Contents Title Page Copyright Blurb Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five About the Author Books By Tracy Krimmer...
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Contents Title Page Copyright Blurb Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five About the Author Books By Tracy Krimmer
ALL THAT GLITTERS ____________________ SAMPLE CHAPTERS
TRACY KRIMMER
ALL THAT GLITTERS SAMPLE CHAPTERS
Copyright 2017 by Tracy Krimmer This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Cover Design by K Creative Designs
Blurb Country-music star, Dory Walker, never wanted to come back to the small town of Sycamore Bay. But after her fairy-tale life is flipped upside down, and her marriage becomes a casualty, she has no choice. Harris Malone is a man with few commitments. He keeps a low profile most days while he cares for his young daughter and helps run his dad’s hardware store. But when he and Dory run into each other at the local gas station, all either can think about is the searing kiss they shared many years ago. Can a woman who only wants to rekindle her career and a man who enjoys a no-strings-attached lifestyle find everlasting love?
For Julie
Chapter One
The firing squad surrounded me, cameras pointed from every direction. After the hundreds of interviews I’d given in the past, I expected this to be a breeze. When you’re a has-been, though, it’s not so simple. “Are we almost ready?” I snapped my fingers at my agent, Harold, ready to start, and finish, this so I could return to basking in the sun. The forecast called for rain tomorrow, and my plane was booked to leave Hawaii and head home the day after, so this was my last opportunity. I wished Dylan stood beside me instead of being on tour. I didn’t go with him this time like I usually did. We both agreed space may be good for us—every couple needs time apart every now and again—and I couldn’t handle watching the groupies fawn over him like they did. His fans didn’t care I stood beside him. They ignored that I was the one holding his hand. It didn’t matter I appeared on the red carpet with him, slept with him in the tour bus, and knew his distaste for ketchup, a secret he kept from everyone. Jealousy pangs still consumed me. More than the women bothered me. It was the fame, the fans, and singing his heart out every night. That used to be me. When Harold approached me regarding an interview with The Inside Scoop, I greeted him with severe apprehension. Over the past two years my sole role had been supporting Dylan’s career. I went from a twenty-two-year-old country music star to a trophy wife over the course of twenty-four months. Even my
American Music Award and Grammy nomination couldn’t save me from my stage disaster of 2014. Everyone blamed me for the technical difficulties, not the stage crew. They didn’t do their job, and my performance suffered so much it ended my career. So why did The Inside Scoop want to talk to me? “Harold!” I approached him this time as I snapped my fingers again, louder. “What’s the holdup?” I paced the room, my stomach churning as the butterflies took over. Even if I wanted to change my mind, the chance to do so had passed. The entire crew had already taken over my hotel room, and The Inside Scoop had placed a few teasers on their website. Harold gave me a thumbs-up sign. “One more minute. We’re waiting on one cameraman.” The young kid with dark hair half-smiled at me. I didn’t smile back. Every minute he wasted setting up was another minute I could be on the beach. And I wanted food. I didn’t eat for fear I’d throw it all up due to nerves, but now that this guy took his sweet time, I started to regret the decision. “All set!” The cameraman called to the interviewer. Ugh. Willie Hale. Did it get any worse? I couldn’t stand the guy. Most couldn’t, really. His sexist remarks about many female celebrities landed him in hot water a few years ago. Of course, his career didn’t tank like mine. The shame is that I’m not even surprised. If a woman had made the same comments, the media would have destroyed her. I advised Harold I wouldn’t discuss my disastrous performance. That ship sailed and reminding everyone of what happened wasn’t any way to revive my career. That was the point of this interview—my comeback. Harold said I needed to promote myself and rebuild my image
before a new album release. I didn’t have a clue when my album would drop since I hadn’t written a word for it, yet, but Harold still wanted to create a buzz. I hoped this worked. I sat down across from the currently empty chair Willie Hale would sit in, flicked my slick, brown hair behind my shoulders, and cleared my throat. When Willie Hale joined me, I inhaled the deepest breath I could, counted to three, and blew it out. For a moment, stars spotted my eyes, and Willie had two heads. I breathed in again, closed my eyes, and when I opened them, put on a fake smile. “Good evening, and welcome to another edition of The Inside Scoop. I’m Willie Hale, and tonight we bring you an interview with Desiree. You may remember her from her hits “So Glad You’re You” and “Heartbreak and An Empty Gas Tank.” She’s been absent from the scene for a few years, but that may all change soon.” Willie plastered on a perverse smile. Bile lodged in my throat, and I managed to stop myself from gagging. At least he used my stage name, Desiree, and not my real name. No one in Hollywood referred to me as Dory. I wasn’t even sure if anyone knew my real name. A Buzzfeed slideshow probably existed somewhere that gave it away, but if people did know, they didn’t let on. “Welcome, Desiree.” He nodded his head toward me, a strand of his curly hair falling out of place and hitting him on the forehead. “Thank you for having me.” I lied through my teeth. Harold told me the interview was a necessity to put me back into the scene. People knew who I was, but they needed the reminder I was once a household name, a role model for their daughters, the girl from the magazine covers. Now my claim to fame was Dylan Booth’s wife.
There weren’t any more pictures of me singing or conversing with fans. Now if a magazine featured me, they displayed me toting shopping bags from expensive boutiques or coming out of yoga. Shopping and yoga seemed to sum up my life now because what else would I be doing? “You’re vacationing in Hawaii now, so we’re more than pleased you’ve welcomed us into your suite. It’s an astounding eighty-two degrees outside and you’re right on the beach. Let’s be honest. You’d rather be in the sun.” I hated the small talk required to start an interview. Couldn’t he skip right to the questions? “Don’t worry. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll be there.” I pointed out the balcony doors to my private beach. As I waited for the real questions to begin, my stomach tied in knots. I remembered why I hated this part of the lifestyle. The money, the cars, the vacations—they rocked. The uncertainty of what people planned on asking me with the camera on made me want to break out into hives, especially after my career disintegrated. “Desiree, I’d like to get right to the point here. What’s next for you? Is there anything in the works?” “No immediate plans.” Writing music had been difficult the past few years. Every time I sat down and tried to write, I stared at a blank sheet of paper for hours. I tried distracting myself by googling my name. Biggest. Mistake. Ever. Most times that ended with me in tears. I never realized how mean people could be. The trolls who lived in the comments section acted even worse than the most petty of girls from my high school, something I never considered possible. “But while there’s nothing immediate,” I continued, “I am working on something.”
