Page 1 of The Secrets We Built Together

Chapter 1

Blake

This was the best part of my day, I took my feet off the pedals, stretched my legs out to the side, and tipped my face up to the early spring sun as I freewheeled the bicycle down the last hill into Willowbrook.

Was it safe? No. Was it something a twenty-eight-year-old woman should be doing? I wasn't answering that one. Was it also some of the most fun I had in my day? Hell yes it was! And hence why I now did it every day.

"Man, this is the life, Toby," I said to the empty basket on the front of the bicycle and the imaginary dog I liked to think I'd actually get one day. It helped with what was about to come.

What kind of life was I living, not having a tiny dog to sit in the bicycle basket? It felt like a requirement at this stage. I was a legitimate small town girl now. The bicycle might be Delaney’s, and yes, technically, I still lived in her house because I hadn’t worked up the courage to leave despite what I’d said. But I stilllived in Willowbrook now and I had to admit, I loved everything about it.

My mind turned to Titus, the strange-looking flatulent dog that Mrs. Schulster carried everywhere, and I snorted in amusement. Toby and he could be best friends. That would get me an invite into their lunch club.

The town came into view, and just like every day before this one, my heart soared at the sight and then immediately sank as I knew I was getting closer to my destination.

This was my daily pilgrimage to the secret studio I hadn't even been able to tell my closest friend about, to torture myself with my own failings. It had finally happened. One of the galleries I'd given my portfolio to had called me, offering to host my very own solo show. And ever since, every idea I'd ever had felt worthless. Trivial. Not worthy of standing up and proudly declaring it as the best work I'd ever done.

If I was being completely honest with myself, I hadn't done my best work for the past two years. It was a wonder I'd ever been able to sell any of it. It was also the reason why the most recent piece in my portfolio was four years old. And now someone had taken a chance on me on the basis of a series of paintings I knew I could never do better than. Because I'd tried for four whole years and failed every single time.

It never used to feel like this. Art was my escape from reality. It was the lens I looked through to see the beauty in an otherwise cruel and confusing world. But for some reason, the door to that escape had been slammed closed, and no matter how many times I sat in front of my easel, nothing came out of me.

So, today was the usual attempt of trying to force something, anything, out of me.

Basically, a super fun morning of failure for me.

Ugh.

"Here we go again, Toby," I muttered as I coasted the bicycle around the first bend that led to the main street in Willowbrook. "I should probably stop talking to you now before someone thinks I'm even crazier than I am."

I waved at Marie through the window of the bakery as I sailed past and then headed down the street and round the corner. I glided up to the sidewalk and hopped off my bicycle like a pro. All I needed was a baguette and Toby, and I could totally pass for some chic Parisian.

Then I looked down at my clothes.

Maybe chic was a bit of a stretch, but I was living on an artist's budget, which basically meant no budget at all.

I shrugged to myself and then wheeled the bicycle down the side of the place that held my torture palace. I leaned the bike against the wall by the back entrance I wasn't supposed to use, so obviously I did this every day. I didn't even entirely understand why at this point. Part of me was worried that it might be because I was actually a terrible person.

Books and Beans.

My nemesis.

And yet like the best kind of torture, I just couldn't stop myself from coming back every day for more. It had to be that aroma of coffee that floated up the stairs. My caffeine addiction was working against me.

I'd never felt such betrayal.

As I swung open the back door and stepped inside, I was enveloped by that bookshop smell with a hint of coffee wrapped around it. I took a moment to close my eyes and breathe it in deeply.

Maybe this was where I'd been going wrong. Maybe I needed to center myself in the peace of the perfect mecca of bookshop possibilities and then pour it all out onto the canvas.

"Are you completely incapable of following instructions?" Daniel asked from far closer than I would have assumed he'd be.

I cracked open one eye and saw him leaning against the back room doorway as he glared at me. The grumpy barista with the wild blond hair rarely ever cracked a smile and today was no exception.

We'd done this dance for weeks now. I was pretty sure he was only pretending to be annoyed.

Maybe.

Who couldn’t love a quirky, fun, never quite serious, potentially terrible… okay, maybe I got his point.

---