Page 8 of Autumn Feud With The Mountain Man
I didn’t fit here. But I also didn’t feel like I fit my life back in New York. I was stuck in an in-between place in my life, and I didn’t know how to take the next step.
Or even what the next should be.
I just knew I’d watched too many Hallmark movies in my tiny New York City studio apartment. All those small towns and white picket fences had drawn me in.
And life at the big law firm I’d left to move here hadn’t fulfilled me the way I’d thought it would.
My best friend Lizzie and I had met in law school and crafted our future goals together. We’d both wanted to take over the world. We’d had the energy, brains and determination to go after whatever we’d wanted. And that had been a partnership at Williams, Phelps and Harmon.
The firm was one of the most prestigious in the country, and it took grit and steel to get in the door. But we’d managed the impossible, both of us securing our spots. First as summer associates, then as junior associates, before moving up to associate level.
Next on the list was senior associate before the coveted partner status.
But somewhere between the eighty-hour workweeks and no social life to speak of, I’d lost faith in that dream. The fantasy of stepping into a Hallmark movie had overtaken me.
And when I’d done some online job-searching, I’d discovered Hank Stillson, a small-town lawyer deep in the Ozarks who was looking to retire and sell his practice.
But he only wanted to sell to therightperson. Which meant a trial period in a paid internship. Which was how I found myself in this situation.
It was all self-inflicted.
And right now, I wanted nothing more than to crawl back to New York City so I could hide in the anonymity of a million people.
No one had ever told me I’d be soseenin a small town.
Currently, I felt like I was at my very own debutante ball. All the eligible bachelors of Deer Springs had paraded by for a meet-and-greet at this point, with Sara and Brook acting as social lubricant.
They’d introduced me to the single men in town and kept the conversation flowing when I inevitably let it falter.
So far, there’d been no takers, although a particularly handsome outdoorsy type, Sam, had seemed willing to take me out for a spin. I’d been told he was a playboy who could show me a good time, but would never settle down.
I was getting a drink and hiding in the kitchen when disaster struck.
The doorbell rang, and I heard Brook clearly say, “Hudson! I had no idea you were coming tonight. Is your darling brother with you, too?”
My breath caught in my throat, and my heart stopped beating. My hand inexplicably trembled, and the wine in my glass threatened to slosh over the rim.
No. Not him.
That’s when I heard a distinctly familiar voice drawl out, “Brook, stop your flirting. What would your husband think, calling me darlin’?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. It had haunted me far too often recently.
It snuck into my head whenever there was a slow minute at the office, which happened all too often.
And I’d even taken to looking out the window every Wednesday at ten a.m. when I knew his trash truck would rumble down the road.
Last week I was certain he’d noticed the crack in the blinds where I’d been peeking out, watching his muscular form pick up the can and toss the garbage in the truck.
I’d become obsessed with the man, to a point that was most definitely not healthy.
Brook laughed, and I heard the light sound of her dress swishing down the hallway. “Everyone’s out back. Oh, have you met Shelby yet? She’s new to town. You’re both going tolooooveher. She’s such a sweetheart. And single, too.”
No one in my entire life had ever called me a sweetheart before, and I felt a lump in my throat that had nothing to do with Thatcher. Brook really meant it. Just like Sara had when she’d called me that a few days back. I could get used to having friends like them in my life.
But none of that would fix the disaster that was about to unfold.
Before I could hide, the three of them were in the living room walking by the kitchen. I was in plain sight.