“Really?” Willie’s voice perked up hearing words that were a reporter’s dream. This was what the viewers wanted. “Yes. Dylan is ready to get back to the studio and release his third album next year. We thought the most romantic thing we could do is release the albums together—in a dual set.” “Let me break this down for the viewers.” Willie leaned forward in his chair, his clipboard of questions disappearing between the open sides of his sports jacket. “You and Dylan are going to be collaborating?” “Yes, of sorts. It will be one album with five songs from each of us, and then one or two songs together.” I hoped I didn’t give away too much information. Harold didn’t give me a lot of direction for this interview and instead told me to follow my heart and say what needed to be said. “A duet? That’s a first for you two.” “Yes, it is.” Not for the lack of trying. I pushed Dylan for a duet many times. The fans wanted it. He never seemed to. “That really sounds amazing. Your fans and Dylan’s alike will be excited about this collaboration.” I nodded, hoping that was the truth. Dylan’s fan base proved much larger, the proof when he was busted lip synching on a late night special, and his fans didn’t care. I couldn’t sing because my mic pack stopped working, so a track played instead, and my fans pretended I never existed, my sales plummeting and my record label not renewing my contract. The truth was I needed this album whether my fans wanted it or not. After some of the trials put in front of Dylan and I, especially over the past year, the music could help me heal. Something had to give in my life. I
didn’t make money anymore. Almost every item in our house was purchased with his earnings. For a short period, we shared the role of breadwinner. When I let the past go to look forward to our future and a family I didn’t care who brought home the money. Since the family I wanted never came, I searched for a purpose in my life. Singing was the only answer that came to me, but I’d found myself unable to produce—anything. Willie lifted a finger as he pressed his other hand to his ear. He nodded as he raised his eyebrows. “I can’t wait. I hope everyone loves it.” Silence bounced between us. Was he still listening to whoever was speaking into his ear? Would they cut the interview short having the main scoop they came for? A dozen other questions could have helped paint me in a bright light for my past and future fans. Willie could ask about charity work I’ve done, how I visited children at the hospital, and donated red carpet worthy gowns to teen moms who otherwise would never afford a dress for their prom. Of course, these accomplishments all happened prior to my demise. I was lifted off the map. No one contacted me to assist with anything anymore. Willie shifted in his chair and hugged his clipboard to his chest. He was going off script. “Desiree, you and Dylan had a whirlwind romance, didn’t you?” Talking about Dylan made me smile. In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined a sexier, successful man to marry me. “That’s one way to describe it. We met on a Tuesday and married by Friday.” He chuckled when most people’s mouths dropped open. Though being fair, our story made headlines when it happened, so this qualified as old news. “Honeymoon in Paris?” “Yes! Spectacular honeymoon. Our anniversary is
coming up in a few weeks. I’m hoping we’ll take a trip there again.” The only place better than Paris would be Italy. I’d be fine with either. I needed time away with my husband, and both places were filled with romance. “With Dylan?” “Yes, with Dylan. I’m not married to anyone else.” Willie didn’t make any sense. Harold didn’t do a drug check upon entrance, and now I regretted that. I didn’t allow them in my home, and even though I was on vacation, I wouldn’t allow them here, either. “I guess you’re unaware that Dylan has filed divorce papers?” My saliva caught in my throat, and I started to choke on it. I punched myself in the chest and coughed my way into speaking again. “Excuse me?” “My producer sprinkled that information into my ear moments ago. Dylan filed about an hour ago.” Sprinkled? Is this snarky little jerk talking to me as though my husband of almost seven years going behind my back and drawing up divorce papers is part of a sweet dessert? I glared at Harold. He couldn’t even make eye contact. His clenched jaw and averted stare told me everything. How was I the last person to know? “Please turn the cameras off.” I disconnected the mic from my shirt and tossed it aside. When the cameraman didn’t oblige, I rose from my chair as the heat in my body intensified and stomped up to him. “I said turn off the camera.” He looked at the others in the room for guidance, this young fellow who probably was on his first job. When I repeated myself through gritted teeth, he finally listened and flipped the switch. Willie approached me. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware you didn’t know.” He touched my elbow, and I shoved him away.
“Bullshit. Your producer gave you that information, and you used it to your advantage.” Our eyes battled, and I didn’t know who was winning. Willie had the upper hand, having the information, but I knew my husband. This had to be a lie. But Harold’s disconnect from me told me otherwise. “I don’t know how you live with yourself from day to day. You destroy people’s lives.” I thought back to the times I watched the show and Willie Hale broke the news of breakups, deaths, and arrests. “With all due respect, I’m not the one who filed for divorce and let the media get a hold of the information before telling you. Were you two having problems? Could you maybe have predicted this? Did part of you know this may happen?” Yes, we had problems. What couple didn’t? I asked him to accompany me to therapy many times, but he refused every request. When I explained all hope wasn’t lost for us to have a family, he didn’t want to believe me. Our nightly lovemaking turned into weekly, and then once or twice a month. I figured it was only a dry spell. Things would perk up. “I would like you and your crew to leave.” I turned to Harold, who finally looked at me. “You, too.” Somehow the tears locked up inside me, saturating my body. I was drowning, but I couldn’t lose it in front of all these people. If the dam broke and my tears overflowed, the tabloids would add it to their already breaking news story. Has-been Singer Dumped on The Inside Scoop. I was going to be a laughingstock. “Me?” Harold pointed to himself. “Why me?” “You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t know about this. Dylan is your best client. Remember? You represent both of us.”
Dylan discovered me and pushed me to sign with Harold. Harold was the best in the business. He would look out for me, he said I didn’t have to worry about anything in my life. What a crock of shit. Harold’s gaze moved past me, confirming his knowledge. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing he said could save him right now. “You’re fired.” The words left my mouth before I even had a chance to think about them and what they meant. I didn’t know what any of this meant, though, for my future. Harold always favored Dylan anyway since he was a client bringing in consistent money. Before, during, and now after, our marriage, the focus would be on Dylan. Then it hit me. Dylan suggested the vacation. He said it would be good for my creative juices. He knew I hated going on tour with him because of the groupies, anyway, so he made it look like my idea not to go. He sent Harold to distract me while he filed for divorce. I spent the past week sipping on fancy drinks with umbrellas completely oblivious to how my life was going to change. Meanwhile, the love of my life was planning to destroy me. What was left of me if I didn’t have him? My comeback career rode on the compilation album between the two of us. That surely wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. Willie fucking Hale did it. Dylan allowed the media to control the end of our marriage as he let them do every other part of his life. Everyone remained, frozen as I tried to comprehend what lied ahead for me. Harold, Willie Hale, the dopey kid with the camera. The dam was breaking, a hairline fracture that would soon burst open, every tear
within me crashing over the sides. “What the hell are you all still doing here?” I kept my tone quiet and respectful as possible as I screamed it on the inside. In my mind, I threw everything in the room out the balcony doors onto the beach, screamed at each person in the room, and punched a hole in the wall. These intruders, destroyers of lives, needed to leave before I did any of this for real. “Get out!” I increased my voice slightly, and the mannequins came back to life, shuffling out as fast as possible with their gear. I didn’t bother to thank anyone for coming because let’s be real, I wasn’t glad they came. I didn’t want to know when the interview would air, either. This interview was tabloid gold. I was sure within the next day or two my shocked face would be plastered everywhere if someone didn’t record it with their phone and leak it beforehand. In a way, I had reprised my celebrity role—in the worst way possible. It couldn’t get any worse. Until I remembered the prenup I signed before I had made any of my own money. I royally screwed myself.
