Chapter 9

Belleville felt like a safe haven, and because of that, it had to be the weirdest place in the world. I could hardly believe my luck most days as I wandered down Main Street, totally unaccompanied, and the only comments and extra attention I got were Miles- or Ben-related.

No one seemed interested in who I was, and I was perfectly fine with that.

Sure, when I was younger I craved fame and the attention that came with it. But I was old enough now to realize that having everyone and their aunt know your name was a cage more than it was a cushion.

I’d been emotionally immature before. A kid in a candy store full of bad decisions covered in pretty wrappers. I hadn’t been ready to be serious about anything but running away. I’d had a lot of growing to do.

I wouldn’t have changed the way I’d done things. Because it was moving to L.A., and all the experiences that came with that, that had shaped me into who I was now.

Which was…apparently the kinda guy who bought a gallon of black paint from a hardware store so that I could fix up a haunted house for two funny little kids.

Rosie and Jane were hilarious.

They always had something to say—even without words. Sometimes it was as simple as a scathing, chubby-cheeked look. They were terrifying in their own way, and I loved them.

I loved them a lot.

Even before I found out they loved my music—which woah. Man. That had been…fuck. That had been so fucking sweet I could hardly breathe.

Gave me a pang when I realized I probably would’ve loved Bubs at this age too, all chubby-limbed and grouchy. It was a shame I hadn’t had the chance to really spend time with him.

I hadn’t realized what I was missing back then, but I definitely did now.

Maybe…I could negotiate more time to visit in my contract moving forward?

My term was up after the Christmas party in L.A. I was hosting. Nancy was already working on drawing up the new one. I could always call her and ask. It didn’t hurt. And besides, even though I was supposed to be on vacation—she couldn’t actually get mad at me for calling about something work-related, right?

Ben had dropped me off at the hardware store after our impromptu cocoa not-date.

Everyone who had been at the shop had stared, and stared, and stared.

And some old lady sitting in the corner nodded at Ben with a slow, happy smile, wiped a tear, and said, “It’s about time!”

I wasn’t an idiot. But even I had a hard time piecing that one together.

Ben had just blushed bright red and steered us to the back corner of the room away from the eclectic mix of people—all staring. He hadn’t acknowledged their attention though, aside from the blush. He simply put his back to them, blocking me from view, and spent five minutes explaining to me why Belgian hot chocolate was superior to any other kind.

Apparently, he’d stumbled upon it when he lived in New York and never gone back.

The fact he was so opinionated about cocoa was fucking cute.

I mean…

What was he? Santa’s overgrown elf?

Maybe it was a Vermont thing. Seeing as the coffee shop was completely full of well-meaning Bellevillians. Maybe they all loved cocoa? Like a collective hive mind of chocolate devotees.

Somehow I doubted that.

It was after dodging fifty questions about “the thing”—the toddlers would not let go of that secret once they’d caught scent of it, and two cups of Belgian cocoa, which was, absolutely, the best cocoa in the world, holy shit—that Ben had driven me back to Main Street and the hardware store I currently occupied.

He’d offered to wait and drive me home, but that was stupid as hell.

He had his little kids with him, and his house was right across the street from the hardware store. So I declined.

I’d already taken enough of their day. Didn’t want him, or the munchkins, to get sick of me.

So yeah. Me, a gallon of paint, and my phone were about to make the trek back to the B&B alone.

“Are you allergic to vacation?” Nancy’s voice was full of ire. Apparently, she could, in fact, be mad at me for calling. She picked up on the first ring, which was good for me because it gave me an excuse to set my paint bucket down and sit on it. Right at the end of the street.

“No,” I retorted. Except, I kinda was. “I just have a question.”

“Jesus Christ. What part of ‘get some rest’ and ‘do not call me for any reason other than death before December’ do you not understand?” Nancy huffed.

“Nancy—”

“I will fly out there and chain you to a bed if I have to.”

“Kinky.”

“Don’t start your flirty little shit with me. You know it doesn’t work.” Nancy sighed, a slow put-upon sound. My heart flooded with warmth, my love for her growing exponentially as a car passed by on the street. They honked at me, but it was friendly, and the driver waved so I waved back.

