Page 23 of Unexpected Love
I want to vomit, cry, rage. All at the same time.
On jelly legs, I head back inside my unfinished dream. I’ve failed before I’ve even gotten started on this shop. Tears prick my eyes as the realization that two years of living with my brother, saving every dime I could muster, is lost. A huge knot forms in my throat. I can’t breathe. The walls begin to close in on me.
I can’t stay here and face this a moment longer.
Can’t face the prospect of failing, at losing the last two years.
I lock up and walk. I don’t know where I’m going—can’t recall what I’m supposed to be doing—but staying still while my dream swirls down the toilet is impossible.
When I hit the end of Main, I turn back and take a look down the quaint street. There’s a gentle rise; the sidewalks are well paved. Colorful flower baskets hang from wrought iron light posts. Storefronts with brick facades and large glass windows boast everything from boutique women’s clothing at the top of the hill, a hardware store across the street, to the bakery opposite my shop at the bottom of the hill. The park a block further is teeming with moms and kids on the playground, a couple sitting on a white blanket that stands out against the bright green grass, having a picnic. A food truck is parked at the far corner, with a line of people waiting.
It’s picturesque and perfect. I want more than anything to be a part of it.
I take out my phone but don’t know who to call. It’s not like I know anyone in construction. Maybe my brothers can call some of their friends. And eventually, when I can make a coherent sentence, I’ll tackle calling the police and the Better Business Bureau and anyone else I can think of to report this crime to.
But right now, I can’t get past this awful feeling that everything I’ve been working for is about to crash and burn.
A memory of a time I thought I’d moved on from blasts in my head. My soon-to-be ex-husband yelling at me.
You’ll never be anything.
You can’t do it without me.
And I’m transported back to those days before I walked out on my marriage. To that time after the tornado, when I’d lost so much and my life as I knew it was over.
“Hey, Jules. Are you okay?” A big, warm hand wraps around my arm and tugs me a step backward, out of harm’s way, and out of the memory.
The fog of my situation lifts as I look into warm blue eyes.
Cal, the obnoxious, sexy-voiced bad boy, expert jeans filler, is watching me with such a look of concern written on his face.
I bet he gives the best hugs.
It’s the weirdest thought to ever cross my mind. I don’t know that I like him. He doesn’t seem to like me. We’re barely getting along after one night of a truce.
But as I peer up at him on the picturesque street, he looks like a bonafide hero.
It’s a stupid thought, but right now, all I want is to crumble into that fictional hug and let someone else face this shit show.
“Not really.”
Chapter 9
Cal
“What’s wrong? What can I do to help?” I ask as I pull a shell-shocked Jules away from the sidewalk edge. When I saw her standing there looking dazed and confused, tears on her cheeks, and about to step out in front of oncoming traffic, my heart lurched.
“I don’t know.”
Her voice is small, and all I can wonder is… who died? Because, clearly, something happened if she’s this out of it.
I’ve seen the signs of shock in patients before, and she’s right on par.
“Do you need to sit?” With a hand on the small of her back, I lead her down the sidewalk. There’s a bench halfway down the block, well away from the bustling traffic that she almost stepped into.
“No.”
“Have you eaten?” Maybe she’s got low blood sugar or something.