Chapter Two
It’s hard to believe I made her. Well, at least helped. Laura was one part of me, and one part of Jody. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. God gave me the best one. Even though she stood there in front of me, with her arms crossed over her chest and her little mouth turned into a pout, complaining that I wouldn’t let her wear makeup to school, I still adored her. “Jessica gets to wear makeup. She even wears it to church.” While she always presented what she considered a valid argument, it never compelled me enough to change my mind. Seven years old was much too young to be wearing any kind of makeup. She was lucky I allowed her to wear lipgloss. I even struggled with that but Jody gave in and bought her some for her birthday last year. That won her mother of the year. The title wasn’t far off, though. Jody amazed me as a mother. Our relationship may not have worked out, but together we made an awesome co-parenting team. We shared joint custody and took turns on the holidays. We still attended many events together as a family, even though we technically weren’t one anymore. At least by the traditional sense of the word. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jessica is not part of this family. If her parents gave her permission to wear makeup to school, good for them, and good for her. You’re lucky you’re allowed to wear the lipgloss. Would you like me to take away that privilege?”
Truth be told, I hated taking things away as punishment. One of the hardest things as a young parent (besides the obvious) was not spoiling my daughter. I wanted to be sure she grew up with everything she needed, but I also wanted her to appreciate everything she had. It was a fine balance, one I managed to keep under control better than my ex. But, I knew we were raising a great little girl. She was just doing what little girls did. “That’s not fair, Dad.” She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips, jutting out one side as she took a stance against me.”You can’t take away something I already have.” One more week of school and we struggled to make it out the door on time as usual. School drop off always caused me stress. I had to get Laura to school safely and then rush to the hardware store to open the door by eight o’clock. Even though my dad owned the place, he usually didn’t come in until closer to noon, and he closed the store. This allowed me the opportunity to also pick Laura up from school, and attend any events she may have without any worry. She recently took up an interest in basketball. Last year she spent her time in gymnastics, and I hoped next year it may be baseball. “I can take away anything that I like. Whether you realize it or not, I am the parent here. If you don’t want to be late for school, you better stop arguing with me. Put on the lipgloss before I take it away, and be happy you at least have that.” She fought me for the next thirty seconds, her eyes locked on mine hoping I would give in, but luck sided with me, not her. She stomped off to her bedroom, leaving me to wait another minute before we could leave for school. I checked my phone. Time ran slim. If we
didn’t pull out of the driveway in the next two minutes, I’d be late to work. Laura didn’t care. If this was her attitude at seven, I dreaded what it would be like at thirteen, sixteen, even twenty-six, when she reached my age. Those bright blue eyes—a trait inherited from me—could be used against anyone. They helped her get her way many times with me, but I learned to not allow them to completely win me over. When she tried to play me, I thought about my mom and how she would have handled it had it been me. Granted, at seven I didn’t beg for makeup but I’m sure my share of wants drove my mother crazy. “Are we going to leave?” Laura exited the hallway and met me in the kitchen, where I held her Shopkins backpack out for her to take. “Are you asking me when we’re leaving? I’m the one who’s been on your case to go.” She did this all the time, trying to make it seem as though I held us up, not her. I shouldn’t have said anything, though. We were already running late and the last thing I needed was another argument. “Forget it. Get in the car.” I opened the door and slammed it behind me as I sprinted to the car. “Don’t you have a spelling test today?” Laura’s silence in the car drove me nuts. I hated silence. One of my goals as a father was to maintain a relationship that would make Laura comfortable to talk to me about anything. That began and ended with the smallest of talk. Through the rearview mirror, she rolled her eyes. “Last one. I’ll pass, Dad.” Dad. I used to always be Daddy. She slipped Dad in more often than not, a sign that my baby girl was getting older. She was only in second grade. She could
slow down any time now. “Can you spell afternoon?” “A-F-T-E-R-N-O-O-N.” “How about better?” “B-E-T-T-E-R. I’ve got this. I practiced a lot.” She pushed her backpack onto her lap. “Did you pack me a lunch?” I flung my head back and then back onto the road. I was certain I had everything. “Sorry, honey. Can you order hot lunch today?” “Today is grilled cheese!” “You’re the only child I know that doesn’t like cheese. Deal with it. I’ll be at the store all day and your mom is working. Eat the fruits and veggies that come with it instead.” She grunted in the back seat. She was such a picky eater, and sometimes it felt like I had to force feed her. I wished she would expand her horizons a bit. Maybe forgetting to pack a lunch was something I should do more often. We showed up in the drop off line and took our spot on the road. I preferred not to wait in a long line. Our argument in the morning prevented that. “Okay, sweetie. Try and have a good day today, okay? After school, I’ll take you out for some ice cream. Sound good?” “Yeah. Can I get two flavors?” Laura never skimped when it came to ice cream. Superman, Blue Moon, Purple Cow, even Mocha Bean. “Pass your spelling test, you’ve got yourself a deal.” We stopped in front of the entrance, and she hopped out of the car. “See you later, Daddy.” I turned around and she blew me a kiss. Daddy and an imaginary kiss. It may turn into a perfect day.
