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HIGHWAYS AND HEARTACHES

LACEY ANDREWS

One minuteI was crushing on my handsome boss in New York, and the next minute I realized he would never look at me the way he did Maisy Calhoun.

Who could blame Brooks Bellamy, though? Apparently, once he met her a few years prior, he fell hard. I never got the memo.

So here I was, driving with a crushed infatuation and a packed car to Texas, giving up on the big city. Ten years away from my hometown had been enough, and if I hadn’t met my goals by now, I might never. I knew when to call it, and this was it.

“Poppy Valley, here I come.” I finally passed the state line into Texas. I never thought turning thirty would mean having this monumental,What the eff am I even doing with my life?moment, but here it was.

Distance became the perfect elixir I needed to forget these things as I drove home. To think there was a point, back in high school, when getting the hell out of this small town was all I dreamed about. I wanted to live in the bright lights of a big city that never slept. Now, I hoped the quiet of the town I once ran from would help me figure out my next path in life.

But my thoughts kept circling back to Mom. Who Iwouldn’tfind when I stepped onto her porch. She wouldn’t be there to welcome me with open arms, a plate of her chicken fried steak and pecan pie waiting on the old oak table.

I’d visit her grave soon—flowers and apologies and tears overdue. How awful I’d been to leave again after her funeral. The gossips in town probably had a heyday when I rushed back to New York, as if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d left Poppy Valley after high school, leaving Mom alone here in the first place.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Avoided crying, just like I’d avoided home the past few years. My grip tightened on the steering wheel. But it was fine. I’d be fine. I’d come to terms with the fact that part of this trip home would include a reckoning.

Mom wouldn’t want me wallowing in it. She’d loved this town, but was proud that I’d left it. New York had been about as different a life as I could find—like living on another planet.

She’d visited me one time and stayed for a week. I took her to the top of the Empire State Building, out to a fancy dinner, and to a Broadway musical. She loved it. At least I could rest easy knowing she’d gotten to leave Texas once.

“Oh, Mom,” I sighed, hit again and again with memories, regrets, and unfulfilled dreams.

In New York, I’d graduated with my degree in business, learned to wear the right clothes, and taught myself to let go of my Texas drawl to properly answer the phone in any Manhattan office. But none of it had earned me anything but a string of administrative assistant positions.

I hid my true self well—and all for what? To end up defeated. No love life, no friends, a workaholic with a career going nowhere fast. What would happen next was anyone’s guess.

At least I’d have Carson in Poppy Valley.

He’d always been there for me. Friends since kindergarten, first loves in high school. We swore we’d marry at thirty if we were both unattached. A pinkie promise the night of graduation, the night before I left town for New York, as if love could be a plan you made, fate be damned.

Well. I’d reached a point where I’d like to collect on that promise.

He’d picked me up through every disaster—Daddy’s death in the fire, Mom’s diagnosis, the funeral arrangements. The house he’d watched over while I’d been gone. Carson had always been there. I didn’t see that changing now.

I pulled over to a gas station to fill up. As I waited, I leaned against the hatchback and scrolled through my GPS map, making sure I remembered my way home. Like I’d ever forget. Then a call came in from New York.

I chuckled at the name on the screen and answered it. “Hi Archer…” Brooks’ brother. Twins actually, both my former bosses. Only there were enough subtle differences between them to tell them apart. Mainly, Archer was the one with solid, well-timed wit. But somehow he always tried too hard in certain situations, I noticed, especially with women. His love life was a disaster.

Whereas Brooks exuded a more casual, debonair quality. He didn’t need to try at all, and women would flaunt themselves at him. But he was blinded to anyone else, especially me, because of Maisy.

“Have you changed your mind yet? No one I’ve interviewed this week has impressed me.” Archer’s voice bled desperation through the line.

“Considering I just crossed into Texas, there’s no turning back now.”

“Dammit. Seriously though, I need you back here. What’ll it take? Salary increase? Name your price.”

“You really are desperate.”

“Desperate? Nah. Just your average visionary CEO under duress. Nothing a good stiff drink won’t cure,” he quipped.

The line made me laugh—classic Archer.

“Call it what you want. I can hear the stress loud and clear.”