Gloria, page 4
It was something she noticed from the beginning. Hamlet was such a small town, but it was an incredibly tight-knit community. A lot of the villagers were related in some way, all stemming from the few founding families who settled between the mountains and the gulley following the end of World War II. There was a total “us” vs. “them” mentality that wasn’t harmful—but it was noticeable. Or, rather, it was an “us” vs. “outsiders” situation.
Turned out, thanks to Great Aunt Patti vouching for her and giving her the cabin, Gloria was accepted as an “us”. She was grateful for it, too, because, without the help of the locals, she probably wouldn’t have made it through November.
Hamlet wasn’t just small. It was its own little world.
One of the first things she discovered? No cell service. The weird location made it difficult for cell towers to reach this far into Hamlet, and the villagers long ago refused to put any towers of their own up. No landlines, either. And, to Gloria’s horror, there was no internet or cable television.
Thank goodness she came prepared with her flat screen, a blu-ray player, and her collection of movies or she would’ve waved goodbye and hightailed it out of there already. She could live without the phone—she never really liked talking on one anyway—but nothing to watch when she was unwinding at night?
Yeah. That wasn’t going to work.
Her ice cream creations took a bit of a hit there, too. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but it was another shock to her senses that Hamlet didn’t have its own massive grocery store. No chain locations in the small town. No Whole Foods. No Trader Joe’s. Not even a 7/11.
They had Jefferson’s. That was it.
She liked Jefferson’s. It was a cute store and it had a lot that she needed for her recipes: sugar, eggs, heavy cream, and milk. If Gloria was running low on an essential, she could find it in the crowded aisles of the general store.
When it came to some of her more adventurous flavors? Normally, Gloria would place an order online. She was absolutely floored to discover that that wasn’t an option in Hamlet. Mail service didn’t exist, not really. A middle-aged man named Phil Granger spent a few afternoons a week driving a repurposed golf cart around, picking up mail from the next town over and delivering it himself. Gloria was surprised, then impressed at his civic duty. But just because she could expect her bills to find her sooner or later, the Hamlet townsfolk drew the line at UPS trucks rattling around their empty streets.
Talk about a culture shock. Gloria went from living on her computer and one-clicking whatever struck her fancy to no television, no cell, and no instant gratification.
She kind of, sort of loved it, though. Once she got over the shock, that was.
The quiet, the solitude, the trees that bordered her rustic cabin, and the home-y, everybody is your neighbor vibe that she got from the villagers. Her Great Aunt Patti was well-loved in Hamlet and, as her next of kin, the locals treated her like the prodigal great-niece who had finally returned home to roost.
Which was why, that late November afternoon, she was so surprised when, a few minutes after she turned onto the main road, a police cruiser appeared behind her. As soon as she could see it in her rearview mirror, the sirens turned on.
There were no street signs in Hamlet. No speed limit signs, either. Though she couldn’t imagine what she had done wrong, she immediately coasted to the shoulder.
This was only the second time ever that she’d been pulled over, but Gloria watched a ton of crime shows. Before the cop had even gotten out of his car or walked over to her, she had her window rolled halfway down, her license and registration in her hand.
A pleasant voice drifted over to her on the chilly air. “Hi, there.”
The cop was cute. That was the perfect word for him. Cute.
He was a stocky white guy, broad in the shoulders, but extremely non-threatening. He filled out his brown uniform shirt nicely, a belt complete with a walkie talkie, a flashlight, and a small gun on his hip. Styled light brown hair, beaming chocolate-colored eyes, and a super friendly smile made her forget about the fact that he was armed.
He was younger than she was. Twenty? Maybe.
She smiled up at him.
“Hi.” The cop didn’t ask for it, but she held her cards out anyway. “My license.”
He took her license, giving it a cursory glance. “Gloria Watson.” He slipped it back through the gap in her window. “I thought it was you.”