••• Malone Hardware was only five minutes from Sycamore Bay Elementary School. If the drop off line went as planned, we could leave our house at 7:40, be to school and through the line by 7:50, and I’d arrive in time to open the doors at eight. Running the store is second nature to me; I don’t require prep time to arrange things before customers start coming. Besides, our town was so small that we averaged maybe eight to ten customers a day. People didn’t rush into the store the second I unlocked the doors. Normally I didn’t see another soul until around nine-thirty, and that’s when the first employee was always set to arrive. The only time I staffed the store more than two people at a time was during the busier seasons. We were about to enter one, but not quite yet. I parked in the back of the store as I did every day. It was only a few minutes after eight and the lot remained empty, other than my car. I was fine. I slipped my keys into my pants pocket and jogged up to the entrance. That counted as a workout, right? I tried to run daily, but on my weeks with Laura, I only managed to get one in if my parents watched her. Maybe tonight I would drop her and sneak a few miles in. Lord knows I could use it. From the looks of the back door, though, any time to myself was off the table. The back door hung off the frame, shredded on one side. The handle remained in place, but one wasn’t needed to enter. I sandwiched myself between the door and the frame as I searched for the light switch. I flicked it on to confirm the store had been burglarized. I pushed the door open wider, not even bothering to try to shut it behind me. Tables were overturned
throughout the back room, lamps shattered on the ground, and paint was splattered on the walls. I headed straight through the warehouse to my dad’s office. The safe stayed intact, though I didn’t doubt someone tampered with it. They hadn’t gotten away with any money, but that didn’t mean the merchandise was safe. Who would do this? Only around thirteen hundred people populated Sycamore Bay. The hometown feel welcomed people as they passed through, and most knew each other. Everyone had their secrets, but I couldn’t think of one person with malice toward me or my family. I’d leave it up to the police, who I had to call right away. And after I made that phone call, I owed my dad one. My dad. He took ownership of this shop at the age I am now. His father passed Malone Hardware onto him, making sure to keep it in the family. The community loved my father, and he appreciated each and every one of them. Telling him about this would be difficult. After I called the police and my dad, I waited patiently for them both to arrive. I placed a note on the door announcing the store closing today. I didn’t give a reason, wanting to refrain from directing attention to the burglary. The gossip train in this town stopped at every crossing, spreading like a rash through daycare. My dad loved this store, and I didn’t want to risk people questioning his responsibility if they knew what happened. The police arrived before my dad. I gave a statement and once my dad came, he offered him anything he could, but he was just in the dark as I was regarding who could do such a thing. We checked video surveillance but all we saw was an average height person with a hoodie on, a mask over the face. The two officers
promised to do what they could to apprehend the criminal, but I knew better than to believe that would actually happen. “Well, this turned out to be quite the morning.” My dad scratched his bald head as he sat down in his chair, the table upside down and shoved to the side. “I’m sorry, Dad.” “No, no. It’s not your fault. I’m sure I locked up. I just don’t know why someone would do such a thing.” My dad often left his car unlocked, sometimes with the keys in it. He was a trusting person—too trusting— and hated to see his faith in people tested. He’s given to his community in so many ways. Someone stealing from him broke his heart. And it broke mine to see him hurting. “You go home,” I told him. “I’ll clean up this mess.” “No. This is my store, my responsibility.” My dad was tired. He was only fifty-seven years old, but I didn’t need a magnifying glass to see the bags that took permanent residence under his eyes. He held many roles in his life—son, brother, uncle, and most recently, grandfather. The store meant everything to him, still, my mom and I discussed many times that he may need to hand the reins over to me sooner than later. I didn’t know if I wanted that, but his hypothyroidism made him so tired he found it hard to function some days. Even with medication, the store was difficult to maintain sometimes. “Dad, I can handle this. Go home. Get some more sleep.” He wiped his hands up and down his pants and squeezed his knee. “This damn leg has been giving me issues lately. Standing for long lengths of time doesn’t help, either.” “See? You need to rest. Go.” He looked up at me.
“Go,” I repeated myself, my voice stern so he knew I meant business. “You can kick me out today, but tomorrow I’ll be here. Deal?” “Deal. If you or Mom can pick Laura up tonight, that would be helpful.” He rose from the chair and stood tall. “I would love to pick up my granddaughter.” Nothing made him smile more than the mention of Laura. She affected people like that. Even with her spunky attitude, she made the saddest of people smile. “Oh, I also promised her ice cream. Can you handle taking her out for some?” He smiled widely. “Ice cream? Not a problem. If you need help, though, be sure you call me.” “Will do.” I walked my dad out to his car. When he drove away and I turned to go back into the store, Belinda Zwick peered at me from inside her car. Let the gossip chain begin.
Chapter Three
If one thing could be said about Hollywood, it was things move fast. Less than a month passed before my divorce was almost finalized. By the end of the summer, I’d receive my papers in the mail, and that would be it. What a way to start the summer—single, heartbroken, and poor. Returning to Sycamore Bay didn’t fit into my plan. I left that place as soon as I could. Two years in cosmetology school and a certificate later, I met Dylan and got my big break before I was even hired into my first salon. I always imagined myself styling hair for a living, but before I knew it, I was the one sitting in the chair with someone styling me in every which way. I kept my license active, but the most hair I cut over the years were the few times Dylan let me take scissors to his. As I drove into town, it seemed aged. Not ageless. Aged. Paint chipped on the buildings, potholes lined the street, and dirt dusted the sidewalks. The charm I once saw in the town didn’t seem present anymore. Maybe my living in such a pristine area for so many years clouded my judgment. My loaded E400 Mercedes Benz, bright and shiny in a metallic cardinal red, stuck out. People stopped on the street as I drove through, trying to make out who was behind the wheel. I reminded myself it was the car, not me, they were interested in. The car was practically the only thing I had left, and would have left, from the divorce. Never be stupid and in love while signing a prenup. The document didn’t
protect me at all—it only benefited Dylan. He left me with a decked out car, a damaged ego, and a credit card that maxed out at a thousand dollars. The prick handed me an envelope with another five thousand in cash before I skipped town. I didn’t want to take it, but it paid for my gas and meals on the over two thousand mile drive. I needed money to settle into Sycamore Bay, too, so it came in handy. I hated him so much but was grateful he gave me the cash. Sycamore Bay was a contradiction. Not only was the town named after a tree that didn’t exist anywhere in the vicinity, but you’d be hard pressed to find a bay. A lake or a pond, maybe. But not a bay. This tiny Wisconsin town consisted of a few miles of farm fields, a small elementary and middle school, a church, and a few stores. My grandma owned one of the stores, a consignment shop that had been in business for over fifty years. She took ownership a few years after my mom left so she could help support me. I owed everything to my grandma. She raised me when my mom couldn’t. My mom wasn’t a drug addict or anything like that. She was simply young and immature and ran off with some guy to England. I heard from her periodically, even saw her a few times, but that was it. My grandmother was my mom in my eyes. I didn’t know if she would want to see me. As much as I loved my grandma, four years passed since we’d last spoken. Life became busy when I signed my first record deal. I got caught up in the glamour and everything I could buy and places I could travel. Every week I promised myself I’d call her, but never did. I sent a Christmas card every year. Somehow I didn’t think she would consider that present enough in her life. I parked my car in my grandma’s driveway. Even
though the town looked different to me, Grandma’s house didn’t. The two-story brick home appeared to be in excellent condition, except for a few chips in the yellow paint. A small crack outlined one of the railings on the patio, but the bright green door boasted fresh paint. Her rocking chair sat outside, the light breeze swaying it back and forth. At ten-thirty in the morning, she probably had been up for hours already and wouldn’t even be home. More likely than not she’d be found at the store. My stomach churned. When was the last time I ate? The McDonald’s drive-thru four hours ago. The Egg McMuffin hadn’t done much but allow me a few extra hours of driving. Food was a necessity. I exited the car and blew out a breath. I could do this. Well, I kind of had to. Dylan didn’t leave me much of a choice. I expected to be a millionaire my entire life and eventually move my grandma out by me to live lavishly as well. Never in a million years did I expect to be back in Sycamore Bay and living in a tiny home. That was if my grandmother allowed me to live here. She had to say yes, right? I was like a daughter to her and she couldn’t turn me away. She wouldn’t. I still had a key to the house. It never left my keychain after all these years. I found it on my Jason Segel keychain and steadied it in my hand. Ever since How I Met Your Mother I fell in love with Jason Segel’s quirkiness. The second I passed my driver’s test I ran to the novelty store and found the keychain. I adored the romance between him and Alyson Hannigan, and I hoped one day to find a Marshall to my Lily. I thought I had that in Dylan. I gripped the chain in my hand. This had been a part of me for so long, one of the only things left from home.
