Page 25 of A Hard Habit to Break

“Did you just go there? That ruining us was my fault?” Behind the wheel, he shifted the truck’s gears into reverse. She jolted at the fast roll downhill.

Noah turned to look at her, his features a twisted sculpture of yearning and pain. “Tell the truth, shame the devil.”

Somehow in his twisted hot-guy brain, she was the evil one? This conversation was the reason she didn’t do Noah and this town. Why did he have a need to drag her down a lane of memories best left undisturbed? Whatever they had didn’t last. It certainly couldn’t scale the wall separating them now. She knew a version of the man who sat beside her. And warning bells reminded her that, behind his gentle touches and whispered words of help, he’d hurt her.

Rachel lifted her chin, determined to stick to her blueprint. “You tell the devil, since I know for a fact, he’s a personal friend of yours, I will smack him in the mouth. As for the version of us back then, we were two kids who fooled around before they understood the rules of the game.”

“Say what you will. But those two kids meant every word of what they promised to one another. Those two kids dreamed offighting fires and building houses. And they did. Look at you, a successful architect who’s traveled around the world.”

Only to end up back here. The one place she couldn’t fully tear down because of him. Among the rubble, there were pieces of them she’d squirreled away in her heart. And now he was pulling fragments out of storage, demanding she find a place to display them. She thought of the ring he’d promised, to make her his wife. “We did some, not all of it,” she muttered.

“Six,” he breathed, the sound rough and weighty.

“I’m only here for two weeks, Noah.”

“So it does not matter.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “Is that it?”

“Exactly. I’ll be gone, and tonight will have changed nothing.”

“This is Service, Rachel. Expect the unexpected.”

Rachel’s heart kicked into high gear at the possibility of having some version of Noah in her life. But was it dread or anticipation? The truck picked up speed as they rounded the mountain under a purple and navy sky. “Speak for yourself. My life’s just fine.”

Right?Life had led them on separate journeys, which he reminded her of in front of Bethany, Benji, and a band of billy goats. It didn’t make sense to replay a game where the winner and loser had moved on.

Noah gestured to her hand. “Brace your wrist. Crossing Cattail Creek can get bumpy.”

She did as instructed, but she was more concerned with the bumps and bruises to her heart if she spent more time with Noah Calvary.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE TOWN HALL’Sancient air-conditioning unit wheezed overhead like an asthmatic dragon, doing little to combat the wall of body heat generated by what had to be half of Service County packed into the meeting room. Noah tugged at his collar, the starched material suddenly as constricting as a firefighter’s turnout gear in August. He’d chosen his best navy suit for his official swearing in, the one that made his shoulders look like they belonged on a superhero action figure. The projection screen hung overhead, displaying his name in giant letters.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Pete’s voice boomed through the microphone, “I present to you the chairman of Service’s Redevelopment Committee, our very own Noah Calvary.”

The applause hit in waves. From the right side of the room came a thunderous round of approval. His mama, Leah, beamed bright enough to replace the struggling fluorescentlights, his brothers Eli and Tobias whooped like they were at a rodeo, and the firefighters stood at attention with Easter Sunday grins. Captain Novak gave a measured nod that whispered,Don’t screw this up, son.

From the left side, scattered clapping and murmurs rippled through the crowd like reluctant raindrops before a storm.

And there, third row, center aisle, sat Rachel, looking like she’d stepped out of one of those architecture magazines that cost more than his weekly grocery haul. Her copper hair loose, falling in soft waves around a face that looked more beautiful than the day before. Their eyes locked for a millisecond before Noah flashed his trademark Calvary grin, the one that had graced Service High’s yearbook three years running under “Most Likely to Make Your Mama Blush.” Benji, phone in hand, perched at Rachel’s left.

“Thank you, Mayor Pete,” Noah said, adjusting the microphone, which squealed in protest. “It’s an honor to be entrusted with Service’s future. As many of you know, I’ve poured my heart into this town. I love it almost as much as my mama’s buttermilk biscuits.” Just as he planned, he got a few chuckles. “I’m committed to making sure our redevelopment reflects the true spirit of Service.”

Nailed it, he thought, straightening his tie.

“Help yourself to the sugar cookies set up in the back, courtesy of the Judelson family restaurant,” Pete said, clapping Noah on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Before you exit the building, congratulate our new chairman, who’ll work hard on your behalf to implement my plan.”

Noah anticipated a stampede for the cookies and then the door. Instead, all eyes targeted him. Hands shot up faster than flames in a grease fire.

“Chairman Noah, I have a question.” Mrs. Rosa Mae Perkins, his ninth-grade history teacher, who’d caught him puttinga frog in Valerie Isaac’s desk before school, stood up. Her silver hair was styled in the same helmet-like formation it had been in sixteen years ago. “What assurances can you provide to our citizens that you aren’t in cahoots with the mayor to sell off our waterfront properties? And to that end, what provisions are being made for a historical society in your plan? Our artifacts are currently stored in Jeremiah’s garage next to his taxidermy experiments.”

Noah blinked.Cahoots? Historical society?No color-coded tab labeled “waterfront property” or “historical society” filled his grant binder.

“Well, ma’am, I appreciate your concern for Service’s rich history and beautiful views,” he stalled, searching for words to gloss the oversight. “We’re definitely going to protect our properties and make room for our…uh… past. Right alongside our future.”

From the front row, Eli gave a slow eyebrow lift that screamed,Way to go, stupid.

“But what, specifically,” Mrs. Perkins pressed, sharpening her tone to one of teacher and student, “will your committee do when the Whynot developers come knocking? And where will the historical society be housed? We don’t intend to sit back while our town gets swallowed by big business… that includes properties along the water like the old mill. The grant specifies cultural preservation allocations.”