Eden

I place my shampoo and hair conditioner in the newly cleaned out master shower and shut the glass door. I look around the bathroom with satisfaction. My makeup and face creams are laid out and fresh towels are hanging on the racks.

I smile as I walk into the master bedroom and survey the changes I’d made over the last few hours. My mission started the minute I heard Coop leaving for work early this morning. I was awake most of the night stewing about this man living in my home, and I was not getting the peace and solitude that I was craving.

I leapt out of bed as soon as his truck cleared the driveway. After a rushed cup of coffee and a quick shower, I’d donned a pair of workout capris and a stretch tank and wrapped my wet hair on top of my head. After putting on my best running shoes, I was ready to go.

The first thing I did was get a large green garbage bag from under the kitchen sink and put every single item of Coop’s from the bathroom in it. I then dragged it out and left it in the hall.

Next I carried out all of his clothes by the armload. Emptied drawers, pulled stuff off hangers, and I threw it all out into the hallway. As I did so, I tried to envision this room the way I remember it when my parents were alive. Even though it was their room, I spent a lot of time in here. As a child, if I was afraid of something at night, my parents would let me crawl into their big bed and sleep between them. Or I’d play chess with my dad in the upstairs library or just veg out there with my mom while we read books on a lazy weekend.

I was a little more careful with his personal possessions, like the picture of him and his dad together that actually made me smile. I was hoping I’d run into Coop’s dad soon so I could say hello to him. He was a sweet bear of a man and I miss him. Pictures, books, and a pair of handcuffs I found in the nightstand drawer all went into the box. Admittedly, I couldn’t stop thinking about why he’d have those there, although really…I knew why. I wasn’t stupid. I also flushed warm thinking about Coop and cuffs, but I eventually drove those thoughts out of my head and focused on my annoyance over the situation.

When the room was cleared, I quickly moved my stuff in, making sure to unpack and hang all my clothes, put my panties and bras in the drawers, and fill the bathroom with my girlie stuff. I even sprayed one of my favorite body mists around the bathroom and onto the bedding, which I’d also brought over from my room, as it was more feminine than the dark green bedding Coop had. That was also lying in a pile in the hallway.

The attorney explained to me clearly yesterday that Coop did indeed inherit a life estate of Goodnight House. That meant that this was his house as much as mine, and he was entitled to live in it if he chose for the remainder of his life.

It took me a few moments, but I accepted it. It was Valeria’s choice what she did with the house, and if Coop truly took care of her the last few years, I wasn’t going to begrudge her decision.

But I’ll be damned if he was going to get the master suite with the fabulous third-floor library and sitting room. It was one of the things that made Goodnight House magical, with its stained-glass windows, tall shelves crammed with books that required a rolling ladder to reach, and plush seating in which you could either read or take a long nap—all of which I wanted to take advantage of while I was here.

Coop said he wasn’t moving out of the room, so I went ahead and helped him along with that.

My smile grew bigger as I imagined the look on his face when he came home tonight.

Satisfied with my work, I decided to enjoy my new space. I turned to the wrought-iron spiral staircase and walked slowly up to the sanctuary beckoning to me. I spent a moment when I reached the third floor, just looking around at things. The furniture was fairly new, I’m guessing added by Valeria sometime since I’d left home to go to college. I seriously doubt Coop would have chosen the cream leather chaise with lacy pillows in pale lavender or the sumptuous rug of cream flowers on a gray background.

I walk to the first bookcase, which runs contiguously around the large, circular room that boasts twelve-foot ceilings. I place my hand on the rich mahogany wood and drag my fingers along the edge as I peruse the titles while walking the perimeter. I see the classics like F. Scott Fitzgerald, Jane Austen, and Tolstoy. A few cases down are my mom’s favorites. She was into romance and a huge Nora Roberts fan. Beside those are my dad’s books, almost all nonfiction. There are even two shelves where with my favorites, which include a complete set of every one of Dean Kootnz’s books.

“What the holy fuck did you do?” I hear Coop bellow from below.

My entire body tenses and a jolt of adrenaline spikes through me. I knew he’d be pissed and I’d have to deal with him, but I wasn’t ready for it to happen this soon. I have no clue what he’s doing here in the middle of the day.

