Page 5 of A Touch of Spring Magic

Fired.

Her eyes burned. A fat tear fell out.

No. She wouldn’t cry. The firm wouldn’t get that satisfaction. She was a Maye. That still meant something. She was strong. She’d rebuild her career in the image she wanted. On her own. In the image she wanted. Finally she’d make herself happy and proud.

Feeling defiant, and knowing her face was probably as blotchy red as a demon’s, she started her car and backed out of her spot, tires squealing a little on the first turn down the ramp.

The late-February sky was pale blue, sun just cresting. The air was still chilly, but she opened her sunroof and stuck her fist in the air as she exited the parking lot for the last time.

She would have preferred to gun it down Tryon Street the whole way, but life wasn’t a movie, and she’d probably get pulled over, so when she hit the first traffic light as it turned yellow, she stopped and glared at the reflection of herself in the steel and glass building that loomed gray and indifferent over the city.

She dashed away her stupid tears and before she could make up an excuse to change her mind, she hit the sister group chat before the light turned green and she tapped the microphone.

“Dinner at the farm tonight. I’ll cook.” Why not? She had all the time in the world now, and as much as she’d like to sulk and hide, she needed to clear the budding idea for her new career and life with her sisters, and then Grandma Millie before…gulp…she had to spin the story tightly enough to not send her mother rushing for a Xanax or her father into save-Jessica mode. Meghan would help her. As an attorney, she could always twist fact to suit.

“No excuses,” she added. “Send.”

Today was unexpectedly the first day of her new life. Her stomach heaved, and Jessica grabbed her empty tea thermos and hurled what remained of her sloshy stomach. A car honked behind her. And then another. She replaced the cup in the holder, cracked the window and placed the lid tightly on. Trying to settle her squeamish stomach and humiliation, she dug in her handbag for a wipe, and then gently pressed the accelerator down.

First days could be tough. But it was time to pull herself together and get to work.

Chapter Two

The sandbag ofshock that had numbed her for the first twenty minutes of her drive home now pooled dread in her tummy as she got closer to home. Driving back up Maymont Drive would make it too real. She’d been inexplicably fired. And while her sisters would rally around her, she knew Meghan would want her to fight. But Jessica didn’t feel up for that. She didn’t feel up for anything, except for maybe the comfort of a warm chai latte. Perhaps that would settle her tummy and be familiar enough that she wouldn’t feel like a refugee in her own life.

Her mind raced and—with no outlet—she fidgeted. Tried the radio. NPR. Politics. She pushed the off button. Tried her playlist. Sia’s ‘Unstoppable’ was first up, mocking her.

“I’ve definitely been stopped,” she complained. She’d been vaguely planning her exit strategy. Dreaming of a new career, being her own boss and working outside, creating beauty, but not being kicked out and thrown away before her plans were firmly in place.

She’d planned on many more fat paychecks and bonuses before she rebooted her career. And a solid business plan that her father would respect.

Jessica sucked in a deep breath. She wanted this. Not today. But no sense in panicking because her timeline had been moved up.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she whispered as she took the exit off the highway. “The time is a gift,” she coached. It wasn’t as if she’d starve. Or be thrown out on the street.

When Jessica drove down Belmont’s main street, she looked for parking. She’d grab a chai latte and savor the day off, but then she spotted the upper balcony of Grandma Millie’s historic downtown house through the park.

Grandma Millie was always out and about. How would she explain her presence on a Monday? Besides, her two favorite tea and coffee shops that she’d haunted in high school with her tribe—Caravan and Mug Shots—had closed a few years ago.

Still, she wasn’t ready to go home. She’d hide. And that would only make going forward harder. This was her new life. She had to start as she meant to continue. She’d learned that from Grandma Millie and her mom and dad.

Jessica parked and did her best to saunter confidently to the Everyday Market, mentally practicing excuses for why she wasn’t at work if she ran into anyone she knew, which was highly likely. She tripped over an uneven brick. What was she doing? She should go home. Hiding was good. She’d hide and make a plan. Talk to her sisters tonight and… She took a few more steps, stumbled again and gripped the brass handle of the Everyday Market door.

Now that she looked like an uncoordinated idiot, she might as well get the chai before going home and pulling herself together. She tugged. Nothing.

“C’mon.” Something had to go right today. She tugged harder, really putting some muscle in.

“Giving up accounting and considering a career in B and E, Jessica? You’ll need some tools,” a dark and horribly familiar voice drawled, “and slicker stealth.”

Jessica stiffened. Tried to arrange her face, only she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to look like facing her sister Chloe’s significant other, when she still had so many conflicting feelings about the new relationship—worry, distrust, regret and humiliation warring with the happiness she should feel for her sister and her new romance. And her firing today was the cherry on top.

And then his words hit her—‘giving up accounting.’ No one in her family knew, and she wasn’t about to announce anything to Rustin Wildish of all people. She felt her face heat—the curse of her creamy complexion and red hair.

“The door’s stuck.” She tried to channel some of her homecoming queen swagger and felt she missed by a mile.

“It’s Monday,” Rustin stated like it was important. He stood with another man in Carhartt work pants, a navy henley—unbuttoned at his throat—and a flannel shirt tied around his waist.

The spit in her mouth dried, and Jessica was hyper-focused on how she’d thrown up less than an hour ago and other than rinsing out her mouth and popping a mint, she’d not yet brushed her teeth or fixed her makeup. But here was Brent Stevens, known as Storm in high school due to his fierce and fast athletic prowess and the way he threw himself into everything, including student government, the yearbook and National Honor Society, challenging Jessica’s plans for leadership. He looked as thrilled to see her as she was to see him. Dear, sweet baby Jesus, Brent hadn’t moved back to Belmont, had he? She would have heard, right? That was all she needed: twin reminders of the two men she’d treated dirty in high school.

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