This was some Twilight-Zone shit.

“Are you still putting my renewal contract together?” I asked, picking at a hangnail on my thumb.

Nancy was all bark but no bite. She’d mother hen me to death if she could, even though she was probably the severest, scariest person I’d ever met.

Seemed I liked a lot of those kinds of people.

Lookin’ at you, Ben Montgomery, and your tallness. Nancy was half his size but still towered over me. They could both compete for resting bitch face of the year, though I figured Nancy would probably win—simply because of her competitiveness.

Ben was more chill than she was.

“ Yes ,” Nancy sighed after a long, drawn-out pause. I’d half-expected her to hang up on me but was grateful she hadn’t.

“Do you think it would be possible to negotiate my time off?” I asked, moving on from picking at my nail to biting it. “You know, so I could…” I trailed off, cheeks growing hot as I realized what my question would imply.

“You’re liking it there, then? In bumfuck Vermont?”

“No bumfucking has happened unfortunately, but yeah.” I bit harder, voice muffled. “I like it. It’s weird. People are…nice. No one bugs me. It’s kinda…peaceful?”

“How much time off are we talking about?” Nancy had officially gone into business mode. “Holidays?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged a shoulder, shrinking in on myself even though she couldn’t see. Another car passed. Another honk. Another wave.

Damn, people here were so nice.

“Maybe summers too?” I wiggled uncomfortably. “And um, Miles’s birthday. Bubba’s birthday too. I’ll need a week for both.” My mind whirred. “Valentines too. Miles told me yesterday that he has a hard time prepping for class during the holidays. Maybe I could come back and help?”

Nancy was silent.

“Oh, and Halloween!” I blurted, still biting at my nail. Couldn’t catch the damn thing with my teeth. “I need to be here for Halloween. I can’t miss that.”

“What about your birthday?” Nancy’s voice was gentle—the gentlest I’d ever heard it.

“My birthday would be cool too,” I agreed, already imagining that.

I could throw a party! Invite Ben and his kids. Miles, Trent, and Bubs. Hell, even Ben’s grumpy brother, Paxton, could come. Actually, you know what—it would be weird not to just invite everyone, right? Maybe Matilda would let me host it at the B&B and we could get the haunted house up and going again.

There’d be lights and food and music !

I could get one of those projector things and play Tim Burton movies on it. Hire scare actors. The whole shebang. Could test run animatronics with Ben and the munchkins and pick out which ones were the spookiest!

“So…you want…every holiday off. Summers off. Your birthday, Miles, Bubba, and?—”

“Ben’s too,” I added, even though I didn’t know when it was. “I bet he’s not great at celebrating his own birthday. I could throw him a party!”

“And Ben’s birthday.” Nancy sounded amused. She didn’t ask me who Ben was, which I appreciated because I knew my voice would betray me. “Robin, honey ,” her tone softened in a way it only had after my big fall last year. “Have you considered retiring?”

“Retiring?” I blinked, confused. “I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but your label isn’t going to like you not working…” There was a rustling sound in the background, like she’d been writing down my words. “Ever?”

“Oh.” I blinked, surprised, and then embarrassed. “Yeah…I mean. I guess I just…”

I’d thought about retiring.

If I was being honest, I’d thought about it more times than I could count.

I wasn’t happy anymore.

I wasn’t allowed to make the music I wanted. It wasn’t part of my “brand.” I was sick and tired of the meaningless parties full of people I didn’t know or care about, of performing for crowds like I was a party trick my label got to throw out.

Even my last tour had been a shit show. Scalpers had bought out all the tickets, and I hadn’t found out until after it was over that the people who had attended had basically been robbed just to see me perform.

I’d grown since I was a punk-ass kid, fresh out of North Carolina, looking for the attention I’d never received.

I was tired.

I was so, so tired.

And though my sleep was still mostly whack, it was getting better. At least…it had been since I’d moved to Belleville and met Ben. Away from the stress of the city, from my label, from all the things that had caused my sleeplessness in the first place.

It felt like a fresh start.

My doctor had been on to something.

