Famous in a Small Town

My heart hammered inside my chest, but it was easily ignored. I settled on a chair and took deep, even breaths. The only sounds were the bugs going hard at it and a breeze blowing through the pines. Everything was peaceful. Everything was still.

I took a sip of wine and waited for the panic to pass. And it would. Eventually. While I would never be a hiking, rafting, rock-climbing type, I could experience more of the goodness Wildwood had to offer right here. I didn’t have to hide behind a locked door all of my life.

When my hands wouldn’t stop shaking, I set the glass of wine aside and put the mace in my lap. Distracting myself might be a smart idea.

Since the rock star had moved in next door, I’d avoided watching music videos or reading celebrity gossip. It seemed wrong somehow. And the man in those videos seemed a separate entity from the Garrett I knew. He was performing, playing it up for the camera, being the showman. Much as he’d explained to me soon after we met. It wasn’t really him.

Those weren’t the only ways in which he seemed different in those videos. There were fewer lines on his face. No trace of heartbreak or world-weariness. None of the sorrow in his eyes. He didn’t seem distant, subdued, or just plain older in the way he did now.

In the way that I knew him.

At any rate, curiosity was a terrible thing and in the absence of my neighbor, I went looking for him online. And holy shit, was he present. There were shots of him getting out of his black Range Rover with Gene in tow outside a sprawling white mansion in the hills. Sunglasses and a ball cap hid most of his face. An article speculated on what his return to L.A. might mean. Were The Dead Heart getting back together?

This was followed by shots of him and Smith chatting on a balcony. Must have been taken with a long-range lens. The conversation didn’t seem to be a happy one, given their body language. No wonder he wanted to get away from the city. Living your life under a microscope like this would suck. Too many people paying me attention after my mini makeover had pissed me off. This, however, was on a whole other level.

The next photos were taken at night as he walked into a bar. Garrett was wearing a black leather jacket and had his face partly turned away from the camera. He was holding hands with a lithe, glamorous blonde in a sleek designer dress. They looked good together. Real good. Like they belonged.

Garrett and I were just friends, so I should be happy that he was out and enjoying himself instead of hiding away at home, obsessing about his dead wife and dwelling on the past. I would be happy for him. Any moment now. Because he’d been through so much and he deserved good things.

None of this, however, explained why I wanted to cry.

It started bright and early. As soon as I opened the general store doors, in fact. The walkers stormed in wearing their usual array of tight-fitting workout gear. How you could appear put together while sweating was a mystery to me. With my hair in a ponytail and basic makeup accompanied by a whole lot of concealer, I still looked like I hadn’t gotten any sleep. Because sometimes life sucks.

“Ladies,” I said, taking shelter behind the counter. “How can I help you this morning?”

The lead walker brandished her cell at me with that photo on the screen. “I can’t believe he would do this to you.”

“After you going out of your way to make him feel welcome here,” said the second.

“Well, all of us did, really,” added the third. “I made him my pie.”

I kept my mouth shut.

“You two looked so close at Margarita Night,” said the first.

The second nodded. “We were sensing distinct romantic possibilities.”

“And now here we are,” lamented the third. “Talk about disappointed.”

“He told us at the bar that he wants to make a life away from all of that nonsense,” said the first.

The second shrugged. “There’s not that many single people in town.”

“And you’re definitely one of the better choices,” stated the third. “He’s going to regret this. You won’t see me baking for that man again.”

“This is quite kind of you all,” I said, bemused. “Along with being low-level embarrassing. But Garrett and I are not and have never been together, and he doesn’t owe me anything. Really.”

One by one, they all gave me a knowing sad smile. Then off they went to march their usual circuit around town.

Huh. Guess there wasn’t anyone who hadn’t been disappointed in love a time or two. Not that I was in love with him, because that would be stupid. I had barely begun to acknowledge that I might even have any deeper feelings for him. Hands down, the heart was the most foolish organ in the human body.