Broken Hero

I snort. “Don’t hold your breath.”

I’m in the bakery the next day too, alone again, as my aunt and uncle take the chance to run some errands. It suits me perfectly-I can turn on the radio and re-introduce myself to Claremont again. Quite a lot of people pass through By the Rhode every day, and surprisingly enough, some of them come by just to say hi. Mrs. Masters stops by, buying banana bread and reminding me again about church on Sunday. I meet a Gavin Whittaker, who I remember from my past summers in Claremont. He seems as insufferable now as he did then.

Oliver doesn’t swing by for his order-Phil had taken them out on his usual delivery round. I couldn’t deny that I was a bit disappointed by that. The famed Mr. Morris was some serious eye-candy.

The lunch rush is as hectic as it gets in Claremont. Phil’s ready-made sandwiches and Claire’s quiches sell like hot cakes. I’m heating one up as I’m taking the order for the next, and every time, I say more or less the same thing. Yes, I’m Lucy. Right, I do remember you, how nice to see you again!

My phone lit up that morning with yet another text from Kyle. I ignored it like I had his many others. They all said the same thing, to be fair. Come back. Let’s try again. Forgive me.

Not going to happen. I walked in on him and one of my best friends, and that was it. Boyfriend and best friend gone in an instant. It didn’t help that I’d lost my job not soon afterwards.

No one has texted me about a massage yet. I put up flyers all over town yesterday, so at least I got the word out there. Day three of the new me is going fantastic.This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

The bakery turns quiet and calm again after lunchtime, the only sound coming from my trusty little radio. I’m packing muffins into little cellophane bags when the bell above the door rings again.

Big boots, strong legs. A striped button-down and a faint scowling expression. Thick, blond hair that falls down his forehead.

“Hello.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “Hi.”

I make a show of holding the counter hatch shut. “Are you here to argue some more? I’m going to put up a fight this time.”

Almost despite himself, his lip curls. “No, I’m not here for that. Not that you’d win if I was, though.”

“You underestimate me. It might be the last thing you do, you know.”

“I’m shaking.”

“You should be.” I bite my lip as we stare at one another. He is the most ruggedly handsome man I’ve ever seen. The rough tan, the thick hair, the tall frame. He’s a man who’s seen the world and knows his place in it.

“I heard you work as a massage therapist.”

It’s the last thing I expect him to say.

“I do, yes. Trained and licensed.”

He rubs his neck. “Have you ever been up to the Morris Ranch?”

“No.”

“I’m looking to convert a section of the retreat into a combined gym and spa area. We have a lot of guests coming in from out of state, many looking to go horseback riding and relax. Sometimes we have bachelorette parties or wedding receptions as well. I’d like to hire you to offer massages to our guests.”

It’s so unexpected that for a few moments all I do is blink at him. Oliver takes a step forward, hands shoved into his pockets. “I heard that you’re looking for clients?”

“Yes, yes, I’m interested. Absolutely. Very interested.”

“Despite my abominable behavior yesterday?” His mouth twists into a teasing smile, and it changes his face entirely, just like it did the first time I saw him smile. From chiseled and ‘fuck-off and leave me alone,’ he becomes handsome and alive.

“Despite that. As long as you promise not to barge into my treatment room.”

“I won’t.”

“I’d want to combine my work with shifts here at the bakery.”

“Of course. I would like your input in setting up the space, and then you would come out to the ranch to do the individual treatments, depending on when you have time and when the guests make a booking. I can’t promise a steady income.” He rubs his neck again. “It will depend on the season, and how many guests are interested.”

He’s right. It might come to nothing. But it’s a chance to do what I love. It’s a chance to combine my work in the bakery with my profession. My mind whispers the third reason, almost inaudibly-it’s a chance to get to know Oliver.

My answer comes quickly. “I can show you my license as well as my diploma. I have experience across fields-I’ve worked both with spas focused on relaxation and those who focused on sports massages.” I take a breath, nerves dancing like butterflies in my stomach. “If you’d like references, I have-”

He holds up a hand. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

My exhale is one of pure relief. “Thank you.”

“We’d like your input in the creation of the spa as well. When does your shift end today?”

“At three.”

“Come to the Ranch afterwards. We’ll sign the paperwork and my sister will show you around.”

“Your sister?”

“She was here yesterday.” His eyes fill with exasperated fondness. “Sarah has a knack for decor. The two of you can decide what the space needs, and I’ll get started on the work tomorrow.”

“That sounds… amazing. I’ll be there around four, then.”

“Do you know where the Ranch is?”

“Yes.”Well, barely, but I’ll manage. The idea itself feels ludicrous-insane-that I’ll get to set up a spa here in Claremont? I’ll get to work with what I love again? If I win the lottery tomorrow, I’ll know for sure that I’m dreaming. But if I am, I hope no one wakes me up.

Oliver heads towards the door. I watch him, still in a daze. Only when he opens it do I find my voice. “I’m better at massaging than I am at baking. I promise.”

He shoots me that look over his shoulder, the challenging one, the one that made my throat dry yesterday. “I wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t.”

Then he’s gone, and my world has changed yet again.

Only this time, it’s for the better.

The spring warmth in Claremont has been pleasant. Just warm enough to wear a tank-top, but not yet boiling with heat. But when you’re biking along the side of a road, up a hill, under the baking afternoon sun? It’s scorching.

With sweat running down my back, I pass beneath a beautifully forged iron gate. A sign with the name Morris hangs above, encircled with wrought-iron leaves. Hard to miss, this place.

The Ranch itself comes into view. I’ve never been here, not even as a child during the summers spent in Claremont.

It’s beautiful. A tree-lined road leads up to a gravel courtyard in front of a huge white farmhouse. Large windows with blue shutters decorate the front. The courtyard is calm, the adjoining parking lot half-full. Pots of flowering hydrangeas flank the stairs up to a wide porch.

It’s idyllic.