New Point (2 page)

I shake my head in faux self-deprecation. “Did I mention I left my cell phone on the kitchen counter? Didn’t think there were too many options for me except breaking into my own house.”

Concern flickers across his features. “Promise me next time you have any issues you’ll come knock on my door.”

“Seriously?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been.” He’s moved from playful to solemn in an instant. “Don’t like the thought of any trouble coming your way. Promise me.”

My, he’s demanding. I’d be a liar to say his interest in my wellbeing doesn’t send a thrill through me.

I lift the hand not clutching my key and curl all of my fingers into a fist except the last one. “Pinky swear.”

Maybe I didn’t expect him to react to my childish gesture, but he plays along with my silliness. At my request, his grin is back. It may be my imagination, but I think he wiggles his eyebrows at me. When our pinkies interlock, all the reasons I came to New Point—lingering fears and even the appreciation of the sun melting into the night sky that drove me to lock myself out of my home—fade away. Electricity zaps between us, tingles shoot up the length of my arm, and I almost jump. My eyes fly to his and in them I find surprise. His once playful smile has faded a few watts, and he’s staring at me quizzically. I retract my hand, and it falls lamely to my side.

Whoa.
I’m not sure what I expected to happen when our fingers connected, but it certainly was not that zing.

There’s really no reason from him to linger since he produced my keys, but by some unidentifiable feeling, I can’t help but wish he would stay a little bit longer.

“What other secrets did your sister tell you about this place?”

The smile falls from his lips. “Nothing, other than a resident was finally moving in. She’s not the type to tell the whole town where you keep the spare keys. My sister is as neighborly as you can get and insisted I welcome you to our town.”

Once he says this, I realize I should probably be a bit miffed that the former caretaker shared the location of a spare key with him, but another powerful emotion covers everything else –physical attraction to the man just a few feet away. A man whose name I have yet to find out.

“Zoe Baker, by the way.”

It seems like he is cataloguing the details of my face as his gaze lazily travels over every inch. I’m not the only one intrigued.

“Miles, your helpful new neighbor.”

Miles.
Somehow the name fits him. It’s not one that comes up regularly. Unexpected yet pleasing, that’s how I’d describe Miles.

“Is this a small town thing, checking on the goodwill of your fellow townsman?” I ask.

“Like I said, in New Point we try to look out for each other.” He glances behind him at the sun that’s setting gracefully into the horizon. “The life of a bartender picks up as the sun sets,” he tells me offhandedly. Miles’ gaze snaps back to me. “Time for work.”

Disappointment fills me, but I manage to keep my features unexpressive. “Thanks for saving me from a mess of broken glass.”

“My pleasure. You come find me if you need…
anything
.” This time I do shiver at his drawl. He’s sex and chivalry rolled into one tempting package.

With a gentlemanly tip of his head, he crosses the deck to the staircase leading back to the sandy Lake Michigan shore. When he reaches the top step, he pauses to toss a searing gaze my way. “For other people here, being neighborly is a habit of living in a small town, but that’s not what’s happening between you and me. I’m just looking for a way other than happenstance to see you again, Zoe Baker.”

On his lips, my name sounds like a husky promise. My lips part in anticipation of what I envision with his words –tangled limbs, moans of pleasure…

“Damn,” I whisper to myself as he disappears down the steps. “I picked the right place to move.”

The jagged lines of the key digging into my hand make me realize I’m squeezing my hands into fists. I release them, rolling my eyes at my own behavior.

Pinky swear. Really? What are you, thirteen years old?
By the way I just acted, I wouldn’t say I’m more mature than that, but how often does a man like that literally sweep you off your feet?

My shoes slap against the stone path as I make my way around the side of the house. Fifteen years ago my parents bought it for a summer getaway for our family. Unfortunately they were only able to use it once before they were cruelly taken away from my brother and me.