The first few steps up the porch proved difficult. How could I even ask my grandmother to live there? The news of my split with Dylan cluttered social media, but my grandma stayed away from all electronics. She probably hadn’t even heard. I hoped seeing me surprised her in a good way. I pulled open the screen door and put my hand on the knob. I turned it, but nothing happened. My hand shook as I slid the key into the lock and turned, releasing a breath. She didn’t change the locks on me. I took that as a positive. I stepped inside to the foyer, pine and lemon filling my nose. My grandmother loved to clean, a complete opposite of my messy tendencies. The slate floor brought a sense of peace, its various colors of maroon, blue, and green bringing back memories of when I would play with matchbox cars, pretending the grout lines were the streets. The blanket on the back of the couch wasn’t folded, and when I reached the kitchen, dishes filled the sink. This wasn’t like her, to leave such a mess. Though once I moved out, possibly she changed her ways. Either way, I folded the blanket and started in on the dishes. If I planned to ask her to allow me to live here, I had to show I could hold my own. Fifteen minutes later, after the last dish was washed, dried, and put away, I walked into my old bedroom. Nothing had changed. The polka dotted comforter was still on my bed, my old white desk against the wall. My closet was still covered in photos of Jason Segel, The Rock, and Ryan Reynolds. Even the bright green shag rug sat in the center of my room, next to the bed. I fell back onto my bed. The bed where Harris
Malone first kissed me. And the last time. They were the same exact time. One and the same. He was the only boy I ever kissed besides Dylan Booth. After Harris kissed me, he made up with his girlfriend, Jody. They got married after graduation, and she got pregnant right away. They probably moved out of town and had two or three more kids, a happily ever after I would never see. I shook thoughts of Harris out of my mind. Why did I think of him after all these years? One man I cared for broke my heart by choosing another, and the other took everything away from me. What did everyone think of me? I was the one to break out from the town. I left this place and made a better life for myself, if only temporarily. In all my interviews, I never talked about Sycamore Bay. I wasn’t ashamed. Not at all. There just wasn’t a lot here, nothing to discuss. I turned my head toward my bulletin board, pictures tacked up, leaving no empty spaces. Most of the smiles looking back at me were of me and Tammy. I missed her so much. My best friend since I started school and now I couldn’t feel more distant from her. Our calls to one another started off daily, then weekly, and monthly, until they eventually disappeared. I couldn’t say who made the last phone call, but a day didn’t pass when I thought of her. Best friends are supposed to be forever. That’s what our necklace claimed, anyway. My half that held the -st from best, and the -nds from friends, still hung on the corner of my bulletin board. Did she keep her half? Did she live in Sycamore Bay? She never talked about leaving like I did, but her dreams weren’t as quite as big as mine, either. I wanted to see her, though if I did, I didn’t know what I would even say. At this point, she was
a stranger. I laid back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. The stars my grandma stuck up there when I was nine remained. Whenever I turned off my light, they glowed, and I’d stare at them for hours. So many stars in the sky, each unique and full of destiny. I wanted more than anything to be part of those stars. I never realized becoming one would destroy me. ••• Only about a mile walk separated my grandma’s house from the consignment shop. Her store sat across the street from Malone Hardware, which Harris’s dad owned. Harris worked for his dad through all of high school, though he probably moved on to better things by now. Both places were close to the baseball field, where I used to watch Harris play all the time. I went to every game and sat in the back so his girlfriend, Jody, wouldn’t see me gawking at him. When I reached my grandma’s store, I couldn’t help but glance across the street at the hardware store. I couldn’t see inside—the only window in the front of the store peered into the entryway, and red, wooden paneling blocked off the rest of the building. My heart quickened at the thought of Harris passing by. Once I remembered Harris probably didn’t even live in town anymore and lived a life happily married to Jody, the pace returned to normal. As I opened the door to the shop and the bell on the door dinged, my grandma yelled, “Welcome!” from the back. My heart hammered again, this time at the thought of my grandma’s reaction upon seeing me. Little did she know I’d returned, and after years of not hearing my voice or seeing my face, in moments I’d stand in front of her, practically jumping out and yelling, “Boo!” Maybe I
should have warned her. I started to wonder if showing up was a bad idea, the first in a string of regrets. The biggest regret, though, would never be seeing her again. It’s better to show up after a few years of silence than to disappear forever. I stepped aside and moved to the counter, lifting my elbow onto the wood. I leaned in, and then removed my arm and stood straight. Grandma hated when I slouched. How did I present myself after all this time? Did I hug her? Only say hello but keep my distance? What was the protocol for this? “Sorry, I was finishing something in the back and —” her voice halted at the sight of me. Her light hair had been replaced with gray, and it was thinner than it ever had been before. The bags under her eyes said enough about her sleep. She didn’t even crack the slightest smile. “You’re here.” After four years of not seeing each other, my instinct told me to embrace her. In a life that was falling apart, she was the only constant in a sea of variables. She bit her lower lip and shook her head. Were tears about to fall from her eyes? Was her heart so overwhelmed with joy that crying was the only way to express it? “Are you going to say anything?” The ticking clock behind the register amplified in my ears, the quiet pressuring me into worry. Did she want me to leave? “I’m surprised to see you, that’s all.” She shrugged and turned away from me, stepping behind the counter. She pretended I wasn’t even there as she scribbled on a piece of paper. “Dylan filed for divorce. It’ll be final soon.” That was all the explanation she needed for my presence. My grandparents were married for forty-one years before my
