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Lily

H ave you ever asked yourself, “How did I get here?”

Well, that’s me as I stand at the back porch railing of my short-term rental house and look out over the lake in Horizons Valley, North Carolina. I’ve been here for almost six weeks, and while I didn’t come here to find myself, I’ve definitely had a few “What the heck am I going to do now?” moments.

Taking a deep breath, I breathe in the cleanliness of the air. Up at this altitude, it’s refreshing and unpolluted, and I’ve needed this air to calm my racing heart and anxious mind more times than I can count. It’s not that I’m worried someone is after me, or that I’ll be found and harassed—it’s more that I can’t see what my future looks like anymore, and that leaves me feeling uncertain and twitchy.

I breathe out, reminding myself that nothing has to be decided today . . . and that’s okay.

I’ve always been a planner. I’m not a spontaneous person. I would like to think that I am, and yes, I can go with the flow when it’s on the spot and necessary, but when it comes to the big picture, big life things, I need a plan. I need to feel focused and organized because it drives me to what’s next. I’ve always loved living my life that way . . . that is, until it recently imploded, and now I have no plan.

I was that girl who wanted to graduate at twenty-two, marry by twenty-four, and start a family soon after that. I thought I’d be living in my dream house in the perfect town and working my way up the ladder of my dream job, which technically I am, but I thought I’d be sharing these life successes with my soulmate.

Which obviously I’m not.

No soulmate. No dream house. No plan.

Which leads me back to my “What the heck am I going to do now?” train of thought.

Running my hand over my forehead, I take in another breath as I walk to one of the patio chairs and sit down. There’s a permanent mark in this seat from how much time I’ve spent sitting in it and staring out at the view before me. The lake here is crisp and clear. A mountain ridge surrounds three-quarters of it, and the water is a perfect cool temperature to swim in. Several families of loons call this home. I’ve always been fascinated with birds; these are so beautiful with their speckled feathers and dark heads. Which in turn sparked the name of my next small-town series, The Lake Loon series.

I’m a romance author.

It’s a job I didn’t know I needed, but once I started, the words poured out of me, and they haven’t stopped. I also have a pen name, so no one knows who I really am. And that’s on purpose. I’m certain that with just a few pictures of my face on any of my social media accounts, word that I’m an author would spread like wildfire. And why is that? First, I have orange hair. Not auburn or strawberry blond but long, thick orange hair. Some people call it ginger, but that’s weird to me, because if you cut open fresh ginger, it’s yellow, and my hair is definitely not yellow, but it is recognizable. Second, I’ve been Dean Davis’s girlfriend for the past eight years. Dean Davis, the superstar NFL quarterback for the DC Destroyers.

A girlfriend I am not anymore. At least as of six weeks ago. And if I’m honest with myself, for probably a lot longer than that. While I think we started on the same page, the pages in his life story kept flipping, and mine did not. His pages flipped right on over me, and whether it was intentional or not, he forgot to include me in his story.

What do I mean by that? Well, for as long as I can remember, our life revolved around him. Everything. And I allowed that to happen because I wanted him to be happy and succeed, but I should have been asking myself if I was happy, and as it turns out, I wasn’t.

From my back pocket, my phone vibrates. Pulling it out, I see it’s my brother, Lance. I didn’t tell him what was happening between Dean and me. I only told my best friend Morgan since she doubles as my assistant too, but since he’s calling versus texting, I’m guessing he’s somehow figured out that I’m not in DC anymore. My time living in this hidden off-the-grid state is over. I knew I’d have to face the music with my family eventually, but I was hoping that I’d have more time. At least more time to figure out what’s next. I wanted to be ready for this call. I wanted to have a new plan.

But I don’t.

I let out a deep sigh and answer the call.

“Hey, Lance,” I greet, trying to make my voice happy and perky even though I don’t feel that way at all.

“Why are you in North Carolina?” he asks. No greeting, no pleasantries, just straight to the point.

Lance is one of two people I always share my location with: Lance and Morgan.

“Research for my next series. Small-town romance is hot right now for readers, so I’m here learning all the things about big buff mountain men.”

Lance and Morgan are also the only two people who know I write novels.