Even though I was ten, my mother had a habit of speaking to me like I was an adult. When we stood outside the grandiose lake house she stood behind me with her hands cupping my shoulders. “This place has healing powers, Cupcake.” A nickname my family called me for my love of the decadent sweet. “We’ll find our peace here.” Of course I didn’t know what her underlying words meant, I was just a kid staring at the white-boxed windows and shingled roof. To me, it was a wonderful new adventure. Soon enough it would be a house tinged with the last happy memories of our little family.

With the key Miles retrieved, I push my way through the custom ten-foot door, locking it behind me. Some habits of the city life will be hard to break.

Jingling from my cell phone interrupts my thoughts, and I scurry across the walnut plank floors into the cool gray-walled kitchen. Even though the house hasn’t been inhabited in many years, my brother made it his mission to keep it in good shape for the day one of us would return. Over the years there have been many caretakers and a complete remodel was completed nearly two years ago.

I swipe the singing device off the marble countertop and accept the call without looking at the screen. There’s only one person who would be looking for me. I hop up onto a barstool.

“Hey, Blake.”

“What’s going on, Cupcake?” he says distractedly.

“Why are you calling me if you’re busy with something else, big brother?” It’s a futile barb. Blake hardly takes time away from his work, though he manages to call me almost every day even if it’s in the midst of responding to emails or analyzing investments.

“I’m the king of multi-tasking.” In the background I hear the sound of a laptop shutting. “I closed the computer for you. How was your day?”

“Not very eventful, unless you count me locking myself out of the house,”
having a minor freak out, and meeting the best looking man in New Point all within a span of twenty minutes.
Okay, the only other man I’d interacted with in New Point was the postman, but I’m pretty confident I won’t find any better looking than Miles within the city limits.

“Zoe.” Blake only uses my real name when he’s serious, and by the fierceness in his tone, I can tell he’s upset. “This is one of the many reasons I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to live by yourself in the middle of Michigan.”

“What’s the difference if I live in a high rise in Chicago by myself or our family’s lake house?” I snap back. We’ve had this conversation too many times to count over the last several months. On his end of the line, I hear my brother sigh heavily.

Dr. Greene and I came up with the idea to move out of the city after many rigorous months of treatment following the incident. The city triggered my anxiety too frequently and as I struggle to manage the aftereffects of my trauma, I decided to put physical distance between me and the haunting memories.

“You gave me the keys and promised I had your blessing,” I remind him more patiently. It’s not his fault he’s concerned about my wellbeing. After my parents died, their will deemed Blake my guardian. Older than me by eleven years and the product of an affair between my mother and his father, Blake was twenty-one when they died. The only silver lining to the experience was the closeness we formed. Blake became more than my legal guardian. He was my father-figure, best friend, savior, and confidant. He was, and to a certain extent still is, my entire world.

“It makes sense for you to have a security detail at minimum,” he tells me firmly.

“That’s completely unnecessary and you know it,” I tell him just as stanchly. “I’m not well-known on the gossip websites and magazines. You’re pretty much the only person who knows I’m here.”

My brother grunts into the phone, agitated by my rational response. “This is the last time I’ll bring it up, but it needs to be said, Zoe. You were at the center of a media storm after that degenerate came into Clarkes with a gun. My team was able to shield you from the circus, but I can’t protect you if –”

“Clinton Smith is locked up in a hospital,” I interrupt quickly. Sure, I’m trying to reassure my brother, but I need the reminder every so often too. The man who held a gun to my head, threatening the safety of those I had sworn to protect, can’t hurt me from behind the secure walls of a psychiatric facility.

It took Dr. Greene three months to plant that concept deep enough into my brain that I believed it. Most of the time I do.

“We’d both sleep easier knowing a trained team of professionals was watching your every movement,” he says sternly, though I can hear him relenting.

“Only you would sleep better, you big dope. You’d use a security unit as an excuse to spy on me. ‘Why aren’t you getting enough sleep?’ ‘You’re not eating enough,’” I mimic his deep voice.

“Who taught you to be so ornery?”

