href="#u327039d9-dc4c-5479-bebe-03d36e74391b">
CHAPTER FOUR
KIT HAYES STOOD on the steps of the Benson library and watched the love of her life leave town. Again.
Arch Hoffman, duffel bag in the back of his truck, was waiting at the last red light before Main Street turned into highway.
He never used to have a truck. When she’d last seen him a year ago, he was just out of prison and didn’t own much.
“That jerk.” Kit’s best friend, Lila, moved to stand next to her. “Why was he even in town? I though he’d moved to San Francisco.”
Kit shrugged. “He must have come to see his family.” If he’d been here any longer than a day or two, she’d have been sure to run into him in this tiny California town. It was just a few picturesque roads mushed up against the east side of the Sierras.
“Where’d he get that fancy truck?”
The afternoon sun glinted off the chrome bumper of the red Ford. “He probably has money now,” Kit said. “From his sculptures.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten he’s the next big thing in the art world.” Lila’s tone made it clear she was anything but impressed.
Kit wished she could care so little. A few months ago, there had been a photo of Arch in the Benson Record, gorgeous and smiling, taken at an art show in San Diego. She’d stared at the photo for a long time. Years ago—when he’d loved Kit—the only section of the paper Arch would have made was the police blotter. He’d been her charming criminal back then. Neither of them could have imagined he’d become the town’s prodigal son.
The light changed and Arch’s truck accelerated, oblivious to Kit’s scrutiny. Heading back to the city—home to the woman he loved. The pretty, perfect Mandy Allen, who’d swiped Arch’s heart just as easily as he used to swipe cars.
Kit shifted, trying to ease the jealousy that squeezed her chest. It may have been over a year since she’d seen Arch, but the feeling still gripped her every time she thought of him and Mandy together.
“You need to let him go,” Lila said.
“I’m trying. Trust me, I hate feeling like this.” Kit held up her stack of books.
Lila glanced at the titles. “More self-help books? You’ve read about a million of them already and they haven’t worked. You need to get back out there. You need a date.” She bumped her shoulder gently into Kit’s and gave her a sly smile. “You need to get laid.”
Kit bumped her right back. “Shush! We’re at the library, not the bar.”
“No one heard.” But Lila lowered her voice. “Seriously, reading about feeling better won’t make you feel better. You need to do something.”
“I’ve been doing stuff.” Kit had kept busy at work, trained for a half marathon last summer and gone skiing. “I even took that pole dancing class you talked me into. Which was a disaster, by the way.”
Lila grinned. “I didn’t realize it was at the seniors’ center when I signed us up.”
Kit laughed. Which felt good. Seeing Arch drive away left tire marks of regret in her muddy heart. “I’m scarred for life. Images of the seniors getting funky are burned on my brain.”
“You laughed so hard after that class. It was better than therapy. Maybe we need to go back. I think their spring session should start any day now.”
“No!” Kit didn’t know what would help her get out of this black hole of jealousy and loss, but she was sure the cure wasn’t pole dancing. She just had to keep reading and keep trying. She’d been working on not loving Arch for almost half her life—she had to be successful eventually.
She’d almost managed to unlove him. During the decade after he’d walked away from their four-year relationship, she’d done okay. She’d learned to live without him, had some fun, even had a few boyfriends. All in all, she’d done pretty well, until he showed up again.
The moment she’d seen him, all her old feelings had flooded back, almost as if he’d never left. And they wouldn’t go away again.
Stupid, stupid feelings.
Meanwhile, Arch had fallen in love and moved to San Francisco, and she still didn’t feel free of him. Somehow Arch’s success as an artist, his happy relationship with Mandy, had made Kit realize how stuck she’d become: living in Benson, looking after her dad, working at a bar. She was thirty-two years old but still living the way