She must have made a face or something because the deputy laughed. It was a throaty laugh, deep and real, his dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth as he smiled down at her.
“We don’t get too many new faces around here. New cars, either. When I didn’t recognize the vehicle, I was wondering if I’d finally get my turn to meet Ms. Patti’s great-niece.”
Dropping her cards into her purse again, she slipped her hand back out through the window. “That’s me. I’m Gloria.”
He took her hand, giving it a firm shake before letting go and tapping his nameplate. “Mason Walsh. I’m one of the deputies for the HSD. Hamlet Sheriff Department,” he explained. “I guess you could say it’s my job to look after anyone new to town.”
Gloria guessed that that made sense. Hamlet was super tiny barely two hundred people calling it home. She couldn’t imagine that the self-proclaimed village had much crime—if any at all. The baby-faced deputy acting like a welcome wagon didn’t surprise her after these last few weeks.
She had met Sheriff De Angelis—the head honcho of the local law enforcement squad—during one of her first trips back into Hamlet. Someone had reported Gloria’s car putt-putting its way in and out of town as she moved in. Renting a U-Haul to bring everything she wanted to have on hand for the next year had seemed like a good idea until she remembered the narrow mountain path and resigned herself to taking as many trips as she needed to.
Of course, when her repeated trips over a couple of days caught the locals’ attention, the sheriff flagged her down for a chat. A slender, vivacious redhead who looked like she’d been born to wear her sheriff’s hat, Sheriff De Angelis treated her like an unwanted outsider until Gloria mentioned that she was moving into her Great Aunt Patti’s mountain cabin. Suddenly, the sheriff couldn’t be more helpful.
Sadie was right about her family being respected in town. It didn’t matter to the townsfolk that Gloria was born and raised in a city about an hour away from Hamlet. Her family had its roots here and, because of that, she belonged.
Ever since then, no matter who she met while she was learning the ins-and-outs of her new home, for the most part they acted like she was a long lost friend once they talked to her for a few minutes.
Deputy Walsh was no different.
“It was so great to finally meet you. Put a face to the name and all that. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Of course he had. “Good things, I hope.”
“The best,” agreed the deputy.—“You know, since you seem to be a regular there already from what I’ve heard… if you want, I could always meet you at the coffeehouse sometime, maybe get a cup with you when I’m off duty.”
Her smile didn’t waver, even if she all she wanted to do was sigh.
This wasn’t the first time one of the locals she met invited her to sit down with them, have a cup of coffee or a muffin, and tell them all about her. And, from the eager look on Deputy Walsh’s face, something told her it wouldn’t be the last.
“That’s so sweet of you to offer.” At least, she hoped he was just trying to be sweet. ‘Yeah. Sure. Why not?”
“What’s your line?”
“You mean my number?” asked Gloria. “I thought there weren’t any phones here.”
The deputy laughed. “Oh, there’s not. If you want to make a call, you’ve gotta head all the way out past the gulley. No. I meant your channel for your radio.” When Gloria just stared blankly back at him, he took his police communicator off of his belt. “Like this.”
Why would she have one of those? “Sorry. No. I don’t work for the police.”
“Wow, you really are new in town, aren’t you?” He showed her the radio again. “This is how we all communicate in Hamlet. You buzz people on your radio instead of calling them on the phone.” He twiddled with one of the knobs on the side. A loud chiming sound rang out. “See? Buzz.”
Suddenly, the way everyone in town referred to talking to everyone else as buzzing finally made sense to Gloria.
“Oh. Wow. I didn’t know. I guess I am still kinda new.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon. Then we’ll make that coffee date.”
Gloria felt her smile freeze on her face—and it wasn’t because her car window was still rolled down. Date? Oof. That wasn’t at all what she meant when she said she’d have a cup of coffee with him.
Before she could say anything, though, the deputy was waving goodbye, already heading back to his cruiser.