grandpa passed away at the young age of sixty-two. Grandma believed in love, long-lasting love. I did, too, and it tore me apart that I failed in that respect. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her eyes met my view for a moment, but she was so quick about it that we didn’t even make contact. “But, I never did meet him anyway.” Missing my wedding upset my grandmother greatly. Dylan and I didn’t mean to elope. Okay, we did, but everything happened so fast, too fast, which I could now see. “A whirlwind romance” was how Willie Hale described it in the interview. It felt that way. But had my grandmother been present, she would have advised me not to sign the prenup and warned me that it worked against me in every possible way. Grandma would have made sure the paperwork wasn’t one-sided, that in the event of a divorce, I’d have more than a shiny, red hot piece of metal. Then again, she probably would have prevented the wedding altogether, and I wouldn’t be left in this mess. “I’m sorry, Grandma.” She mumbled something under her breath, and I knew better than to ask her what she said. Either I wouldn’t like it, or I’d know she was right, and guilt would take over me. The last thing I needed on top of my broken heart was guilt. “I am, whether you think so or not. But that’s not important.” She lifted her head and furrowed a brow at me before going back to her notepad. “And what, dear, is important if your family is not?” I sighed inside. Being outward with it would drive this conversation deeper into the hole was already in. Family was important, but my absence spoke differently. That didn’t mean my love had changed, though. Why
couldn’t she just be happy I returned? “Grandma, I don’t want to fight.” I expected her to push back, but none came. Her silence always cut through me worse than the sharpest knife. “I’ll be in Sycamore Bay, at least for the summer.” I didn’t make plans beyond that. Heck, as far as I could tell, my entire future lay in shambles. The only plan in motion consisted of me picking up the pieces and putting what I could back together, and hopefully relaunching my career without Dylan. “Let me guess. You want to stay with me.” I batted my eyes at her like I used to when I was a kid and put my hands together in a plea. “Please?” She shoved her pen back in the pen holder and tensed her shoulders. If she said no, I’d need to find a nearby hotel and hope the cash Dylan gave me covered an extended stay. I couldn’t afford to rent a full apartment, and signing a lease was dumb since I wouldn’t be here long. “Fine.” My heart jumped when she agreed, but landed back on solid ground when I realized it came with a catch. “I hope you intend to get a job while you’re here. I’m not supporting you. I did that for almost your entire life, and you up and left the second you could. If that’s not ungrateful, I don’t know what is.” I had a lot of ground to make up to win her forgiveness. I was grateful for everything she did for me. She took care of me when my mother couldn’t. She encouraged me to pursue my singing. Isn’t it every kid’s dream to leave their small town and do better than their parents or grandparents? One day I would make it back to California and bring her with me. She’d love it out
there. I could buy us a house and she could retire while I became a star again. All the fancy things would be mine again. She’d see. But first I had to survive my grandmother. And granny didn’t joke around.
Chapter Four
Finally, almost the end of June and the hardware store could re-open. We cleaned up the last of the mess, repaired the door, and revamped the security system. The cameras didn’t show much to the police but hopefully a few extra ones around the store would help should anything similar happen in the future. I hadn’t expected the reopening to take this long, and my dad lost a decent amount of money because of the break-in, but Malone Hardware was good as new. My parents were watching Laura, and before I picked her up I arranged to meet Jody at her apartment. We needed to discuss Laura’s last minute request to go away to a two-week summer camp. She asked to go back in May, and Jody and I couldn’t come to an agreement on it. I ended up adding her to a waiting list in case of a cancellation. I didn’t think they’d actually call me with an opening. Now the school needed an answer, and payment, by July first, leaving only two days for us to make an official decision. Jody lived with her boyfriend, Ron, in a twobedroom apartment on the west side of town. She met Ron a little over a year ago, and they moved in together over the holidays. I liked Ron, and most importantly, Laura did, too. For all the attitude Laura gave me, she was a smart, strong girl. Since Jody and I split up so long ago, she welcomed other people into our lives. She’s seen Jody and I apart more than together. Ron greeted me from behind the door, his big
glasses taking me by surprise. “Hey, Ron. Are the glasses new?” “These things?” He pointed to them and pinched his nose. “Nah. I’m waiting for my contact prescription to be refilled. I can’t see a thing without my contacts or glasses. I hate the glasses, but what can you do?” He opened the door for me to come in. Jody’s place always smelled so good. No matter what day I came by, cinnamon and vanilla blanketed the air. The walls barely had an empty space, filled with framed photos of Laura, her, and Ron. Light music played in the background, the living room lit by two dim lamps. If I had to describe Jody’s home in one word, that word would be cozy. “Did Jody tell you I planned on coming by?” I never wanted to surprise Ron if I stopped in. Jody and I broke up years ago, but I never intended for him to feel out of place in his own home or intimidated by my mere presence. Neither of us thought we were better than the other. We once loved the same woman—he still did—and as much as we got along, that reality hovered between us. “Yeah. She’ll be out in a second. Do you want a beer?” A beer sounded fantastic, but I didn’t want to stay too long. I was anxious to pick up my sweet baby girl and hang out. I picked up a new video game for the Xbox and planned on getting my ass kicked. I loved gaming, but as I got older the games seemed to become more sophisticated. Moments later, Jody appeared from the hallway, her usual smile knocked off her face and replaced with a serious, tight-lipped demeanor. “Hi, Harris. Sorry. I was just making the bed.”
