I push open the door of the coffee shop and look around. A tiny bell tinkles, signaling my arrival, but no one looks up. That’s weird. In a small town like Jericho, you’d think that people would be interested in something new, but instead everyone continues to stare at their laptop screens with AirPods plugged in their ears.
I sigh and set my bag down on a nearby table before going up the counter. I’m the new girl here in Jericho, Maine, and it’s a pretty rustic town, to be honest. I moved here last month because my friend Margaret lives here. She’s been my best friend since high school and having her presence around was more than enough to convince me to move.
Because after my horrific break-up from that asshole Steven, I needed a place to go. I was living in a tiny walk-up that I could barely afford in NYC, and after that cheater was revealed, there was no reason for me to be in the big city anymore. Frankly, I never liked it anyways. In the summer, trash is piled up on the sidewalks, stinking to the high heavens. In the winter, everything’s frozen over and the big Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center does not make up for the lack of cheer among glum city dwellers.
More than anything though, is the fact that I couldn’t afford NYC anymore. I couldn’t afford it to begin with, but Steven and I dated when I was in high school. After my last relationship hit the skids, we re-connected on Facebook and when he suggested that I move to New York, I was over the moon.
Okay, so maybe it was a little impetuous since we’d only just reconnected, and hadn’t actually seen each other in person for years. But after I was installed in my tiny apartment, the relationship blossomed really well at first. Steven was the perfect gentleman: he took me to see Broadway plays, treated me to yummy meals out, and showed me where to stand on the subway platform so that I could always get a seat.
But after a few months, he still hadn’t invited me over to his apartment. I get it. New Yorkers live in small spaces, and it can be awkward to have people over. I still don’t love it when guests sit on my bed during impromptu dinner parties, but then again, I live in a studio, so they don’t have much other choice when it comes to seating.
But why was Steven so hesitant? I was a lowly associate producer at a local TV station, whereas he was a big shot practicing corporate law. I knew that he had an apartment that was at least twice the size of mine, which again begs the question: why was he so reluctant?
“Oh you know,” he hemmed and hawed after the fifth time I asked. “My apartment’s being renovated and things are a mess.”
I stared at him.
“You said that last time.”
He shrugged his shoulders, the lights glinting off his dark blonde hair.
“Well, renovations take a long time, and my contractor is so lazy. He only works on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I can’t get him to come more often. So the job is taking forever.”
I stared at him.
“But he’s been working on your apartment for months now, and I don’t mind seeing it in disrepair. It’s okay! My own apartment is so shabby that I bet yours in the middle of renovation is probably still better than mine.”
Steven pressed a fond kiss to my forehead.
“You’re so sweet, Jenny, but I can’t bear to see you covered in construction dust, and I definitely don’t want to put your life at risk with a ladder falling on you, or god forbid, if you trip on something and hurt yourself. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be done by the New Year. I promise, as soon as the job is finished, you’ll be the first person that I inform.”
I nodded, somewhat appeased. But ultimately, it didn’t matter because about two weeks later, I got a call from an unknown number on my phone. Usually, I don’t answer calls from unknown numbers, but there was something different about this one. My heart pounding, I put the phone to my ear and let out a tentative, “Hello?”
The screaming took me by such surprise that I had to hold the cell away from my ear with a wince. The woman on the other side was crying and shrieking, and at first, I thought to tell her to call 9-1-1.
“Are you okay?” I kept asking into the receiver. “Listen, try to calm down. Are you okay? Do you need help?”
Finally, the screaming and bawling subsided enough so that I could sort-of understand the words.
“D-do you know who I am?” the woman on the other side asked in an anguished voice.
I shook my head.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t. I think you have a wrong number but I’m happy to help you if I can. But first, are you injured? Is someone around you injured? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
The bawling started again.
“Ma’am,” I said firmly. “I can’t help you if I can’t understand you. Now please, try to calm down and tell me what it is. I promise, I’ll do what I can.”
Finally, the sobbing died into anguished sniffles.
“Do you know Steve Marshall?”
My brow wrinkled.
“Well, yes, I do,” I said carefully. “Why?”
The woman let out another screeching wail.
“Because he’s my husband that’s why! He’s been cheating on me for the last few months, and you’re the other woman! How could you?”