I hear him stomping through the bedroom as I rush over to the spiral staircase. I look down just as his foot is on the bottom step. His hands on the railing, he looks up at me with ferocity and demands, “Are you fucking insane?”

“Not that I know of,” I answer pertly as I start to descend the staircase. “I merely took what was mine by right.”

Coop doesn’t move out of my way when I near the bottom. His jaw is clenched so tight he has a muscle jumping at the corner. “It is not yours by right. It was mine. I was settled in here,” he says in a low, guttural voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I’m not sure if it’s because his voice is sexy or frightening with the underlying menace in it.

“This has been my house far longer than it has been yours,” I point out calmly, even though my racing pulse says otherwise. Still, I stiffen my spine and stand my ground. “I’m keeping this room.”

“You are such a spoiled, princesslike brat,” he snarls at me as he comes up full on the bottom step, which puts him face-to-face with me. “Nothing but a diva, although frankly, I didn’t expect any different.”

I suck in a harsh breath, his words slicing deep. When I force the air back out, I snap back at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know plenty,” he says with a grimace, clearly showing his dislike. “I know you never bothered to come back here to see Valeria except for her funeral. That she died a lonely old woman. You turned your back on your heritage and your family business and your hometown because you were too good for all of this.”

His words almost cause my knees to buckle, as I’m weighted down with guilt and regret, and my nose starts to sting. But there is no way in hell I’m going to let him see me cry, and the only way I know how to stave off the tears is to defend myself. “You know nothing of Valeria or what we were to each other. You may have seen a lonely old woman, but I was her granddaughter and I was nothing to her. She was emotionally closed off and distant. She was controlling, and when she didn’t get her way, she cut me out without a backward glance. She never called me. It was always me calling her to check in, but fuck, Coop…You can only reach out so many times and get the door shut in your face before you eventually give up. She never once said she was proud of me. Never acknowledged my accomplishments. Never offered support when I was down. So don’t give me this shit about her dying a lonely old woman. She apparently had you, but I’ve had no one.”

During my rant, I saw the heat start to cool in Coop’s eyes as he considered my words. I’m not sure of the depth of talks that he had with Valeria as they got closer, but I can tell he really doesn’t know anything about me as a person.

I barrel down the next two steps and push my way past him. He moves easily to the side and I cling to the railing so we don’t touch.

Marching to the bathroom, I almost stop when he says, “I just stopped by to grab a quick sandwich for lunch, but I want this shit cleaned up and my room put to rights by the time I get home tonight.”

He gets nothing but my back and my silence as I stomp into the master bath and slam the door shut. I’m going to take a nice long bath and then perhaps I’ll go into town for lunch myself. I’m on vacation. I have no agenda. I can do what I want.

And I absolutely do not want to put Coop’s room to rights. Too bad for him, I’m staying right here.

I pass by Goodnight Textiles as I head into Newberry. It’s the largest textile plant in the South and third largest in the United States. A certain fondness for it warms me because my dad put his blood, sweat, and tears into the family business he inherited. It’s now being run by his brother, who moved from CFO to CEO after my parents died. However, he runs the company from his home base of Chicago, as he’s a city slicker to the core. Of course, Grandmother sat on the board of directors and had a lot of input about how to run the empire she’d also helped to create. I’d heard through the cousin grapevine that she actually became more involved after her fourth husband died and she gave up on remarrying. I suppose it was a way to occupy her time when she wasn’t traveling.

Regardless, the family business was never for me. Even before I fell into modeling, I was considering a career in law. I wasn’t sure why or if that was really what I wanted, but it’s one of the things I was greatly interested in. I figured I’d be exposed to a lot of things in college that could lead me in a different direction, and ironically, that’s exactly what happened to me. Things changed radically when Carlos Sanchez walked into my life, and my education sort of became moot.

Newberry hasn’t changed much that I can see. It would be considered a small town with a population of close to five thousand, even less when I lived here. Most of the businesses are independently owned, and everyone knows everyone.

It’s been fourteen years since I’ve surveyed the town streets, and I feel like a stranger now. Even though I see the same old storefront signs on the businesses bordering the main square, for a moment I feel discombobulated as I drive into town. Like I’m seeing it for the first time.