Why did I never tell Dean? Well, I wanted it to be my own thing, and he had this unique way of making everything about him even though I don’t think that was always his intention. Nonetheless, it came off that way.

Then again, maybe it was always intentional.

For example, after I graduated from college with my bachelor’s degree in marketing, we were at one of his team functions, I was talking to someone who happened to be in the marketing department, and a few weeks later, she ended up offering me a job as a copywriter and doing digital design. Of course Dean said the only reason I got the job was because of him. Maybe that’s true, but I was also qualified, recognized by the organization, and did a damn good job. He liked to remind me that everything about my life was because of him. I quit that job over a year ago, and he still doesn’t know.

Lance grunts as if my answer only partly satisfies him. “Also, why is Dean calling me and asking if I know where you are?”

Here we go.

“That would be because I moved out and didn’t tell him where I was going.”

There’s a short pause, and then he blurts, “You moved out?”

I can’t tell if his words are full of shock or relief.

“Yes.” When that one word leaves me and floats out into the air, it feels oddly freeing.

Silence falls between us. Knowing him, he’s probably fist-pumping the sky right now as he never liked Dean, but at the same time, what do you say to someone you love in moments like these? Good for you or It’s about time or Are you okay? Quite frankly, I don’t need to hear any of the words from him. I just want to collect myself, put together a new plan, and move on.

“Why didn’t you come here?” he asks, suddenly sounding offended.

“And do what? Cry on your couch like a sad panda while the four of you go on about your day-to-day life?”

My brother is married, has two boys, and lives near our parents in Tennessee. He is a lawyer, his wife is a sign language interpreter, who he met in college and I adore, and they are the epitome of two point five with the dog and the white picket fence. They are what I thought I would have, yet here I am, twenty-six and feeling like for the first time in my life, I’m doing life.

“You know we love it when you’re with us, and I’m sure the kids would love to see you.”

Just thinking about his two munchkins makes my heart ache. My oldest nephew just turned four, and the youngest is one. The older boy is so sweet and independent, but let me tell you, number two, he’s a firecracker. He just started walking, and they already have their hands full.

“I appreciate the offer, but right now, I just need to figure out what’s next for me.”

A loon calls from the lake, and my eyes track to find the sound. I find it in the water, bobbing its head up and down. I know it’s not symbolic, the head bobbing, but it feels like the bird is agreeing with me, and that reconfirms my need to do this my way. Things have never been done my way, and after all these years, I’m just now getting to dip my toe into freedom.

“I understand, but know you’ve always got a home here with us.”

“I do, and I’ll be there for the holidays this year. I promise. I wouldn't miss Christmas morning for anything.”

The loon flies off, and I lean back in the chair to prop my feet up on the railing in front of me. The sun is warm and therapeutic, especially with the bursts of serotonin giving me life and positive vibes.

“That feels like a long time from now, and I’m worried about you,” he says, causing me a twinge of guilt that I didn’t reach out and speak to him sooner.

“Don’t be. I’ve done a little hiking, found a few places where I love to eat, and I’m getting some work done.”

Well, not really, but I am trying. It’s hard to write about two people falling in love when I’m about as far away from that as possible. Maybe I should dabble in romantic suspense or literary fiction and kill someone. Perhaps I should name that character Dean.

He chuckles. “Let me guess, it’s a donut place.”

He knows me well.

Visions of a cute little cider house, with an old friendly dog named Duke, up on the mountain spring to my mind.

“Lance, these are some of the best donuts I’ve ever had in my whole life. I’m not sure what I’ll do once I leave here. And for the record, they’re not just any donuts. They’re apple cider donuts. There’s a place here called Red Barn Orchard. They make the best ciders, and they make the donuts on the spot, fresh to order. They’re warm and moist but crumbly yummy at the same time.”

“Fresh to order and crumbly yummy? Sign me up,” he says sarcastically.

“Don’t tease. For the first time in my life, I feel like I can eat as many as I want judgment-free.”

