Chapter 1
Small-Town Living
Jules
My eyes blurred as I scanned another spreadsheet. How much longer was I going to do this to myself? Don’t get me wrong, this office was light-years better than the one I’d been killing myself at in Chicago. And if my lifelong dream was to be an accountant, this would be a great job. However, that wasn’t the dream anymore. It was something I was good at and did enjoy, but the schedule wasn’t sustainable. Or it hadn’t been. As a result, for now I was going to kick ass as the best new accountant in Sue’s small firm here in Highland Falls and attempt to figure out my life.
“Jules, you doing okay?”
I turned to see Sue, my new boss. Sue was in her late sixties and a friend of my aunt Lou. I would have been concerned that she’d given me this job as a favor to Lou, but I knew my own worth and it was tax season. Sue needed help, though they were far more caught up here than I would have thought when she told me I’d be doing her a favor…
I rubbed my eyes and tried to look more alert than I was. “I’m good, thanks.”
She made a disapproving sound and pulled out a chair at my table. “Sweetheart, I don’t know how things ran at that place you were at up north, but I know your aunt shared the toll it took on your health. I’m not speaking bullshit when I tell you I want the people who work here to look after themselves. I know it’s tax season, but there is also a reason I brought you on staff—none of us are working ourselves to an early grave on my watch. If you aren’t doing well—mentallyandphysically—then you aren’t any good to me. No use martyring yourself on our behalf—the returns will get done and without you running yourself ragged, you hear me?” She looked at me over the top of her funky reading glasses. “This is important work, don’t get me wrong, but it is not more important than your life.” She stood up, pushing her chair in as she gave me another no-bullshit look. “Remember that.”
And with that mic drop, Sue trotted down the hall without a backward glance. She might be in her late sixties, but she didn’t look like it. Today her long gray hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she wore a yoga outfit that said she’d been to Nomad Yoga at some point this morning. The woman lived the message she spoke—work-life balance. Maybe I’d figure it out by her age? I could only hope.
I shook my head to re-center and sat up straight in my office chair, stretching my back from side to side and trying to work out a kink. Unsuccessful, I reached for my coffee cup and took a swig. Cold. When did that happen? I thought about heading to the staff room to get a warm-up, but Sue’s disapproving look appeared in my mind. Maybe it was time to get out of here for a bit.
With a glance at my watch, I did a double take. It was already just before three in the afternoon. I hadn’t had lunch—hell, I hadn’t moved from this desk since nine this morning. Nowonder the coffee was cold and my back was irritated. Welp, that settled that. Time to go.
Within a few minutes, I was packed up and out the door. If necessary, I’d get another hour in from home, which was another benefit to working for Sue, though I’d clocked enough hours last week that I knew I was good. Hell, Sue would probably be irritated if I put in more time, but I could make that call in a bit. I could swing by the Sanctuary Café and then head home. Some more coffee, something to eat, and a leisurely walk on this early-April day sounded like perfection.
Sue’s accounting firm was just off the square in downtown Highland Falls, my new community. Moving here from Chicago had been a shock to the system at first, but after almost two weeks, I was starting to adjust. I’d lived in a Chicago neighborhood called Lakeview since I graduated from college, and even though it was part of a huge city, there was still the feel of community. Everywhere you went, there were great walkable areas with shops and restaurants. I’d say it was like its own small town, but in such a different way. I’d loved it but was starting to appreciate living in a smaller town too. The pace seemed more relaxed, which was something my nervous system welcomed.
As I crossed one street and headed up Main, I marveled at the lack of traffic. Heck, my older-than-dirt car hadn’t left the driveway since I got here, which worked for me. I was babying that thing as long as I could because the idea of buying a new car seemed like a waste of money. Here I could get anywhere I needed within minutes by walking from my place, same as in Chicago, thus the reason I was still driving my car from high school.
Moving from one of the largest cities in America to one of roughly ten thousand people with two traffic lights was a bit of adjustment but one I’d needed, though I hadn’t seen that when the idea was first shoved upon me.
See, my mom had sounded the alarm a month ago when she visited me as she and Dad were passing through Illinois. According to her big sister Lou, she’d called in distress and stated that my eyes were “lifeless” and I seemed to be at the end of my rope. Now, Lou and I were both well aware that my mom was prone to dramatics. My dad knew it too. Mom’s motto was that everything was better with a touch of her flair, but she had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. I had been simply burned out and wasn’t taking care of myself.
