Shy Town Girls

Preface

Shy Town Girls is a
collaborative novel series written by four authors M.G. Wilson, Jen
Yih and Katie Leimkuehlerr. The project evolved from the idea that
every girl has these moments all women can relate to where a bond
of friendship starts to form. These moments, from sharing the same
love of shoes to relationship ins and outs, bring women together,
even shy girls, creating an instant connection.

As far as writing goes each
author has a different and unique style, which is a great asset
since we’ll each be writing one book in the four-book series from a
different character’s perspective.
 This book, the first in the series, was written by Jen
Yih and edited by her co-authors.

Our goal as writers is to
entertain, engage, and emotionally connect with our readers. And
our goal in this collaborative writing and publishing process is to
develop a method for working together from an initial idea to final
product and then share that with others.

In this series, we wanted to capture the real
essence of what it’s like to be young, single, and dating in
Chicago in the digital age. All four of the authors lived in
Chicago at one point in time and we all loved it. We knew there was
nowhere else we wanted our characters to live. Chicago is our city
and Shy Town Girls is our love affair with it.

Chapter 1

The leaves were turning, and the air was crisp and
cool, swirling around as the Chicago wind is famously known to do.
As we made our way driving through the city streets, I could feel
the wind whistling through the tall buildings, which created a wind
tunnel effect that seemed to push us along—rushing me away from my
old life and more quickly into my new life. These were the winds of
change.

Today was not just the first day of fall. It was also
the first of life outside the quiet, boring southwestern suburbs
and the first day in the bustling Gold Coast neighborhood of
Chicago. It was also the day I would finally muster up the strength
within my true convictions to say my final farewell to the
confusing and addictive relationship with Charlie. I had tried to
say goodbye many times before, but my forgiving ways had kept me
stuck in the muck. Yet today I knew in every part of myself it
would be goodbye.

I was starting a new chapter, A
chapter without Charlie, a chapter I hoped would be without fear in
the back of my mind, for fear had been the energy behind my
decisions...a set up for disaster. I had finally made the choice to
let go and step gracefully into a world of new
beginnings.

I leaned my head against the window
of Charlie’s black Land Rover as we slowly made our way through the
heavy traffic into the city. I closed my eyes, feeling the hum of
the car’s engine, becoming lost in the moment.

I need this, I told myself. My heart ached as I
thought about all the time and energy I’d put into my relationship
with Charlie. I always believed that the harder you work for
something, the closer you become to attaining perfection, but many
times this kind of control is an illusion. In the beginning I had
seriously thought he was the one. How ridiculously long I had been
fooled by my own vanity, that looks and charm were the end all be
all. Unfortunately, it had taken me long enough to realize just how
wrong I was. I wished it hadn’t taken me so long to let him go. Our
relationship had its good moments and they were easy to remember
when you get close to breaking it off, but not nearly enough of
them to trust giving away my heart completely. If I were to choose
a word to describe what I had with Charlie, it was draining.

With his eyes fixed on the road ahead, I could sense
Charlie’s serenity behind the wheel. I knew he thought it would
only be a matter of time before I’d come back to him. And by “time”
he was thinking, oh, maybe a day or two. But then he didn’t take me
or anything I said seriously, so it seemed. He lived in a world
where he made all the rules. He put himself and all his “things”
before everyone else, how I hated him for objectifying me. He
played games with me and everyone he dealt with. But the worst part
was he brought out jealousy and insecurities in me that were beyond
anything therapy could resolve. I’d become addicted to his tricks
and pathetically yearned for his approval. He knew I had been under
his spell since the day we met. I guess it was one of the
enchantments of city life, city boys and their effects on country
girls. I knew I wanted to date a real person, someone who was
whole, and who complemented me. But before I could find that
person, I had to disconnect. It was mandatory that I needed to
re-kindle the love I had for me before I could love someone else,
and use that energy to create relationships based on strength,
loyalty, and trust.

The first time I ever laid eyes on Charlie, he had
just walked into my office with that lazy, sexy stride of his, a
lock of ashy blonde hair falling over his forehead. A top male
model can make an entrance when he wants to, but he wasn’t even
trying. His agent had him assigned to my client list for “personal
reasons,” according to a memo I’d received. I had quickly guessed
what those “personal reasons” might be, when I looked over his file
before our meeting. From his photos I could see he was something
special, even for someone in his profession. Working for a modeling
agency, I was surrounded by plenty of gorgeous people, but no one’s
look impressed me as Charlie’s had. It wasn’t just his gray-blue
eyes, chiseled cheeks and strong jaw. It was something about the
slightly imperfect way it was all put together. It was something
mournful in his expression that made him seem so deep and lonely,
just longing for the right woman. Or the right guy—he was a fashion
model, after all—but whatever.