My mouth dropped open and I came to a halt on the cold New York sidewalk. What? I’d been seeing Steven for months, and he never mentioned a significant other, much less a wife. There was no trace of a wife on his social media, and he never wore a wedding band either.
But then it got worse.
“We have two kids!” she bawled into the phone. “How could you do this? How could you take up with my husband knowing that he’s a family man?”
I immediately started apologizing, horrified as I was.
“I’m so sorry,” I said hurriedly. “I had no idea, I swear! Steven never said anything, and this is as much of a shock to me as it is to you –”
The woman just kept bawling as I blurted my apologies. I must have looked a fool on that chilly fall day, in my hat and scarves with gusts of wind blowing around me as I blubbered into the phone. More than a few passersby stopped to stare at me before moving on with their business, but I didn’t care. My world was breaking open, and my heart felt like it was going to explode.
Finally, I managed to get off the phone after promising that I would never see Steven again. His wife didn’t have to beg me to stop, nor did I hesitate making the promise. Somehow, I knew what she was saying was true. The white lies he sometimes told me, combined with his secretive ways, suddenly made sense. He’d never wanted to bring me to his apartment because his wife and children lived there. There was no renovation going on; there was only a nest of lies.
Which brings me to my current home in Maine. After I learned of Steven’s treachery, I immediately gave notice to my landlord and my boss. They were stupefied.
“You know, Jenny, you’re not the first woman who’s been betrayed,” my boss Norma said kindly. “You will survive. New York is all about survivors.”
“Yes,” I said, bowing my head with shame. “I just never thought it would be me, you know? I feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web and I have to get out. I know my quitting like this isn’t ideal, but I appreciate your kindness.”
Norma patted my shoulder in a motherly gesture.
“It’s okay. This is just a transition phase as you spread your wings and figure out a new path. Use this time to recover too. Again, you’re not the only woman who’s been betrayed, and sadly, you won’t be the last either.”
I shot her a watery smile as I packed up my desk. Norma has been like a mother to me since I got to the city, and I appreciated her kindness. Unfortunately, my landlord was another story.
“I can’t give you back your deposit,” he said curtly. “That money belongs to me now.”
I nodded, and merely shuffled out of his dingy office and back up to my apartment. Twelve hundred dollars is a lot to lose, but I didn’t care. I had to vacate the city as soon as possible, for the sake of my broken heart.
Thus, here I am in Jericho, Maine. It’s a nice little town. The only thing I knew about it before I arrived was that it’s quaint, cozy, and that my best friend Margaret has lived here for years now. Margaret and I have such a strong bond that when she told me there was a guest house vacant on her property, I took it immediately.
“Mags, I can’t believe this is happening to me,” I said in a broken-hearted voice. “This is crazy. Why me? How could Steven do this?”
But my friend’s reply was stout.
“He’s an asshole, and don’t even waste another second thinking about him. Steven Marshall deserves to burn in hell, and he will. How can he face his children knowing what he’s done? You come up to Maine, and everything will be better.”
So last September, I packed all my stuff into a U-Haul and began the drive up. It was fall, and the leaves were changing color. I was sad of heart, but seeing the glory of the reds, yellows and oranges drifting en masse to the ground helped to ease my heart. Plus, the smell of pine needles, the crackle of twigs, and the connection that I immediately had with nature helped a lot. My heart began to ease, and I settled into my small cabin sad but knowing that I would heal.
Now I’m at the café to meet my friend Margaret. She’s the librarian at the neighborhood library and she knows everyone. When I first got up here, she put me in touch with Randy Newell, the editor of the local Jericho News, and he hired me to do some freelance stuff for them. I guess I did a good job because he’s retained me to do some more pieces, and I hope soon that he’ll consider me for a full-time position. The Jericho News is just small peas, but it’s enough for me. This little town has embraced me with warm arms, and I know that I’m going to be just fine in the long run.
But where is Margaret? It’s unlike her to be late. I pay for a chocolate chip muffin at the counter and then sit down. I scroll through my phone idly, waiting. It’s strange. Margaret’s a stickler for punctuality, so if she’s even going to be ten minutes late, she’ll text. But we were supposed to meet at 3 p.m., and it’s now 3:20. I sneak a peek at the laptop of the person sitting next to me. No, the clock on my phone is right. It’s 3:20 now, and Mags still hasn’t showed up.