He’d only gone a couple of steps before he stopped. His brow furrowed, then he jogged back toward her side of the car, handcuffs clanking against his belt as he moved.
She was just thinking about how she could get out of any future dates with the young deputy when he said something that totally caught her attention.
“Real quick. Did you know that your back tire is wobbling a bit? I’m sure it’s nothing, but I thought I’d mention it before I go.”
Gloria’s stomach sank. Car trouble. She knew it.
“Ugh,” she said, letting out a groan. “I thought that was just me. Something seemed a little shaky. I was hoping it was all in my imagination.”
“Nope.” The deputy wrinkled his nose, an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. It’s actually another one of the reasons why I stopped you. If you were who I thought you were, I know you’re up in the mountains. It’s rocky up there. You need your tires in good shape to take on that road.”
Know what? He was absolutely right.
Maybe it was because of the mountain path, or all of the driving she did over the last month while she was moving back and forth between her apartment and her cabin, but Gloria had to admit her car had been acting a little wonky for a while now. At least since Halloween, when she jerked her steering wheel to avoid plowing into Ethan and her engine made that horrible grinding noise.
Deep down, she knew that she must have done something to her car back then. She let out a huff, her breath causing her blonde bangs to flutter.
Stupid October.
“If you want someone to take a peek at it,” offered Deputy Walsh, “we have a great mechanic in town. Franklin. He owns a garage not too far from here. If you want, I’ll take the lead and show you how to get there. It’s mountainside, so it’s not far.”
“No phones, no Walmart, but there’s a garage here?” she marveled.
Deputy Walsh shrugged. “Welcome to Hamlet.”
5
Gloria thought that, after staying in town for close to a month now, she’d have grown used to how different things were here.
Take Jefferson’s, for example.
The nice couple who owned the place considered it one part grocery store and one part convenience store; basically, if you couldn’t find what you wanted at Jefferson’s, odds were you’d have to leave Hamlet to get it. But it didn’t exactly look like a mega-mart or anything like that.
It was a big building, wide and squat, standing alone on an empty patch of gravel. Its entrance was a narrow door—painted red—that was sandwiched between two massive glass windows advertising some of the wares inside. A faded red plastic sign rose above its sloped roof, announcing to all of Hamlet that this was Jefferson’s. There wasn’t any room for parking up front, and a small lot tucked in back as if they weren’t actually expecting customers.
Franklin’s Garage took a page out of Jefferson’s book. If it wasn’t for the dinged up, faded tin sign attached to the bottom half of a white screen door announcing that the dwelling was Franklin’s Garage, she wasn’t sure she’d ever have guessed that. It was a house. Sure, it had an attached garage, but that wasn’t what she’d been expecting when she followed the deputy there.
It was, um, an interesting choice for a car repair shop. Then again, maybe this Franklin worked out of his home. She did. Until she could get the finances together to start her ice cream parlor, all of her creating took place in her kitchen. Who said Hamlet’s mechanic couldn’t fix cars in his own garage?
Just like at Jefferson’s, there wasn’t anywhere for her to park except for the driveway. She wasn’t so sure if she was allowed to take that spot and settled on pulling up to the curb. Deputy Walsh waited until she’d turned off her car to honk his horn, then wave out of his window before continuing on his way.
The garage door was closed, but the front door wasn’t. A “come in, we’re open” sign hung crookedly on the top half of the screen door.
With a shrug, Gloria walked inside.
Her first impression was that the inside of the building was a lot bigger than it looked like on the outside. Probably because the wall that would have separated the garage part from the rest of the shop was missing; the whole floor was wide open, with a compact corner office near the front door serving as the business part.
On the garage side, Gloria could see the inside of the door that would open to the empty drive, plus all of the tools she expected to find in any mechanic’s workspace in the city. A lift, a jack, stacks of tires, an air pressure gauge… all that and more. She was sure there was a whole other station on the far side, too, except the spot for a vehicle was taken up by a massive blue truck.
