“I can't fucking believe it. My brother's having palpitations and you're here making out?”
My eyes widened as I straightened from the wall. Surprise quickly replaced my mortification at someone finding me making out in the open air.
“You're a doctor?”
He looked at me and just nodded once before turning back to the woman. “Where's he, Sarah?”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Asking that question was the wrong move for me. The woman turned swiftly to me, her eyes narrowing while her mauve lips pursed in annoyance. She folded her arms.
“Maybe you would like to mop his spilt drink off the floor?” She asked with an arch of her perfectly shaped eyebrow and then turned to the doctor. “Who the fuck is she?”
He leveled me with a dark stare and then back at the woman. His gaze was fleeting and dismissive. Almost like he hadn't been desperate to get into my pants just a few moments ago.
“Your brother, Sarah,” he said, glaring at the woman. “Where is he?”
The bitchy lady was seething and was about to say something else, but Armand dragged her off and through the door.
I slowly realized that I'd not known the man's occupation, only his first name, and I was ready to have sex with him on the terrace of the building with hundreds of people just on the other side of that wall. My face flushed with renewed shame. This was the kind of recklessness not even Maia would try. I'd been so lost in the lust that I was ready to fuck a stranger, and then to make matters worse – it had ended in embarrassment.
Who the hell were the two? And who was the brother?
I was glad I hadn't gone through with the sex. My mortification would probably have been greater than it was now if that woman had interrupted us in the middle of the act.
Thank the stars the man was leaving town tonight. Thank God I'd never have to set my eyes on him again.
CHAPTER 3
- ELLA -
As my car passed the weathered sign which readWelcome to Coldport! Home of the Silver Sardine! I gripped the steering wheel and stepped on the accelerator as hard as possible. I focused on the road ahead and only on that to avoid the panic climbing up my throat. It was a technique that an old friend of mine, now a therapist to some of the major celebrities in New York, had taught me.
When you feel like you're panicking or that a wave of anxiety is washing over you, just concentrate on something right in front of you and breathe slowly and thoroughly, he used to say. A chair, a cup of coffee, a spot on the wall, a portion of land. It will pull you right back into reality, tether your feet firmly on the ground and lower your stress levels.
Was it working right now? Of course not. But I still navigated the tiny road, driving wildly around and pretending nothing was wrong.
Coldport was a small town where nothing ever happened. It was crammed and fishy. Quite literally. The whole town smelled like fish because of the old sardine factory, which was still in use and gave the town its oily and shady smell.
Growing up, we were all taught the mighty and glorious history of the city. Which consisted of canning sardines. So, I had never been very thrilled about the place, even as a child. Dreaming of bigger and better places where I could put my fashion expectations into practice, Coldport had always seemed a bit of a dead-end to me. A fish head of sorts.
And yet, here I was driving straight back into it. I'd joked about coming here, even threatened myself with it sometimes. But I'd always known that only something truly huge would bring me back.
I'd never expected it to be my father's call. And I knew he wouldn't have sent me that text if something serious hadn't happened.
As my car rolled onto the wet streets of my old hometown, I recognized so many places I had frequented as a child. My school, of course. Elementary, middle school, and high school all in one, as it usually happens in these small towns. It was called Sardine High, a name that brought a smile to everyone's lips in New York whenever I talked about my education in Coldport.
There was the old Dairy Queen, where I worked most summers, selling ice cream cones. The library on the corner used to lend me books when I couldn't afford to buy them straight away. A stream of warm memories hit as I remembered how I browsed endlessly through their archive of Vogue magazines, staring wide-eyed at the incredible dresses worn by celebrities.
I swore then that, some day, I would make it on the red carpet of The Met Gala or even at the New York Fashion Week. I saw myself in Paris, rubbing shoulders with the designers of Chanel and Dior. And now... here I was, driving back to Coldport.
As I tried to keep my anxiety under control, I focused on the outline of the grand, old sardine factory looming in the distance that overlooked the small town of Coldport from the hill. I could still see it in the dusk. I could sense its massive body guarding the town like a soldier made of red, vintage bricks. If not for the lingering stench of sardines, the old factory would have made a beautiful building in a gorgeous location.
I turned the wheel a few more times and found myself in front of my father's house. It was exactly as I remembered it, only more minor. And yet, more menacing. Or, perhaps, it was just my imagination. Knowing I was at risk of moving back in there made my throat constrict, and my heart beat insanely fast.
Finally, I convinced myself to get out of the car exactly one minute later and knocked on the front door. The paint was slowly chipping away and revealing old coats that had been lying underneath for who knows how many forgotten years. While I wondered why dad had not repainted, the neighbor's door suddenly opened.
"Ella, honey, what kept you so long?" Mrs. Garner called out to me and waved me over. I'd spent almost as much time at the Garners as I spent at home. They were quite the eccentric old couple, but I loved them.