I look around. Maybe I missed her. But no, Snowy Falls Coffee is a small place, and my friend’s definitely not lurking in a corner somewhere. I play a game of Solitaire on my phone, and then get up to buy another muffin. They’re really tasty here at Snowy Falls, and I bite into the sweet pastry with relish.
But after another half hour, Margaret still hasn’t shown. Maybe there was an emergency at the library? But that doesn’t make sense because she would have texted at the very least. Maybe our coffee appointment slipped her mind? But that doesn’t make sense either because she was the one who invited me here, hinting that she had momentous news to share. To be honest, I was expecting her to announce a pregnancy. I think Margaret and her husband Stone have been trying for a while now, and it wouldn’t surprise me if my friend finally succeeded.
After some more waiting, I decide to call her husband. At first, I hesitate because it’s only 4 p.m. One hour isn’t that long to wait. But I know that Stone’s probably off from his job at the construction site by now, so I decide to hit “Dial” on my phone.
“Hello?” he answers on the first ring. The deep voice makes me shiver a little bit and grow hot, but then I immediately feel ashamed. This is my friend’s husband, and I shouldn’t feel this way, even if Stone Harrison is hotter than the shining sun.
“Um, hi Stone, this is Jenny Rafferty, Margaret’s friend. I’ve met you a couple times?”
It’s true because I’ve been over at their house a few times. I rent their guest house, after all, and Jenny is my best friend. But I’ve never really interacted with her husband before, short of a few hellos and some stilted conversation.
“Yes, I know who you are,” he says in a deep voice. “How are you Jenny? How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m good,” I say hurriedly. “Actually, I’m calling because I’m wondering if you’ve seen Margaret lately. She was supposed to meet me for coffee at Snowy Falls, but she never showed. It’s been an hour now. Did she call you? Or maybe she forgot?”
There’s a pause on the other line.
“No, she hasn’t called me, nor did she mention anything. I just got off work so maybe she’s at home. Did you try the land line?”
I slap my forehead mentally.
“Oh shit, I didn’t. I totally forgot that you guys had a landline actually. I’m sorry, I should have tried that. Thank you so much!”
“Sure, no problem,” he says in a growly voice. “Bye Jenny.”
“Bye,” I say in a small tone before hanging up.
Oh god, I just embarrassed myself in front of my friend’s husband. Why did I do that? Everyone has a landline here in Maine. They can’t depend solely on cell service like they do in NYC because the coverage isn’t that good. As a result, most people keep both a landline and a cell phone handy, not to mention a satellite phone in case the snow gets really deep. You never know when emergency might strike, and that satellite comes in handy.
I hang up, my heart racing. I shouldn’t be embarrassed because I was only calling out of concern. Yet, my conversation with Stone makes me feel overheated and breathless because he’s a very handsome man. Yes, I know how it sounds. I’m crushing a little on my friend’s husband, but it’s because I’m human and I have eyes, not because I’ve done anything wrong. I would never hurt Margaret; after what happened with stupid Steven, any type of cheating is completely out of the question.
Yet Stone’s image dances before my mind. He’s gorgeous, and looks like a wild mountain man come to life. He has deep, reddish-brown hair, and a dark beard to match. He’s about six foot three, with a massive build and wide shoulders that look like they could haul a moose or a deer for miles if he had to. Plus, those eyes. Stone has amber eyes that always make my heart flutter, even though I force myself to stay brightly neutral.
So yes, I admit it. I have a mini-crush on my best friend’s husband. It’s terrible, but it’s not criminal because I’ve never acted on my feelings. Nor does Stone see me like that at all. To him, I’m just his wife’s spinster friend who moved out to Maine after getting her heart broken in the big city. That’s hardly an attractive image, and I know he doesn’t harbor any secret feelings for me.
I make myself finish the rest of my apple cider and get up, pulling out the keys to my battered Jeep. It’s a cold day when I step outside, and I pull my parka tighter around my curvy figure. I have no idea where Margaret is, or why she forgot our coffee date, but I hope she’s okay. I’m sure it’s nothing though. Her hunky husband will find her, and we’ll all go back to life as normal.