My heart was yet untouched, innocent and protected
if you will. I’d had my pick of attractive men before, and if truth
be told, at that point I was actually more excited about Charlie
from a business standpoint. It’ll be groundbreaking for my career
if I get to represent this guy, I thought greedily, dollar signs
flashing before my eyes. I had no thought of sleeping with him, let
alone any future fantasies of domestic bliss.

No, it actually happened the moment he glided
through the heavy door of my office. It all seemed slow for a
moment, like those moments before you trip and fall to the ground,
giving you time to realize you’re about to be hurt but not enough
time to catch yourself. Our eyes locked. And stayed locked, for way
longer than was reasonable. I knew then he wasn’t going to be just
a client. It seemed to happen that way for him, too. He looked at
me like a panther contemplating a squab. I was shocked by the force
of his impact. I deliberately refrained from shaking hands with
him, which is unusual for me. My heart raced and I noticed the
uncomfortable amount of heat from the sun in my office. We could
hardly speak. Instead we gazed at each other like it was love at
first sight. We both started talking at the same time, both
stumbling over our words, blushing and tense, both aware of that
undeniable pull you feel when you know you need to be close to
someone. And it wasn’t just words I was stumbling over. In my
nervousness I knocked down a little crystal vase on my desk, and he
dove for it, saving it from crashing to the ground. As I reached
out to take the vase from him, he gave me his hand instead. He set
the vase down on my desk, but he kept my hand in his and didn’t let
go. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said, his voice like butter.
That was the first time we touched.

That was it. My heart was gone.

To me, his beauty was more striking than anything
even Michelangelo could have dreamed of painting. And, as we all
know, Michaelangelo had an expert eye for gorgeous guys, too.

“Bobbie, wake up. We’re here.” Charlie nudged my
shoulder. He might have stroked my cheek with his signature touch,
but not this time. I think he knew better. He had parked the car in
front of a very large three-story Victorian on Dearborn Parkway,
but the engine was still running, as if he didn’t think we’d be
staying. This was it: my first apartment in the city. It was a
stately, beautiful old house, overgrown with wisteria vines and
ivy. The ornate black iron railing that led to the front door was
old and worn, but was polished to a shine and the entire home
seemed to sing with history and vintage charm. It was as if the
home, like a museum, was inviting you to come in and visit.

The shady street was neatly lined with maple trees,
and the season’s first leaves were rolling along the sidewalk. A
glance down the street showed me a long row of Victorians not
unlike the one I was moving into, with a few taller buildings
scattered here and there. My ears were aware of the sounds of
traffic on the cross streets, but this apartment was my small slice
of home. Something about it felt right from the moment I laid eyes
on it. It was as if I was arriving home after a long trip.

“You’re sure about this?” Charlie hesitated before
unlocking the doors.

I nodded eager to get out of his car. “Can you
unlock the door, please?”

His eyes, now more gray than blue and slightly
glassy, held a look of disbelief. “I still don’t understand what I
did to make you want to leave. This is impulsive, irrational.” I
began to drown out his voice.

“I think I forgot my toothbrush in the bathroom,” I
said, ignoring the comment. Impulsive? Maybe. Irrational? No.
Staying with Charlie as long as I had—that was irrational. “You can
throw it away,” I continued. “I’ll buy a new one.”

“Bobbie, are you hearing me? Why are you doing
this?” His hand gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.

I could feel the pressure building up in his hands
and in my chest, like a hundred tons of weight crushing my heart.
“Charlie,” I said, “I’ve been in love with you since the minute we
met, but it’s not right between us. And don’t look at me like
you’re so innocent. You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Oh, no!” he threw his head back against the
headrest. “This again, Bobbie? Jesus.”

“You cheated on me!” I yelled, suddenly losing any
control I thought I had.

“It’s ancient history! Fucking hell. I can’t believe
you’re at it this same sob story again.”

“Correction, you mean you’re at it again. And I’m
not an idiot. Let’s go,” I said, opening the door of the car. “For
the record, I don’t say ‘fuck‘ in my presence as if I’m the root of
all your problems. Take my advice and get yourself into some
therapy Charlie, make commitment and loyalty the topic of
discussion with your shrink.”

He grabbed my arm. “Wait. I’m sorry. Can we can
discuss this like two reasonable people?” His choice of words was
truly getting comical.

I raised my eyebrow, looking at his hand on my arm.
He let go.

“I want to be with you, Bobbie,” he said. “Even if
it doesn’t mean living together. I want to give you your space if
you need it, but please don’t ruin everything we’ve built
together.”

Nice words, right? Too bad I’d learned—over and over
again—that he was striking a pose like he had done thousands of
times before in front of a camera. Maybe Vogue, Town and Country,
or GQ would eat that shit up but this time though I wasn’t buying
it.