I find a parallel parking spot in front of my first destination, which is the local diner called the Pit Stop. I’m starved and I didn’t even bother to see what type of food Coop had in the house. He could have had a fully stocked pantry and fridge, but I wasn’t touching any of it. So I’m going to eat lunch and run to the grocery store so I have my own food.

Almost everyone turns in their seats when I walk in. The large windows bordering the sidewalk made my entrance public, and while I’m used to people staring at me because of my fame, this is different and weirdly disconcerting. These are my hometown folks and I don’t want them looking at me as if they don’t know me.

There are a several people I don’t recognize but who clearly know who I am. Some of them look awestruck, and I hope that doesn’t lead to someone tipping off the paparazzi that I’m here. One woman gives me a hesitant smile, but the others look at me like I’m a stranger.

And really…I am.

I see Mason Woodard, who graduated a year behind me, sitting with Debbie Hemp. I smile at them, but they just look at me with blank stares. As I make my way to an empty booth—because at the Pit Stop, you seat yourself—I smile and nod at others I know. George Molton, who owns the local garage, and Suzanne Daly, who owns the hair salon I used to go to. They’re older by fourteen years, but they’re still the same people.

I smile at them and they don’t smile back. This is disconcerting, but I figure perhaps they are nervous or shy around me since I’ve become a celebrity. I hope they get over that fast, because I have never wanted to be treated that way.

As I slide into the red vinyl booth and grab one of the menus, I catch the eye of Bonnie Ventura, who I’m surprised to see is still a waitress here. She was old when I’d left town, but she hasn’t changed that much. Her iron-gray hair is still short and permed, and her face is overly powdered. She stares at me a moment before she goes back to filling coffee cups at a table, and I assume she’ll be over soon to take my order so I give a quick perusal of the menu.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m still waiting on Bonnie to come to my table. I’ve tried to catch the other waitress’s attention, but she won’t even make eye contact with me. It’s only when Bonnie has to pass me to bring food to the table beside me that I finally get her to stop.

“Bonnie…I’m ready to give my order,” I call out, and she ignores me.

She doles out plates of food, sweet talking up the group of guys in for lunch. She calls them “sweetie” and “honey pie.”

Finally, she straightens, pulls her order pad from the pocket of her apron and her pencil from behind her ear, and turns to me with a huff. “What do you want?”

Her voice is cold and unwelcoming, and I am completely flummoxed. “Well, hello to you too, Bonnie. It’s good to see you after so long.”

She just stares at me, tapping the end of her pencil against the pad.

“Okay,” I say as I look down to the menu. “I’ll take a burger and fries, and some ice water.”

Bonnie jots a few notes and doesn’t say a word as she turns her back on me. I watch her with my mouth hanging wide open, completely stunned by her rudeness. I look around the diner and no one is looking at me anymore. In fact, I’d say I’m being patently ignored.

This is just weird, and I know there’s clearly something wrong when it takes almost half an hour for Bonnie to serve my burger, which is cold, and my fries, which are oversalted. I never did get my glass of ice water.

I eat a few bites, but the food and the reception are unpalatable. I throw a twenty down on the table and walk out, my head spinning over the way Bonnie treated me.

Still starved as I walk back to my car and a little depressed over my homecoming so far, I spy a new business that wasn’t here last time I’d been in town. It’s called Missy’s Cupcake Gallery, and well, the word cupcake garnered all my attention. I walk down to it and open the glass door, immediately assaulted by the wonderful smells of chocolate and cream and strawberries and cinnamon. I inhale deeply as my eyes immediately start roaming over a huge glass case of cupcakes on display.

“Well, if it isn’t Eden Goodnight returned to town,” I hear a soft, feminine voice say from behind the counter. My head pops up and I look at a petite slender woman of about my age. She has strawberry-blond hair worn in a chin-length bob and beautiful porcelain skin made more beautiful by freckles. She’s giving me a genuine smile and I absorb it deeply, so bad had been my experience at the Pit Stop.

I assume the woman recognizes me from the movies I’ve done, so I put on my most gracious smile. “Those cupcakes are calling out to me.”

She nods knowingly, her eyes sparkling. “What’s your poison?”

