turn down as a chill spread through me. “Oh?”

“Stop, you’re making it worse. With your sad eyes and cute wittle cheeks.” She wiggled my cheek as she pinched it with her thumb and pointer finger.

“You could not say it.” I rubbed the area she’d squeezed.

“No. I think this is one of those stupid things that I have to stupidly say. Stupid having friendships and relationships. God, being a mother and a wife has made me soft.”

I patted her arm reassuringly. “Even something as gentle as water wears the strongest things down. You haven’t lost your edge. People are terrified of you all the time.”

She smiled with a glint in her eyes. “Thank you for saying that.” She lifted her chin and shook back her gleaming locks. All at once, she transformed into lawyer mode. “Which is why I’ve got to tell you that just because you saved his life doesn’t mean you have to date Deckard.”

“I know that,” I said, surprised and embarrassed.

“Do you?”

“I’ve always thought we’d be a good match,” I said, and it wasn’t untrue.

“A good match? Natalie, this isn’t the Regency era. Are you even attracted to him?”

“He’s very cute,” I said. Relationships were more than just attraction. They were a commitment, and in time, I’d feel those fireworks that love songs and my books talked about. “I just thought he was going to marry Bee Perkins eventually.”

“We all did at some point. But now Bee is very clearly with Owen Campbell.” We turned in unison to where Bee chatted happily next to a behemoth of a man with his arms crossed and features hard. She was flailing her arms in anger when Owen scooped her up to kiss her head. All at once, the anger melted from her, and she flopped like a rag doll against his chest. Speaking of fireworks, those two had them.

“They work weirdly well together,” she said as I nodded.

Then we both turned back to the stage where the mayor (Deckard was the son of a powerful woman—that’ll be another green flag, thank you very much) was chatting with a few of the city council members onstage as more people squeezed in.

I searched to see if Deckard was around the stage, but I couldn’t find him.

“Every time you tried to ask him out before, there was always an excuse. The clouds were moving too fast. The wind was too windy,” Rochelle said.

There was a chance I hadn’t hidden my reluctance as well as I’d thought. I had wanted to ask Deckard out B.M. (Before Miles, not Bowel Movement). It wasn’t that I was waiting to hear from Miles Asher. I never even thought of him after he’d left. The two men had nothing to do with each other. I wasn’t even thinking of Miles now. Who brought him up? Not I!

“I know it sounds like those were lame excuses, but it never felt right,” I said.

I was sure Deckard had been the guy for me. On paper, we just made sense. But then Miles Asher blew through town and confused me.

“Are you sure you actually like Deckard?” she asked.

“He’s a walking green flag. He’s perfect.”

“Nobody is perfect. Not even a little. That’s the sort of thinking that leads to never making a move,” she said.

“He’s adored by the whole town. He’s so cute and nice and comes from the best family.” Here, Rochelle’s eyes narrowed like she doubted the Sparks family was the best. I went on. “He’s the only one who regularly checks to make sure the guinea pigs are okay in the worst weather. He volunteers at Golden Sunset. He writes poetry.”

“He does?”

“In my mind, he does.”

She crossed her arms with a huffed laugh. “You know, and I realize that this may not hold much weight having just professed my loss of edge because of said husband, but you don’t actually need a man at all,” she said, lazily flipping out a hand.

“Please. I know. It’s not that I think that.”

But I loved it here, and I wanted to build a life. And if Deckard chose me, then I could stay here. Rochelle wouldn’t understand.

My eyes moved over the crowd again, finally spotting him talking to a group of curious tourists. He smiled affably, his little flop of light brown hair slowly falling forward, so he had to push it back.

My hands went cold in anxious anticipation. My stomach clenched in what must have been the signs of a crush.

An idea flashed like a bolt of lightning: Deckard and I, arm in arm, dressed to the nines, waving to the town cheering us on as we get into the limo and head to the Governor’s Ball. Then the town would think me worthy. Then I could relax a little.

Rochelle was still using her lawyer tone when a shape moved into the direct path of my staring. “I’m just making sure that you actually like Deckard and aren’t projecting a vision of some life you feel you need to have to prove yourself to this town because—”

“I’m going to take him to the Governor’s Ball!” The idea burst out of me before I could lower my voice. It was perfect. I’d be alone in the limo with him, and I could come clean. And then we would date, and all would be forgiven. The town would still love me. All would be fixed. “I’m going to ask him to the Governor’s Ball.”

“You got a ticket? How?” Her indifferent facade cracked as she almost shouted.

“Shh, keep your voice down,” I warned her as several residents looked at us.

She lowered her voice to gossip levels. “I heard the mayor couldn’t even get a ticket. Hence the reason for all this hullaballoo today.” She gestured all around us, where the crowd strained to see the stage set up on the gazebo.

“No ticket yet. But I can feel it. I’m winning today.” I let the warmth of the truth spread through me. A hopeful anticipation buoyed me. Once I was alone with Deckard, the truth would be revealed.

“Ah.” Rochelle’s dry tone threatened to dash it all.

“Don’t ‘ah’ me. That’s the real-world equivalent of texting me ‘k.’ I don’t care for how much of your disappointment is revealed.”

“Tell me how you know you’re winning the drawing today. The drawing that the entire town entered. The drawing that you have a one-in-a-few-thousand chances of winning.” She side-eyed me.

“I just know.” I lifted my face toward the sun and let it warm me. The air was still chilly this high up in the mountains, but it held that hopeful flutter of warmer days coming soon.

“And what if they don’t call your name for the big prize?” she asked.

“Then it wasn’t meant to be.” My insides warred. I had to win those tickets. I couldn’t make any more excuses.

She held my gaze for several seconds too long. I had to look away, my focus going to the crowd instead. “You know what? I think this is a great plan.”

“You do?” I dropped my arms and looked back to her, suspicious of her sudden support.

“Yep. You win those tickets today, and you can finally ask out Deckard and get everything you wanted.”

“You think I need a man now?”

“Man, no man. I just want to see you happy. I want nothing to get in the way of that. If you think asking out Deckard will make you happy, then I support you.”

“Okay.” Why did her support only add to my growing anxiety?

“Plus, I have a good feeling about this lottery . . .”

Whatever Rochelle had been saying regarding her sudden change of heart faded away as alarm bells blared in my ears, blocking out all other sound. It was as if the whole world paused, except for the one man who entered my field of vision.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“Natalie?” Rochelle snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You there?”

The town faded away. My focus narrowed in. It was him. It was the man that I wasn’t thinking about. The man that I never thought about.

My entire body went hot and cold at the same time. My heart began racing out of my chest, as if to run away.

I’d spent weeks looking for him in crowds, hoping to spot his half-annoyed, half-amused grin above the heads of the townsfolk, those bright blue eyes glancing around condescendingly. And here he was, chin tucked, eyes riveted to the phone in his hand as he moved through the crowd without a care in the world. His broad shoulders twisted confidently, moving himself out of the way with dexterity that didn’t vibe with his performed disinterest.

“Oh my God. Don’t look now.” I gripped Rochelle’s arm and tried to tuck myself behind her to hide, which was immature while simultaneously being as successful as trying to house-train a wild guinea pig. I would assume. Not that I tried.

Not after that first time.

But it was most definitely him. Bane of my existence, enemy of all.

Miles freaking Asher.