Midnight Whispers (The Midnight Duology #1)

Chapter 3

3

Emolyn Cove has been stuck in the 70’s since… well, since the 70’s. Nothing new or exciting ever happens here and, if it does, it is immediately talked about within all the gossip circles. Everyone knows everyone and everything, including when I broke off my four-year engagement with my high school sweetheart, Parker Ashvin.

After he wasn’t offered any scholarships to literally anywhere, he spent the next few years getting drunk any way he could. Once he turned twenty-one, most of his time was spent at The Tipsy Sailor, our small-town bar. He’d come stumbling home after last call. Parker didn’t have a job, of course, and every time he got in trouble with the town sheriff, it was only a slap on the wrist. I got sick of looking around and wondering if this was what all that my life was going to be.

Parker said I’d be back and that he didn’t expect me to be away for long. We had been together since we were juniors in high school and got engaged at the ripe age of twenty-two. I wrestled with saying yes and the guilt that sat in the pit of my stomach as he slid the ring on my finger. The moment he put it on my finger, I could feel the heaviness of it weighing me down. I pushed the talk of the actual wedding out for most of the engagement. His mom wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the thought of him marrying me anyways, so she didn’t do much to make solid plans either.

It just didn’t feel like a good sign.

Plus, I hated that ring.

When my dad passed away six months ago, my entire world turned on its axis. In a matter of seconds, someone else's idiotic decision to drive while under the influence forever changed my life. Parker would tell you that he was the picture-perfect fiancé after Dad died, but he would be lying. He may have wanted to try, but he just wasn’t capable.

Dad and I had fought enough times about Parker, but it wasn’t until I lost him that I saw how right he was about Parker for the last nine years. So, I broke it off with the guy Dad never thought was good enough and used the excuse that my entire life had changed so suddenly. I told Parker that I was suffocating under the weight of everything and something needed to change… I needed to change.

But it wasn’t all a lie.

I was suffocating.

Shortly after I broke off my engagement, I moved out of our loft apartment. As much as I loved that space, it was rightfully Parker’s. His family is one of the founding families of Emolyn Cove and disgustingly rich and gifted it to us as an engagement present. I ended up selling my dad’s house and used the equity to buy a cottage in the woods.

I tried to live in my dad’s house, okay? I moved into my old room and tried for a couple of months. But Dad was everywhere, and I just couldn’t mourn him properly when I was constantly waiting for him to come in the front door and say, “Hey kiddo! ”

The cottage was perfect though. The forest surrounded it just enough to make it feel secluded. There was enough land that had been developed that I could plant a nice fruit and vegetable garden. The best part is that, because it has four bedrooms, my best friend Flora could move in and I still have my reading room.

Flora and I became best friends in the third grade. Dad and I moved here from Los Angeles shortly after my mom left. We tried to wait around for a couple of years, but when Dad realized she was gone for good, we both needed some new scenery.

I’ve always been the odd one out.

I’d rather curl up with a good book than talk about the recent trends. The “mean girl” clique at Emolyn Elementary immediately targeted me like mountain lions targeting a meek lamb. Flora, on the other hand, gave off scary black cat energy and took no one’s shit. She took me under her protective wing, and that day Flora Montgomery became my best friend. It’s been that way ever since.

After my dad’s funeral, I inherited his beloved coffee shop, Alcott’s. It was already beyond perfect the way it was, so I didn’t change anything. The way the dark oak counters and tabletops meet the black iron accents throughout the shop made it perfect and modern. A couple of years ago, he even built a stage for open mic night to add to the “cool factor,” he had said. But he was right, and it ended up being exactly what Emolyn Cove needed.

The moon is still out as I get out of bed, the light-colored wooden floorboards creaking as I walk across my room to turn on my floor lamp. I dress in one of my usual outfits; a chunky burnt orange knitted sweater—a “grandma sweater” as Flora calls it—paired with a flowing light pink linen skirt that stops just above my knee, and my favorite pair of brown oxfords lace up flats. I throw my hair up into a quick high ponytail and lightly apply mascara before putting on my thin wired glasses.

