Page 1 of The Jilted Lovers Club
Lahoma Aroma
Jordy
The moment I pass the Lahoma Springs city limits sign, the air hits me—rotten, putrid, like the stench of decaying animal or a festering festival outhouse. It’s strong enough to make me think there’s something wrong with the car, and I’m afraid to find out what. I mean, did the rental company leave something in the trunk? We’d done the standard inspection. I’d checked every inch of this Lexus, scanning for scratches and dings andtaking pictures of anything suspicious. But apparently in my fastidious scrutiny of this SUV, I failed to notice whatever was emanating from the vents, the floorboards, or the leather seats, which is getting stronger by the moment as I approach my exit for downtown Lahoma Springs.
The town is everything my New York neighborhood is not. Craftsman houses with river rock chimneys, cobblestone pathways, and white picket fences. A green copper drawbridge over a lazy river, and kayakers drifting downstream. Trees that make up the center divider and bike paths on every goddamn road. Drivers slowing to allow other cars to merge in or to just wave at someone on the street. And a banner over the main street, inviting the town to a gazebo dedication in the town square.
My god, this place is basic.
Alexander Winslow, my boss, had described the building I’m driving toward as a huge, historic bank, originally called The Till. The place sold seeds of all kinds, which seems like a strange use of such a large space.
The Till isn’t the only historic building, I realize as I approach the downtown area. New York has its fair share of historic districts, but apparently Lahoma Springs does too. Lining the downtown streets are looming stone buildings in earthy-toned colors, each with long, arched windows, decorative framing, and ornate cornices crowning the top of the structure. The details are intricate and impressive, almost like they’re telling the story of what the town used to be. For a moment, I forget my earlier thought at how basic this town is as I take in the beauty of the architecture.
Maybe I have the heart of a small-town girl, after all. Maybe there are some added benefits to this design job.
I glance at the GPS, but the map disappears in favor of my cousin’s face. Nina calls me at least once a week. She’s always theone who calls and doesn’t seem to notice that I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I love my cousin—but in small doses. This might have to do with the fact that she’s married to Brayden, my ex-fiancé.
Long story. Someone should write a book about it.
Honestly, though, that isn’t the reason. The real reason is because all Nina wants to talk about is their daughter, and I’m just not into babies—especially ones with Brayden’s eyes. But if I don’t answer, she’ll just call again in an hour. And an hour after that. And keep calling until I finally cave.
Sighing, I answer the phone.
“You’ll never believe what Juniper did,” Nina squeals, not even waiting for me to say hello. “Watch this.”
My phone starts pinging, requesting to accept her Facetime Call.
“I’m driving,” I mutter, but I pull into a parking spot near the sidewalk and pressacceptanyway. Immediately the video screen in the car is filled with my niece, who, by the way, is probably the cutest baby I’ve ever seen. Still not a fan, but cute.
“Juniper,” Nina calls off screen. But June is fascinated with the phone, her little hands covering the camera as she tries to grab it. “Juniper, look at Mommy. Juniper.”
“Nina, I’m on the job right now. Can we talk later?” I actually have no concrete schedule for today. All I have to do is scope out the bank location and check into my hotel, maybe get acquainted with my surroundings. But honestly, this call is giving me a headache.
“Just a few minutes, please. She did it just a moment ago. She’s probably just shy.”
No, she is probably just bored, like I am.
“What did she do, exactly?”
Nina turns the phone to herself, her hair a bright purple with white-blonde streaks, and her face a painting of disappointment. “She turns when I say her name. She knows her name!”
“Are you sure she doesn’t just know your voice? Nice hair, by the way. Purple suits you.”
She grins, flipping her hair. “I was getting tired of the pink and thought I’d switch it up.” Nina had been sporting pink hair ever since the baby was born, as she’d held off on dyeing it while she was pregnant. It was the longest I’d seen her with natural hair, which is a pretty blonde color. But I can’t help thinking the purple is a nice touch. “I swear to you, Juniper is really smart. Oh! See?” Nina switches the phone back to the baby, who is now looking at me through the screen.
“Hi baby,” I say as Nina continues to coax her in the background. Juniper blows bubbles before smacking her lips.
“She’s probably just tired from all this cleverness, aren’t you Juney Joo,” Nina coos.
“No, she’s probably distracted by your bright, shiny phone. I believe you, though.”
Nina turns the camera back to her, her mouth twisted into a pout. “I really wanted you to see it. Where are you anyway?”
I shrug, not wanting to admit I’m in California. Nina lives on a ranch about eight hours south of Lahoma in a beach town called Sunset Bay. It’s where I was going to live when… Well, in a past life when I was supposed to marry you-know-who. Living in New York is a relief in so many ways, including the fact that there’s an entire country between us. If Nina knows I’m in Lahoma Springs, even if I’m almost five hundred miles north of her, she’ll find a way to visit me.
“Nowhere special,” I say, looking out the window.
“God, I’m so jealous,” she sighs. “You’re out there designing all these shops and offices, and I’m here smelling like sour milk, manure, and hay.”