“Chocolate first and foremost,” I tell her as my eyes go back to the case. Rows upon rows of cupcakes with different colored icing and sprinkles. “But honestly, anything sweet is good by me. My sweet tooth has always been a problem.”

“I remember,” the woman laughs, and my head snaps back up to look at her again. “Our National Honor Society bake sales were never that successful, because you tended to eat half the product.”

I can’t help the subtle narrowing of my eyes and the tilt of my head as I try to place this woman. But nothing’s coming to me and I have to concede defeat. “I’m really sorry…but do we know each other?”

The woman grins big. “I’d hope so. We graduated high school together.”

My brow furrows deeper and it’s clear I’m blanking. I feel horrible that I’m blanking, because it seems rude, and I am not a rude person.

With a tinkling laugh, she says, “Time to let you off the hook. I’m about a hundred and fifty pounds lighter than when you last saw me.”

And then it hits me all at once. “Missy Chambers,” I exclaim. “Oh my God…look at you. You look amazing.”

“Yeah, the double chin look didn’t earn me any favors in high school,” she says amicably.

Immediately a wave of guilt slam into me as I realize I wasn’t friends with Missy. Sure, we’d say hello if we passed each other in the hallway, but we didn’t hang. She was never invited to the parties I went to. She wasn’t in our social circle. With a gut churning feeling of dismay, I realize she ate lunch by herself an awful lot.

“It’s okay,” she says immediately, and I’m embarrassed she was actually reading my mind. “I wasn’t the most socially outgoing person back then, and I know it’s wholly ironic that I own a cupcake shop after losing all that weight, but still…it’s good to see you again.”

My cheeks turn red. “You’re kinder than I probably deserve.”

Missy gives an impatient wave of her hand at me, then points back at the case. “So go on, pick one. It’s on the house.”

And with a grateful smile that there is at least one person in this town who isn’t displeased to see me, I choose a chocolate cupcake with white icing. I latch on to that cupcake and the kindness that Missy’s showing me. It’s the first really nice thing that’s happened to me in a few days, and I might be glorifying her and the cupcake just a little. I eat my treat right there as Missy fills me in on everything she’s been doing the last fourteen years, which includes a bad marriage that led to a hardcore devotion to healthy eating and exercise.

And some things are coming back to me. “Didn’t you go to school up north?”

She nods. “Yup. And let me just say, winter in the north sucks. But I met my husband there, and despite the fact he’s an asshole, he did give me two great kids.”

My smile is big and genuine with interest. I’ve always wanted kids, but maybe that’s not in the cards for me. “What are their names?”

“Layna is seven and feisty as the day is long,” Missy says with a proud expression on her face. “And Thomas is five, and he’s sweet and loving. A total mama’s boy.”

“They sound wonderful.” A twinge in my chest tells me that my prospects for having kids must not be very good since I can’t even get love right.

“So are you staying at Goodnight House?” Missy asks with mischief brewing in her eyes. “And if so, I’ll be nosy and ask, how awkward is it?”

“Pretty awkward,” I admit, but don’t elaborate. I’m not surprised by the question. This is a small town, and it would be widely known that Coop was living in my house before I came back. Our history is well known too. “But I think we’ll be just fine if we stay away from each other.”

“Your house is certainly big enough,” she quips, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Speaking of which, with Coop at Goodnight House, at least I wouldn’t run into him if I drop by his family home to say hello to his dad. I’ll try to do that this weekend.”

Missy’s eyes go round and then soften. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” I ask, but based on the empathy in her voice, dread fills me.

“His father died a few years ago,” she says quietly. “The middle school caught fire and he was there with his ground crew mowing. He went in to help get the kids out and saved several before he died. Big news around here.”

And yet it didn’t reach all the way out to LA, I think bitterly.

Grandmother didn’t let me know, and I didn’t have one single friend I’d left behind that I kept in touch with. I think it was easy to cut Newberry out of my life because my grandmother gave me no incentive to keep it. I know at this moment, given the treatment by the folks at the Pit Stop and the fact I didn’t know Coop’s dad died, I should be feeling like a stranger in a foreign town. Oddly, though, I actually feel just plain old homesick and I have no idea why.