In the evening? I did that in the morning, not hours before I planned on crawling into bed for the night. She didn’t look ill. “No problem. Thanks for seeing me.” She motioned for me to join her in the kitchen. “Beer?” She opened the refrigerator and took out two. “No, thanks.” She put one back and pulled the chair out for me. “Sit. What’s up?” Something wasn’t right. Jody was never this short with me. For exes, we had a wonderful relationship. Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin may have coined the term conscious uncoupling, but Jody and I truly lived it. We made a great team and didn’t keep secrets from one another. She was transparent. “Fess up. What’s going on?” She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “What do you mean?” Her eyes pulled together as her cheekbones pulled back in a fight against each other to seem normal. Ron lingered in the background, snuck a beer from the fridge, and positioned himself against a wall between the kitchen and the living room. Would she tell me the problem with him hanging around? Did it have something to do with him? “Obviously something is the matter. You’re not … you.” “I’m fine.” The chair met the floor and her arms rested on the table. “What do you need to discuss?” “Camp.” Jody stood from the table and pushed the chair in. “I already told you no.” Her hair flicked behind her back as she turned away. Her and that damn hair. I remembered in high school how much she hated it, keeping it in a ponytail
most of the time. She told me how all her friends wanted her hair, that they loved how thick it was, and the specks of red that danced among the dark tresses. Hair was hair to me, but since I had a daughter I became an expert at braids and curls. “Why?” A simple no didn’t suffice. “Shouldn’t Laura have experiences like this?” “At her age? I didn’t attend camp until sixth grade. She’s only going into third!” She ignored that we went to the same camp, though maybe that’s what scared her. We first realized we liked each other as more than friends while at camp. We snuck out after all the counselors had told us lights out, and we shared our first kiss sitting in a docked canoe. It was the first for both of us. Was that what worried her? Laura barely knew boys existed, except for our neighbor, Braydon Goss, because they played together periodically. “That’s not it. And you know it.” Something hid behind those eyes, something kept for longer than only a few days. Her eyes met with Ron, and Ron nodded. There was something. I didn’t say anything as she sat back down and Ron stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I lost my job, Harris.” I couldn’t even blink. Jody joined the insurance company at eighteen. When she found out she was pregnant with Laura, she didn’t waste time finding a job. Laura became her priority and being able to provide for her was the most important thing. “I’m sorry. What happened?” “They fired me. That’s that.” “Why?”
“Downsizing, maybe?” She shrugged. How could she not know why they let her go? “We live in a state where a reason doesn’t need to be given. They were vague and said it wasn’t working out anymore.” Surely that couldn’t be it. She could talk to her boss, reach out to other employees, something. Ron had a job, but he didn’t make a ton of money. “I’m looking for something. There’s something out there for me. I just don’t know where.” She let out a breath and widened her eyes. “Anyway, I can’t afford camp. That’s why.” “How long have you been without a job? We first talked about this months ago.” “The beginning of May.” “What?” Anger bubbled within me, deep from my gut. “How could you keep this from me for so long?” This went against everything we promised each other as parents. “If I recall, we’re not married anymore.” Ron straightened his posture, commanding the room. I eyed him cautiously. I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries, but I knew my place. I didn’t mean to insinuate I was privileged this information. As her exhusband, though, and with our co-parenting relationship, this information should have been brought to my attention when it happened. “Jody, I’m not trying to start an argument. I only wish you would have told me sooner. I’m here to help you.” “I can take care of this family just fine, thank you.” Ron puffed out his chest, clearing his throat. “I bring home a paycheck.” Tread lightly, Harris. “I’m not saying I would give you a ton of money, but if you needed a little to buy some
groceries or something, you can always count on me.” Ron smoothed his hand down Jody’s shoulder, a move that would have made me uncomfortable years ago. Now it doesn’t even faze me. She met her hand with his. “Thanks. I’m sorry I snapped. This hasn’t been easy.” I’ve worked every day since I turned sixteen, give or take a few days for vacation. Jody worked hard, ethically, and with pride. When we became parents, she only wanted to support her daughter. After the divorce, that became even more important. Her pride was laid out on the floor, and she feared I’d stomp on it. “Laura really wants to go to camp. I can cover the full cost.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I want to. She’s my daughter.” “Our daughter.” “Our daughter.” Why couldn’t I keep my foot out of my mouth? I wanted this so much for Laura, to experience the same things I did as a child, and I didn’t want her to miss out. “Please. Let me pay.” Jody frowned, uncertainty filled her eyes. She didn’t want to agree to it. I could tell. Allowing me to pay meant admitting that she couldn’t. As much as she wanted to hold onto her pride, moments like these pride needed to be set aside. She needed to take a step back and look at the whole picture. I didn’t want Laura to miss out on something because asking for help scared Jody. No. Laura came first, regardless, and the pity party took a back burner. She spun her head in three different directions before answering. “Fine. But if she wants to go next year, I’ll pay.” I could handle that. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I stood from the table. “Before I leave, let me just say I’ll
put my feelers out for you. If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.” “Thanks. I’m thinking about going back to school, though.” “Really?” She laughed as though I thought she was crazy. I didn’t. She surprised me, that’s all. “Yes, really. Maybe it’s time I join the Internet age and consider something like web development or marketing. I’m pretty savvy that way.” Truer words were never spoken. Advertising came natural to Jody. She helped many times with my dad’s store. “I think that’s a great idea, and you’d be a huge success.” I wasn’t lying, though I questioned how they would continue to live how they did on Ron’s income alone. Not to mention Jody would inevitably be taking out school loans and need to repay those. Co-parenting or not, her life didn’t belong to me. She made her own choices and paved her own future. Something I never did.
Chapter Five
I settled into my old room, still a little weirded out that Grandma kept all the posters hanging. I considered taking them down, but since I didn’t plan on staying, it didn’t make sense to redecorate. I didn’t have the money to buy pictures or anything, anyway. I debated unpinning the photo of me and Tammy from my bulletin board, but that came with a finality I wasn’t quite ready to deal with. I wondered about her now. If my memory served me right, I last called her, so she should take the fault for us falling apart. My birthday came before hers in the year, and she never bothered to call me. I would have called on hers, but since my day passed without acknowledgment, I didn’t go out of my way for her. She couldn’t be pissed about that, could she? I mean, she was to blame. I fell asleep thinking about her as I tried my best to find a comfortable position for my back. The pain shot from my pelvis to my lower back, and I knew that only meant one thing—a raging period awaited me. I wasn’t always regular, which the doctor considered normal under my circumstances, but when Aunt Flo did make her appearance, she came with a vengeance. I learned to deal with it, though. When I toured, I didn’t have a choice. Blinding pain or not, I had to be on stage. The next morning I woke with incredible energy. The long car ride did a number to my body, and the pain from my impending period didn’t help, so the pillowy mattress rejuvenated me. My neck no longer ached, my