I must be at the coffee shop in about an hour to open and I’m never late. Ever. I toss my cell phone, current book, and journal into my leather satchel before opening my door and entering my hall. Flora’s door is still closed, so I know she’s still sleeping. Not surprisingly, since she worked last night and is rarely up before noon on nights when she bartends.

It’s only after I walk outside and down the steps that I realize I’ve left my keys and wallet in the house. Turning, I swiftly walk right back up the stairs. Popping my head in the doorway, I grab my keys and wallet from the table before turning and heading back down to my bike.

Do I own a car?

Yes. But I prefer riding my bike.

Especially in the fall when the morning air is especially brisk. Flora yells at me about it almost every day. She’s convinced that I’m going to either get kidnapped or hit by a car. I toss my bag into the basket in the front of my bike and start down the dirt path. The sun is starting to rise as I get onto the main road, illuminating the sky with a beautiful combination of blues and yellows. It’s my favorite part of the day. Everything is so serene and it’s easiest to forget your worries when Mother Nature is creating such a beautiful painting.

The ride into town from my secluded little cottage isn’t a long one. After I get to the main road, I have to hug the edge while going down the curve that runs along the mountain side. Once I’m down the mountain, it’s a straight shot into town, where Alcott’s sits right in the center .

I want Alcott’s to be the heart of Emolyn Cove. Dad used to say. It didn’t take long after opening for Alcott’s to become exactly that. It quickly became somewhere people felt like they had a place, and everyone was welcomed.

Dad gutted and redid the entire interior of the building. It was important for him to bring some type of modern feel to our sleepy little beach town. He left the ceiling exposed but painted all the metal black and hung assorted hanging lights from the ceiling. The most important part of the building for him was leaving the original brick wall, which is now the backdrop for our weekend open mic nights.

I wave hello to the mailman, the sheriff, and the other shop owners who are opening before the sun rises as I ride into town. Alcott’s is one side street off the main road, so I turn onto the street and its only moments after that I arrive at the shop. After I park my bike in front of the building and unlock the door, I quickly run to disarm the alarm system. I begin my morning checklist to make sure the shop is good to go, turning on all the lights in the back of the store before I start to grind the coffee beans.

These quiet mornings where I can be alone with my thoughts are the ones I love the most and I soak in every moment of them. I’m grateful for the business Alcott’s has received, but sometimes I get so exhausted being around so many different energies, that mornings like this are welcomed.

The clock notifies me that it's time to open the shop, so I unlock the door and prop it open. I welcome the cool breeze into the building, along with a couple of my regular early morning customers. Once their orders are handled and they are settled, I look around the storage closet for my box of Halloween decorations. It’s the beginning of October and I’ve severely slacked on decorating for any holiday this year, but I’m shocked I didn’t put the decorations up earlier .

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. I have loved everything spooky since I was a kid. It was a tradition with my dad to curl up on the couch and watch a different scary movie every day for the entire month of October, but since he passed, it’s been hard for me to feel excited about our favorite month.

There weren't many customers this morning and even less as the day went on. Once I find a spare moment, I empty the décor contents onto one of the tables in the corner of the coffee shop. The more I take out of the box, the more I miss my dad. I run my finger over the tattered lace before hanging it around some of the photos that hang on the wall. It was important to my dad that we showcase local photographers and that was one of the things I refused to give up when I took it over. The bell on the front door rings and I turn to greet the guest with a smile that I quickly lose when I see who is standing there.

“What do you want, Parker?” My stomach drops at the scent of tobacco and whiskey flowing out of his pores. I fight the memories that my mind has learned to associate with the smell of that combination, which quickly became his signature scent.

“I juss came for coffee,” he slurs his words.