Hmm...
That truck looked exactly like the big, blue pick-up truck that usually sat outside of her neighbor’s cabin at night.
Interesting.
In front of her, there stood a battered, wooden desk, with a high, wide counter behind it; a pointy cactus perched on one end, a mini pumpkin on the other. A computer that seemed like it belonged firmly in the 1990s took up half of the desk. A stack of textbooks was tossed haphazardly next to the keyboard, with a radio that looked exactly like the deputy’s perched upright in the far corner.
The “phone”, mused Gloria.
A girl sat behind the desk, her black boots propped on the desktop, a notebook against her knees as she scribbled away. Her head was bowed, a long sheet of pin-straight, jet black hair falling in front of her face. She shoved it back when she heard the front door open, revealing a tanned face with big, dark brown eyes. They widened when she saw Gloria hovering in the doorway.
After tossing her notebook and pen onto the desk in front of her, she shoved her seat back, letting the soles of her boots fall to the linoleum floor with a slap.
She stood up. The girl was maybe all of seventeen years old but, as soon as she was on her feet, Gloria saw that the teen was a couple of inches taller than she was.
She smiled. “Hi. I’m Bailey. Can I help you with something?”
“Actually, yeah. My car’s been acting up. I was wondering if there was someone here who could help me.”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Just gimme a second, alright?”
When Gloria nodded, Bailey cupped her mouth with her hands before calling out, “Hey, Frank. We got a customer.”
As if he’d been waiting for her to yell for him, the door in the back of the garage swung open and a man stepped out.
“Oh my,” Gloria muttered under her breath. She couldn’t help it, either. It just slipped out.
It might be freezing cold in Hamlet, but this guy was hot.
He had to be at least six feet tall, if not taller. His height was the first thing she noticed. Barely hitting five-five herself, she always had a thing for a guy who was that much bigger than she was. He wore his brown hair short. That, coupled with the sharp angles of his tanned face and eyes so dark they were nearly black, made him appear focused and super intense.
His body was poured into a pair of grey coveralls that made it impossible to see more than the sculpted lean muscles on his strong-looking forearms. He was holding onto a rag in one hand, the other reaching up to scratch at his thick neck as he effortlessly navigated his side of the garage.
He paused halfway through his journey, stopping dead in his tracks when his gaze went from Bailey to Gloria. He blinked a couple of times, frowned, then marched forward.
Gloria realized that she was staring at him with her mouth hanging slightly open. She closed it, her teeth coming together with a small click.
Whoa.
The mechanic didn’t seem to notice her reaction. Once he’d crossed the garage and was standing near the desk, he nodded over at Gloria. “Hey.”
“This is the customer,” Bailey told him. “She needs your help.”
“Okay.”
She tried desperately to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “Um, I guess I was looking for Franklin...”
“You found him.” He wiped his hands on the rag he was holding. “I’m Franklin Carter.”
She figured. He came when the teen called him, plus the coveralls and the grease-stained rag were kind of a big giveaway.
But that wasn’t why she was suddenly stumbling over her words. Gloria was still a little gobsmacked at the jolt of sudden attraction she experienced when she first saw him coming out of the back. She’d only ever felt that once before in her life, when she was fifteen and Xavier Mandalay sat next to her at lunch. They dated for close to four years after that, until they both drifted apart. Long distance could kill any relationship.
Compared to how she felt when she first met Xavier, though, that was a buzz from an electric shock. Her first glimpse of Franklin? Boom. Like a lightning bolt.
It only got worse when he spoke to her in that rough, raspy voice of his.
God, she was a sucker for a tall, dark, handsome man with a voice that sounded like he gargled with gravel.
Shake it off, Gloria. You want to have him fix your car, not try to take him home with you.
“Hi. Okay. So, my name is Gloria Watson. I just moved into town and my car… it’s been acting a little off for a while now. One of the deputies told me that you’d be able to help me.”