back stretched to allow the perfect posture, and my ass, well I could feel it again. While my cramps didn’t completely disappear, I could manage them, so I called that a win. My grandma thought today I could help her at the store. A job wasn’t going to fall into my lap, and I didn’t need to be looking every minute of the day. No one else worked at the store with her, so any added help was a plus—and she didn’t plan on paying me, so my labor was as cheap as it could come. I hoped no one I knew came into the store. The last time I spoke with anyone from Sycamore Bay, even Tammy, was when I ran into Tim Patel at Mall of America in Minnesota. I went while Dylan had his sound check, spending money on useless items and outfits I’d never wear. That’s how I normally spent my days while he toured. Tim spotted me as I walked past the food court. I pretended not to hear him the first time he called my name but gave in once I realized anyone could be taping the exchange. We exchanged pleasantries, and he introduced me to his family, and that was it. He was the only classmate I’d seen in years. Grandma and I worked through lunch, and by the time two o’clock rolled around, my stomach felt like it was eating itself. “Do you think we could stop for a late lunch or early dinner?” My grandmother rolled her eyes as if asking to do something that was part of everyday survival was the worst thing in the world. “We should be done in about an hour, but if you can’t handle that, I guess we can order something in.” “Order in? Is there a place around here that actually delivers?” Sycamore Bay lacked in delivery places. I loved living in the city, where in a moment’s notice I could order Chinese or even a sub. Here we had
a diner and snacks at the gas station. Slim pickings. She snickered as she rested her elbows on the counter. “Yes. As a matter of fact, there is. A lot can happen in four years. Not only is there a new restaurant that offers delivery, but there are two. Pretty amazing, right? The world can and does go on without you.” Grandma hadn’t changed one bit. Her words could cut through you and slice you to pieces. She didn’t care. If you wanted the truth, she willingly gave it, no holds barred. I didn’t know many grandmothers who had been arrested for disorderly conduct, except for mine. “Fine. I’ll eat whatever.” The best response to her sharp tongue was often no response at all. I could talk back and start an argument, or accept her remark at face value and move on. We’d both be happier with the latter. “Be careful what you say because I’m likely to go in the back and fetch you a box to chew on.” Wow. Now she went out of her way to be snarky. I only meant a chef used to cook for me, and luxury dining was my normal, but since Sycamore Bay didn’t offer that, pizza would suffice. Though, if my personal trainer were here, he’d chew me out for even thinking about eating it. But one, he wasn’t here, and two, I couldn’t pay him anymore so technically I didn’t have a trainer. Go figure, though, my divorce would also cost me my perfect figure. I always assumed it would be having children, but that was a wrong assumption on my part, and one I’d be reminded of with every cramp and the excess bloating every month. Wallowing in my depression seemed a good enough reason to start gaining weight, but now not having access to the foods I used to eat would certainly assist. Fifteen minutes later, the door opened and hot
cheese and garlic filled the air. Never before had I been so glad not to be dieting. I missed pizza. The melted mozzarella, crisp crust, spicy sausage. Yum. “Mrs. Walker, I got here as soon as I could. My last customer complained about his order—“ The delivery girl stopped when she saw me, I thought I was starting at a ghost. She probably thought the same about me. “Tammy?” My best friend, ex-best friend, the girl I had numerous sleepovers with him grade school, the one I passed notes with in junior high, and my prom date when we decided to go solo, stood in front of me. Her voice hadn’t changed, and even though she apologized to my grandma, she still bubbled over in sweetness. It was an act, though. If she really were that sweet, she would have called on my birthday, even after with belated wishes. She cut me out with no reason or at least one she never felt the need to share with me. “Oh. Dory.” Hearing my actual name threw me off. My grandmother always called me Dory—always—but since I was almost twenty, everyone referred to me as Desiree. My identity belonged to Desiree, the country music star. Desiree, Dylan Booth’s wife. Dory disappeared years ago, never to return. Except she had. I was here. I came back. I fought so hard to leave Sycamore Bay and become someone else. I failed. Like I did at everything in life. “What are you doing here?” Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into a French braid. Ever since I could remember she wore it that way. It worked well on her even in her twenties. It didn’t look childish on her or anything. It fit.
“Delivering your pizza, I guess.” She handed me the box. “You deliver pizza for a living?” “Not all of us can be superstars.” Burn. The question did come out of my mouth sprinkled with surprise and a condescending tone. I didn’t expect everyone to be a celebrity. I lost that title myself. The glitz and glamour didn’t blind me so much that I spoke down to people, did it? No. I wasn’t that person. I didn’t consider myself better than anyone. Did I? “How much do we owe you?” The faster I paid Tammy, the sooner this uncomfortable meeting could end. I didn’t have to wonder any longer what coming face-to-face with her would be like. I lived it, and, man, it was painful. “Ten-fifty.” My grandmother stood there, watching all of this unfold, every bit of awkward silence stampeding through my brain until it became a symphony of ringing bells. I realized I didn’t bring my purse, and therefore, no cash. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” My grandmother handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change, dear.” Tammy nodded as she took the bill from my grandmother. “You’re too sweet, Mrs. Walker.” “I keep telling you to call me Stella.” “Sorry. Stella.” “Tell that husband of yours to keep making this pizza. It’s the best New York style pizza in town.” “He makes the only New York style pizza in town.” “Well, that’s how we know it’s the best.” My grandmother smiled at her and this familiarity between them pushed on my chest, and I found it difficult to breathe.
“Well, Grandma, we should eat this before it gets cold.” I turned to Tammy. “Thanks for delivering this. It was nice seeing you.” Was it, though? My mind took its time processing her being in front of me. I shouldn’t be surprised I ran into her, I guess, but I figured most people left town. I assumed I moved the furthest and became the most successful, but I doubted everyone I went to school with still lived here. I’d been back in Sycamore Bay for just over twenty-four hours and I’d already run into the person I was most afraid to see. Tammy left the shop, and my grandmother didn’t say a word. How could she be so quiet about this? She and Tammy spoke to each other as though they were lifelong friends. I needed answers. I just didn’t know how to get them without coming across as jealous. I wasn’t jealous. Far from it. I was upset, and those were two different things. I lost my fame and fortune, my husband, and now I was certain I lost my grandmother to Tammy. End Preview ••••••• ALL THAT GLITTERS releases June 20th. For release day news, giveaways, and other fun stuff, subscribe to my newsletter. You can PRE-ORDER ALL THAT GLITTERS at books2read.com/get-ATG. It will be available on Amazon, iBooks, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. You can add it to Goodreads as well.
About The Author Tracy’s love of writing began at nine years old. She wrote stories about aliens at school, machines that did homework for you, and penguins. Now she pens books and short stories about romance. She loves to read a great book, whether it be romance or science fiction, or any genre in between, or pop popcorn and catch up on her favorite TV shows or movies. She’s been known to crush a candy or two as well. Her first romance novel, Pieces of it All, released in May 2014 followed in December with Caching In, a romance mixed with the hobby of geocaching. She also has written several short stories. Newsletter: http://www.tracykrimmer.com/newsletter/ Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/tkrimms Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KrimmerAuthor Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/tracykrimmer
Books by Tracy Krimmer Pastime Pursuits Series Caching In Jay Walking Sparing the Heart Click here for entire box set Standalone Novels Pieces of it All Dating For Decades Lipstick & Lattes Novellas & Short Stories Landing Luck The Right Equation Early Bird Special Mixtapes & Roller Skates Don’t forget to pre-order All That Glitters to read more!