Chapter Fifteen
Good morning, avid readers! Who’s ready to be saved by the blog? Boy, do I have some juicy gossip that will help you escape the day-to-day life of our very small town.
Rumor has it one of Bayside’s most infamous residents is returning today after a ten-year absence. You may remember this gal as lover of all things Jasper Dumont. Who can forget the time she declared her love for him by, ahem, making that little video? Haven’t seen it? I’m sure someone saved a copy. *Smirk*
Personally, I’m thrilled that she’s back. So with that, let me, your fabulous Bayside Blogger, be the first to say... Welcome back to Bayside, Ellie Owens.
Elle stepped off the airport tram, thanked the driver and retrieved her luggage. Inhaling a deep whiff of air, she caught the familiar salty scent she associated with home.
As the tram drove away, she stood on the stone sidewalk in the center of town, taking a moment to reacquaint herself with Bayside, Virginia. Still pleasant to look at with its town square full of eclectic shop fronts and its flower-lined streets. Tucked behind one side of the square was the bay, the heart and soul of the town. The water looked calm today as fishing boats returned to their docks after their early-morning fishing trips.
Elle knew if she squinted her eyes just right she would be able to see the small, two-bedroom bungalow she’d shared with her father until she’d turned eighteen and went off to college, and then directly on to Italy after that. One of the many things she’d missed from home was her brightly painted yellow house with its rickety deck and even more dilapidated dock that stretched out into the water. It wasn’t unlike the other houses on that side of the bay.
She also knew that if she stood out on the dock, she would be able to take in the much larger and more impressive houses—mansions, really—on the other side of the water. That’s where the Dumont house sat, surrounded by tactfully placed trees and discreet fences.
How many nights had she sneaked out after she was supposed to be asleep to take in the lights and music coming from that magical house? It seemed the Dumonts threw parties with the same frequency that other people went to the grocery store.
Apparently there was nothing like a Dumont party. Everyone in town had heard about the expensive champagne, live music and occasional fireworks. Although that wasn’t surprising for a family who had made more money than God in real estate.
She’d heard that one time the Dumonts had hired ballroom dancers to entertain their guests. Another time they’d flown in a top chef from Japan to make fresh sushi for Mrs. Dumont. Once they’d even hired a troupe of Cirque du Soleil performers for a birthday celebration.
But out of all those special occurrences that came and went, one thing was always present. One person, actually. The person who’d taken on the role of prince of the castle in her childhood fantasies.
Jasper Dumont.
Even a shy bookworm like Elle had known of Jasper. In fact, everyone in town knew Jasper. Well liked, crazy hot, an incredible athlete in multiple sports and the most popular kid in school. No wonder Elle had harbored a huge crush on him.
When his parents had thrown their parties, she used to pretend that Jasper was dancing in a tuxedo and drinking champagne. In reality, he was probably at one of the parties in the local park drinking cheap beer with the rest of the cool kids.
She’d certainly never been invited to those parties. But Elle’s dad had always said she was an old soul. And maybe she was. Maybe she wanted to be kissed on the dance floor, like they did in the old black-and-white movies as twinkly lights illuminated the scene. Maybe she’d promised herself that one day she would go to this fictional party at the Dumonts’.
The funny thing was that Elle had attended tons of parties like that when she’d moved to Italy. She’d drunk amazing sparkling wine in centuries-old piazzas. She’d danced around local vineyards and listened to phenomenal musicians while sitting on the Spanish Steps. She’d even made out in the Blue Grotto when she visited Capri. Didn’t get much more romantic than that.
But that dream—that silly childhood dream—would always persist. Who forgot about their first love? Even if that first love was the exact reason why she’d had to leave her home.
The sound of a honking horn drew her attention. A tall, attractive man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt stepped out of a silver truck and walked toward her. Elle felt her eyes go wide as she realized who it was.
No way, she thought.
“Cam?” she called out with a small wave as she pushed her large sunglasses on top of her head.
He stopped midstride, smack-dab in the center of the street. She thought his mouth fell open but couldn’t quite see from her angle. Cocking his head, he pushed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and took her in. Not until a car horn blasted did he move. Shaking his head, he waved to the driver to pass and continued toward her.
“Ellie? Ellie Owens?” he asked.
“I prefer Elle now, but yes. Nice to see you.”
Nice, but a total shock. Racking her brain, she remembered the last time she’d seen him—graduation. At twenty-two, Cameron Dumont had not only been the older brother of her biggest crush, but he’d already been to college and had returned with a full beard.
The truth was that Cam had always sort of intimidated her. Hell, he’d intimidated the whole town. He was a loner, always off in some corner, watching, observing, with a self-assured confidence no other adolescent possessed. With long hair and dark looks, he’d always seemed...dangerous, she decided. He was full of muscles and well over six feet tall.
Looking at him now, it was evident that he was still tall, built and dangerous looking, if not cleaned up a bit from ten years ago. Elle felt a little flutter of some kind of awareness as she took in his square jawline, broad shoulders and arms rippling with muscles.
“Welcome home, Elle,” he said. “You look...great.”
The disbelief in his voice didn’t surprise her. After all, the last time she’d stood in Bayside, she’d been, well, less than glamorous, that was for sure. She’d never worn makeup—her father never allowed it. And when your dad was the chief of police, you tended to listen. Her wardrobe choices hadn’t been the most flattering, either—lots of jeans, flannels and sweatshirts. Total tomboy clothes. And maybe she’d carried around a little extra weight. But she’d been more into academics than athletics.
Somewhere