Through a twisted smirk on my lips, I remind him, “You.”

The conversation continues with him explaining a new business venture. Then he steers it back to me. “Work tomorrow?”

“First thing in the morning. Blake, I –” My voice cracks under the weight of emotion.
God, I need this job.
“I can’t wait for this new job. It might not be perfect right away, but I really believe this library will be the right fit for me in the long term.”

It was serendipitous; when I began to make the arrangements to move to New Point I found out the local library had an open position. I instantly jumped on the job. Luckily the hiring committee thought I’d be a strong addition to their staff. I’m the newest librarian at the New Point Public Library. Even though my training was to work in an educational setting, I have the skill set needed for this position.

“They’re lucky to have you. As much as I hate being so far from you, I want you to know how proud I am of you, Cupcake,” he says softly. “When everything went to shit, you battled the fear. Hell, you’re still fighting every single day. You’re going to kick ass at that library.”

I chuckle at his assessment. “Thanks, B. Hopefully I won’t kick the ass of the patrons. The city council might frown upon that.”

“You know what I mean,” he mutters. “Have you made an appointment with the psychologist Dr. Greene recommended?”

“Not yet,” I admit hesitantly. No matter how much I want to believe I’m cured of the relentless anxiety, my therapist insists there’s still a long road to travel. Before I left, he gave me the number of a local doctor to continue treatment.

“That’s non-negotiable, Zoe.”

“It’s been busy week, moving and settling into the house.”

“Don’t make excuses.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to bark at him, so I pause to calm myself. Blake is my biggest advocate, and I know he means no harm. “They aren’t excuses, more of an explanation. I’m calling Dr. Wilson tomorrow to set up the appointment.”

“Good.” Through the line I hear his second cell phone demand his attention. “Gotta go, Cupcake. Let me know how your day goes tomorrow?”

“Of course. And Blake?”

Even though he’s busy, I can hear my tone caught his full attention by his rapt response. “Yes?”

“Thanks for reminding me that you’re proud of me.”

“Always.”

We sign off, wishing each other a good evening.

If it weren’t for Blake’s steady support, I’m not sure how I would have crawled out of the bottomless darkness that pulled me back from returning to work or even leaving my apartment. All that misery and fear is behind me now, though.

When I glance out the wall of kitchen windows, I’m treated to the blues, pinks, and oranges of the sun bidding the sky farewell. I climb off the barstool and head outside again. This time I make sure the door is unlocked, and my phone is in my hand. I lug the forgotten Adirondack chair toward the railing for the best view of the living watercolor.

Part of my therapy process is taking the time and energy to appreciate beauty in the outside world. If there was any moment for me to step outside the sometimes consuming thoughts reminding me of that day nine months ago, it’s this breathtaking beauty. A breeze off the lake tickles my nostrils as I appreciate the natural splendor spread out before me.

The memory flashes so fast I swear I’m mistaken. But then it comes again, like the waves of Lake Michigan carry the words to the forefront of my mind.

“Put the fucking phone down!”

My eyes squeeze shut at the memory, as if to protect myself. But the moment I clench them shut, Clinton Smith’s piercing blue eyes drill into me, unblinking. My eyes fly open, and I gasp for breath.

“Not here. He’s not here,” I tell myself as forcibly as I can. Reaching up, I run my hands through my platinum hair, letting them rest around my throat, elbows pointing down toward the ground.

Several anxious breaths later and my heart rate is back to its normal resting pace. I force myself to focus on the puffy clouds in the horizon, playing a Rorschach game. Dr. Greene never gave me one. I wonder idly what it would say about me. Right now all I see are fluffy pieces of white cotton candy.

Like my psychologist predicted, the beauty before me soothes my jangled nerves enough for my mind to drift back to my neighbor.

As much as I’d like to see him again, tonight’s about reveling in the progress I’ve made and looking forward to the strides I will continue to take.

I believed my mom when she said it then, and I believe her now;
this place has healing powers.