“It would be okay for you to quit, Robin,” Nancy said, her voice still gentle. “I mean, I’d miss you. You’re my favorite boss. But even I can see you’re slipping. And if you keep going down this path, you might fall too far to get back up again.”

It was on that cheerful note that a familiar voice interrupted me.

“Robin?”

“Gotta go,” I hung up quickly, swiveling to see my favorite human in the whole wide world standing behind me.

“There a reason you’re sitting on a pail of paint in the middle of the sidewalk?” Miles asked, eyes crinkling in amusement. He was massive as always, dressed in cow print, his dark hair sticking out beneath the hat he wore.

“Just…ruminating,” I told him, hopping up quickly before he could see how shaken I was by my chat with Nancy. I reached for the gallon of paint again, but Miles grabbed it before I could, hefting it easily with one arm—asshole—and slipping into step beside me.

“Ain’t like you to ruminate,” he countered.

I wanted to fight him for the bucket, because I wasn’t a weak-ass bitch who couldn’t carry my own shit. But he was also…gigantic. And I was tired. So I didn’t.

“Guess you don’t know me that well,” I shrugged a shoulder—then immediately regretted my words because hurt flashed across Miles’s face so quickly I nearly missed it.

“Guess I don’t,” he agreed, quieter than before.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” I blurted immediately, feeling small and miserable. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “You did. You didn’t mean to say it, but you meant it.”

Tense and unhappy, I didn’t know how to shove the words back into my mouth. The problem with having a trashmouth is that sometimes garbage comes right out. Especially when you’re exhausted.

“That’s okay,” Miles lightened up, softening despite how much of an ass I’d just been—because he was sweet like that. The sugar to my sour. Most people would never believe that I’d had to pick up this ginormous angel of a man more times than I could count after he’d beat some kid’s teeth in for calling him names in school. “You don’t really know me either.”

He didn’t mean it in a mean way—his cheeky smile made that obvious—but still, I ached.

“I’ve been away a long time,” I sighed, and Miles nodded.

We’d hung out a lot this past week. Any time he was free, really—though again, I was doing my best not to overcrowd. The more time we spent together the easier it was to fall into the accent I’d had all my life, mirroring Miles’s own.

He sounded like home, the way nothing had for years.

“You have,” Miles agreed. “But you’re back now.” It was forgiveness, simple as that. “And that’s enough for me.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, eyes burning. Had to look away so he wouldn’t see.

“Why’re you out here alone, anyhow?” I asked him, staring at a crack in the sidewalk while I gathered myself. I was cold. But I was always cold here, so I didn’t pay it much attention.

“Grabbing pastries with Gram,” Miles answered. “She told me to fuck off when she saw you out here.”

“Nice lady,” I laughed, meaning it.

“The nicest,” Miles agreed. He hefted the gallon into the other arm, and I realized, belatedly, that we were kinda just standing here.

“Shit, sorry. I can take that back.” I reached for it, and Miles smacked my hand away with a laugh.

“No offense, but you look like shit. Ain’t no way I’m letting you carry anything.”

“I don’t look like?—”

“Shit warmed over,” Miles continued. “Leftover shit. Microwaved?—”

“Okay, okay . I get it. I look bad. Fuck.”

“You been sleeping at all?” Miles asked. He was the only person I’d told about my insomnia and the sleep deprivation I experienced because of it. I’d maybe left out the bit about passing out sometimes when I got my worst—and what the doctor called “micro sleeps” which were like…eyes-open naps. But still… After Miles’s panicked phone call to Nancy last year— or maybe that was Trent? Didn’t matter, anyway —I’d looped him in on most of my medical…shenanigans eventually.

“My doctor says that getting away from L.A. is supposed to help,” I deflected without answering his question.

We started walking, and Miles fell in stride beside me, shortening his gait so that he wouldn’t totally overpower my Frodo legs.

“Is it helping?” Miles asked.

“I…don’t know,” I admitted. “A bit? Maybe.” When Ben was near.

The sky was overcast now. It’d been sunny earlier. Sunny enough that despite the cold, I’d been sweating a bit as I walked.

“You looked better when you got here,” Miles wheedled.