The year after Dean and I graduated from college, he was drafted, and we ate out a lot. Of course I was photographed, and the keyboard bullies came out in droves to comment on my hair, my clothes, and my waistline. Even though I was still fit and thin, I wasn’t runway thin with the few extra pounds. Dean never said anything. He knew better, but that didn’t change the fact that I’ve lived in this perpetual state of worry over my image. Worry not only over how the world perceived me, but also Dean. I wanted him to be proud to have me on his arm.

“Lily,” he groans. “I really didn’t like that guy.”

My stomach sinks. I’ve heard that so many times by him, my parents, and by Morgan. The world thinks he's a class act and an all-around all-American kind of guy, with his white teeth, perfectly floppy disheveled hair, and eyes that sparkle when he smiles at you, but he’s really not. He’s grown into this person who is vain, more competitive than I would say driven, and well . . . entitled.

“I know. He didn’t use to be this way,” I tell him. Not sure if I’m defending Dean or myself for why I stayed so long.

“He was always this way. You were just blinded because you see the good in everyone. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad thing, I love that quality about you, but those good qualities should be returned, not taken advantage of.”

I’ve seen how he is with my sister-in-law, Casey, behind closed doors. I’ve seen some of Dean’s and my friends too, when we would get together for functions. The sweetness, consideration, and overall partner equality are something that I’ve always longed for and never felt like I got.

“I love you, too,” I tell him, soaking up his words that have rarely been given to me.

“Does he even realize you’ve left him? Yes, he called looking for you, but I just assumed he’s being his typical self-absorbed self and didn’t pay attention when you told him what you were up to.”

“He knows. I don’t know how he couldn’t. I emptied my side of the closet and the bathroom and took all of my things. It’s also been six weeks.”

“What about the rest of your stuff? Do I need to go and get it?”

Anxiety and a crushing wave of sadness roll over me. How depressing is it that I spent eight years with him, and all I really have to show for it is what I packed in my car. No real treasured memorabilia, nothing that means the world to me to cling on to. Just a few boxes that are like a beacon light shining on what our relationship was and wasn’t.

“I really didn’t have anything else. He hired a decorator to furnish the house, I didn’t have much in my office, there’s a coffee shop I always went to when he was in town, and I don’t want anything from the kitchen. He can have it all. It’s just stuff, and honestly, none of it ever felt like mine.”

He sighs as he thinks about what I’ve said. I can feel the tension and pity leaking through the phone line from him. “You know, once he realizes you aren’t coming back, he isn’t going to like that you left him. He’ll spin this somehow to make you the villain."

“I really don’t care. There’s no other way around that. It is what it is. I just want to disappear for a while, figure out maybe what my life goals and dreams are now that I can have them, and hopefully, all this will blow over and people will forget about me.”

“You and your life goals.” He chuckles.

“I’ll have you know, I happen to like this characteristic about me.”

“Oh, we all do. Especially when you send out family vacation itineraries. It’s like I just need to pack and show up, and you’ve planned the best trip ever.”

My chest warms, and I smile. “I’m assuming there’s a compliment in there.”

“Always. How long are you staying in North Carolina?”

My gaze travels back out to the lake and catches on a person kayaking. The way they precisely and fluidly swing the paddle from side to side is hypnotic, and I stare after them.

“I have two weeks left here, and then the house is rented out to someone else.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?” he asks.

“That’s part of what I need to figure out. While I love living in this rental house, I don’t love the price. I could do better, but I’m just not sure where yet. The skies are the limit, and I don’t feel like I’ve ever really had that option before.”

Where I’m going next is probably one of the things I’ve thought about the most since arriving. All these years with Dean, his career dictated where we lived, but now I’m free. We met in college in Miami, where it’s super hot. We lived in DC, and while it’s not a huge city, it has so much culture and great food, but it gets cold. So these are the basic things I’m trying to figure out. North or south? East or west? City or rural? Mountains or beach? House or apartment? While I make a decent amount of income, along with being a planner, I’m very tight with how and where I spend my money, which plays into every decision.

“What if I had a temporary place in mind for you? Would you consider it?”

“At this point, I’d consider a box. All options are on the table.”

He chuckles. “Well, I assure you, it’s much better than a box. The house isn’t too big, but it would be a place to crash for a while without having to pay anything, and you’d definitely be hidden.”

“A free place to live? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”