Undertow by K.R. Conway (1st book in trilogy)

Chapter 2

One long, LONG rambling history of the area later, I managed to excuse myself from our white-haired botanist. He was a very polite, slightly elderly man who loved to talk, possibly more than work, given the size of his waist. I made a mental note to avoid him, simply because I was not the most chatty of individuals.

That, and my brain had melted after the first ten minutes of his non-stop chatter. 

I walked hurriedly past my new digs, glancing up at its glorious and imposing side. Believing that this mini mansion was mine was still unfathomable. Mae and I had great hopes for this place as a Bed and Breakfast sometime soon if the business loan came through. It better come through, because I sure didn’t want to go back to Kansas and our crappy apartment.

I took a sharp right at the white washed fence that designated our property, and trotted past the creamy Victorian next door. Still no signs of anyone inside - I began to think it might be a summer place.  I glanced around at the other stately homes. Some were Inns, some were shops, and some were private homes like mine.

I quickly crossed the road and soon approached The Milk Way, which was definitely a relic of the 1950s.  With its sagging roof and chipped paint, I was surprised it had yet to make the town’s list of unstable buildings. As I walked up to the screen door the smell of vanilla and raspberries hit me in a wave and I dragged in a deep breath of deliciousness. Perhaps MJ wasn’t lying about being an ice cream deity.

I pulled on the white washed screen door, but it didn’t budge. I stepped back slightly and glanced around the large front window for a sign.

The Milk Way

 Open 7 days

11am to 9pm

I looked right and, sure enough, a beautiful black Jeep was sitting in the far lot.  It looked perfect and I abandoned the storefront, heading to the parking lot.

As I passed the side of the building, I got another blast of sugar-laced air and looked over my shoulder. Standing in the side doorway with a towel in his hands and a stained apron hanging from his neck, was an athletic boy about my age and a half-foot taller than me. He was tan with a wild mop of sun-streaked brown hair that peeked out the sides of a ratty baseball cap and tumbled into his beautiful, gray eyes.

He looked insanely familiar as he smiled and stepped through the door, “You must be Eila.”

I smiled and nodded. “MJ right? Aren’t you here kinda early?  I mean, who eats ice cream at 9am?”

“Oh. Well, my family owns this place and we make ice cream every morning. Remember: Ice Cream God,” he proclaimed as he shut the door and locked it. He slipped out of his apron and hung it on the doorknob. “So, my Jeep, eh?  Come on, I’ll show you.”

As I watched him walk across the lot, I couldn’t shake the familiarity of his face. It was driving me crazy and I finally caved to my compulsive need to know where I had seen him before. “I give up,” I said, drawing a deep breath, “How do I know you?”

He stopped and looked at me, “You don’t. I am damn sure I’d remember your freckled face.”

I blushed, but persisted, “No seriously, you look so familiar.”

A smile curved upward on his face, “Oh yeah . . . I do look like someone. Someone famous. Everyone tells me all the time,” he said, reaching up to pull off his cap. He shook his hair and it fell haphazardly, framing his face.  The transformation was instant and I was shocked.

“WOW! You look exactly like what’s-his-name. From that movie, you know? A KNIGHTS TALE!” I said, triumphant.

“Yeah, I know. I could have been a body-double for Ledger. Don’t you think?” he asked, striking a hero’s pose. I wrinkled my nose slightly, not quite agreeing.