Was it the huge accounting firm that I worked for that was sucking me dry? That was what Mom and Lou decided, and I guess it was partly true. Mostly true. Unlike Sue, the firm didn’t give the first shit about work-life balance, just that you got the work done even though everyone there was working so much overtime they were drowning. They cared so little that quitting was a matter of filling out a form online and packing up my stuff. Safe to say there were no heartfelt goodbyes or thanks for a job well done. I’d be replaced by another cog in their wheel and forgotten in a matter of days. Frankly, it said little about how I’d spent the past almost eight years. But they weren’t completely to blame for my current state of exhaustion. In reality, there was also the little, or maybe not so little, secret I’d been keeping for the past five years, and most people would never guess. Shy, introverted Jules Maxwell was also a steamy-romance author named Jules Jenkins.
You might ask why that was a secret, why I wouldn’t tell anyone that I wrote romance books? Well, at first it was because I thought it was just something for me. One day, after four years at my firm, I’d come home and thought I might scream if I looked at another spreadsheet. And as awesome as Lakeview was, I didn’t know very many people when I first got there and wasn’t close to a whole lot of them even when I left. That might have something to do with my introverted nature, but I digress.
I had been at home and mindlessly started to open another romance book on the app on my phone whenpoof,I thought of a character and she popped into my head, fully formed. That wasn’t terribly surprising—stories had always comforted me. They were my go-to when I needed a break from the world, but I hadn’t written for myself since I was in middle school.
That day, however, my imagination went wild as I brainstormed a backstory for my heroine, then a love interest. Thinkingwhat the hell did I have to lose, I started typing. What I found in the months that followed was that writing that story gave me the clear mind I needed to go back to work and look at those numbers. For a while it provided a balance of sorts between work and home. Writing allowed creativity that my job didn’t. It allowed me to create a world I wished I could inhabit with characters who felt like friends. It continued to be just that as I finished a few books, learned how to indie publish them and put them online, thinking maybe they’d bring joy to someone, and went on to dream up new stories. To me it was still just a way to find a reset in my life. Well, that was until my third book gained traction on social media. Then the shit hit the proverbial fan.
My royalties from my books were trending to outpace my salary as an accountant. Hell, it likely already happened with my move down here considering the cost of living—and my salary—was drastically lower. Yet I was hesitant to give up the security of a nine-to-five job, much less the benefits. Health insurance was a big deal and all.
So why not just keep doing both jobs? That would be possible if it was just setting aside time to write. However, writing didn’t only involve creating a story. There was social media, newsletters, advertising, and so much more. Add that to a job as an accountant and in tax season no less, and I was wondering how I was going to make it even at my new firm with much moredoable hours. God forbid I ever decided I wanted a life outside of work and writing—there wouldn’t be time.
I came to a stop in front of the coffee shop, marveling that I’d already reached it and apparently just in time. The gray sky had been ominous my entire walk here, and I felt the first drop as I opened the door.
Lou had been after me to stop by this café and get to know the owners since I arrived in town, but I hadn’t made it a priority. It felt too much like she was trying to set me up on a playdate. There were a handful of women my age in town that Lou was convinced I’d be friends with, and one of them owned this place. Another owned the bookstore. Several worked at the library. I couldn’t keep track, but I got a text daily from her, encouraging me to stop in a variety of places and say hello from her. She meant well, but I struggled to put myself out there. I did much better on my own in my small comfort zone. O’Malley, my cat, was enough for me.
But this café was familiar even if much of my new home wasn’t. Lou had opened this place decades ago and ran it successfully until selling just three or so years ago. Whenever my parents decided to visit, we’d always stop at the café even if it was just on our way out of town. I wasn’t sure what it would be like now that it wasn’t Lou’s.
Still, my rumbling stomach told me that it could do with a snack of some substance, and I was not in the mood for anything I had in my kitchen, so in I went. Stepping through the doors onto the worn wood floors, I scanned the room. Not much had changed. Looking around, you could still see the ghost of the church this once was. Now there was an eclectic vibe with mismatched tables and chairs, some low tables with couches, and large comfy armchairs strewn about for you to curl up in. Even though it was three in the afternoon, there were people scattered all over—some working, some reading, some visiting.Music flowed from speakers around the space, and I smiled at hearing the latest Taylor Swift song’s refrain. Well, if the owner liked Taylor, we already had something in common. Point in Lou’s favor in setting up my friendships. And kudos to the new owners. This place felt as great as ever.
As I moved over to the counter to order, I paused at seeing a six-foot-tall cardboard cutout of Jason Momoa standing to the side. I was still lost in confusion when a voice broke through.
“Hey there, Jules, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
I turned and saw that a woman had appeared behind the counter. She had piled her long blond hair on top of her head in a knot, and her graphic T-shirt saidIt’s me. Hi. I’m the problem it’s me.
I snorted, took her in, and realized she was familiar. Before I had to think too long, I remembered her from when I’d gotten to town and gone to dinner at the brewery with Lou and her friends.