Better being relative, as I’d looked like shit then too.

“That’s ’cause I slept on the plane.”

“ You did? ” Miles’s eyes widened. “Really?” He looked way too excited about this.

“Blame Ben’s biceps,” I said without thinking—because again, I was stupid when I was tired.

“What?” Miles blinked.

He blinked again.

“Rewind. Ben’s biceps? What are you talking about?”

“Shut your mouth,” I groaned, so he’d stop staring at me all shocked and appalled. “It’s not that big a deal. We maybe…kinda met on the plane?”

I hadn’t told him this because I’d expected this exact reaction.

“And you slept on his arm?” Miles continued to look stupidly shocked. “But you hate touching strangers.”

That was true, I did.

Our mom had forced us into all manner of uncomfortable social situations when we were little. Enough that we both had our scars from it.

“I guess he’s special,” I admitted as we neared the gate in front of the B&B. The tall building and its picturesque picket fence loomed as we approached. My cheeks felt hot. Everything felt hot.

“I guess so,” Miles agreed, eyeing me curiously. “Have you tried again?”

“Tried what?”

“Sleeping on his arm?”

I pushed the gate open so he wouldn’t have to, and stumbled a little. “Why the hell would I do that?”

Already though, visions of leaning against Ben, of snuggling up against that bulk and taking a little cat nap assaulted my senses. He’d smell good. He always did. He’d be warm and solid. Big enough to block the rest of the world out. Safe .

I shook my head to clear it.

“If it worked once, it might work again. Worth a shot,” Miles continued.

“As if I could just go up to him and be like, ‘Hey, so you know how I creepy slept on your bicep? I should do that again.’ Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes.

“Ben’s a doctor,” Miles countered. “If you explain your situation he might be open to helping.”

“No thank you.”

“He took an oath.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“I dunno,” Miles shrugged. His brow pinched. “Don’t all doctors have to take an oath? Help the sick and needy, or whatever.”

“I’m not sick. And I’m not needy.” I glared at him, though even this—fighting with him—was better than being away from him. We rounded the corner, and Miles’s questions were halted as he paused, shocked all over again.

“What in the hell?” he muttered, staring at the haunted house with wide eyes. “I thought this would be gone by now.”

“Cool, right?” I grinned, distracted from my own ire. “I’m fixing it!” I’d been working on this shit all week. Watched YouTube videos. Borrowed tools from Matilda’s shed. Cleaned up all the spooky decorations meticulously till they looked worn, but clean. And now I was going to paint them—starting with the coffin at the back end.

Yeah.

That was a good place to start.

“It did not look like this when I was here on Halloween.” Miles’s eyebrows nearly climbed into his hairline. “This what you been doin’ while I been workin’?”

“Yeah,” my chest puffed up.

“Why?” Miles stared at me for a second like he didn’t know who the fuck he was looking at.

My cheeks went hot all over again.

Truth be told, I didn’t really know why . I mean…I did. Matilda and Beatrice had been talking. I’d found out Ben’s daughters hadn’t gotten to see the haunted house. I’d decided I wanted to give that to them—and Ben.

That I could fix this.

Maybe it was because there was little in my life I could fix now. Couldn’t go back in time and change the past. Couldn’t change anything about my physical health—at least…not the way I wanted. Despite the fact I’d told Miles I wasn’t sick and needy, I totally fucking was.

And I guess…

I guess…when I heard about the haunted house I just thought— finally , this is something I can do.

Something I can fix.

I can make those little girls smile. Make Ben smile.

Pay him back for letting me borrow his arm—and maybe…maybe, when I’m gone, they’ll miss me. I’ll have done something good for fucking once. Made a difference, somehow.

I rubbed my eyebrow with my ring finger, shrugging again, because I wasn’t about to crack my chest open like that, even for Miles, who had the softest, gentlest hands in the history of the world. My heart was brittle enough to shatter, even in his grip.

“You wanna help me paint?” I offered instead.

Miles, because again, he was an angel, nodded.

And paint we did, for hours, till the sun set and I followed him home like a lost puppy—desperate to find my place in this perfect little world he’d built.