“It’s barely the afternoon.” I point to the digital clock that says one forty-five. Though, I can’t say I’m surprised he’s already hammered. I fight against the memories that threaten to come to the front of my mind.

“Wass your p… point?”

I walk behind the counter and pour the coffee into a to-go mug, not giving him the option of drinking it there. Out of habit, I add a little bit of sugar and a dash of cream.

“S.. See Lillia. You know me soooo well.”

I ignore him and hand him his cup. “It’s on the house. Now, please leave.”

“Come home, Lil. I mish you. ”

“I have a home, and it isn’t with you, Parker. Now, please go.” He grabs my wrist with incredible force. “You’re hurting me.”

“Why are you being s… so stupid?” he slurs.

“Parker, please go before I have to call Cyrus.”

Our town sheriff is no stranger to breaking up disputes between us when he’s drunk. He had been called to our apartment many times before by our neighbors, so there would be no surprise if he had to come to Alcott’s too.

“Call him, then,” he hiccups.

I go to reach for the phone when the bell door rings again. I lean off to the side and see Flora walking in and relief instantly washes over me.

“Get the fuck out of here, Parker. Or I will force you out and you know I will.” She stands there, cocks her hip to the side, and crosses her arms. Flora has always been a free spirit, and she is one of a kind in this small town, but I’ve always thought she is absolutely stunning. She has her hair split down the middle, one side is black and the other is icy blonde. Her fingernails are always shaped in the stiletto style and dark colors, right now they're forest green. If it wasn’t for her nails, her finger tattoos would command attention to her hands. “You heard me asshole. Get out.” She opens the door and impatiently taps the toe of her combat boots.

Reluctantly, Parker stumbles out of the coffee shop, mumbling something under his breath as he walks onto the street. Flora shuts the door behind him, locks it, and holds up her middle finger through the glass before turning to me with a raised brow.

“Why was he in here?” she asks angrily.

“The same reason he always randomly pops up. He wanted to let me know what a mistake I made by leaving.” I ran my hand over the opposite wrist, now burning where his fingers had dug into my skin.

Her eyes shine with rage. “He fucking hurt you, didn’t he?”

“I’m fine, but can you stop saying the ‘f word’ so much?”

“Sorry mom .” Flora rolls her eyes and smiles, putting her elbows down on the main counter.

“Are you going to work?” I ask as I make Flora’s favorite green tea latte, topped with foamy almond milk.

“Yeah. I’m getting so sick of bartending at The Tipsy Sailor. I swear, Lil. I was destined for things bigger than Emolyn Cove.”

I let out a small chuckle because she’s right, she was destined for bigger and better things. “Here’s your latte. You better get to work before you're late… again.”

She blows me a kiss and walks out of the shop, waving as she walks past the windows.

I finish cleaning up the mess from the day in the shop and get everything ready for tomorrow. One of the few additional employees I have is opening, so I want to make sure that all the things they need are back in their designated spot and easy to find. After I’m satisfied with the cleanliness of everything, I turn off all the lights and set the alarm.

It’s nearing sundown as I ride my bike toward home. There’s a chill in the air and the evening mist has started to roll in from the sea. Most of the businesses are already shut down and a good majority of the people in town are already home and, in their beds, so it’s quiet. I’ve never been one who enjoys the chaos of crowds or the busyness of big cities—unlike Flora, who thrives in it. Her mom used to say we were two halves of a whole because we’re so different.

I ride my bicycle through the curves of the mountain side road that leads to my cottage. Once I get near my gate, I jump off my bike and pull it through. The iron is old and rusted by the salty sea air, so it creaks as it swings open.

Flora turned on the porch light before she left, so I don’t have to walk up to a dark entryway. She’s constantly concerned for my safety, but nobody comes out this far into the mountain, so I’ve never had to think twice. Well, except for those who live just past me. There are only a couple of houses near me that could be considered neighbors, but their houses make my cottage look like a shack in comparison to size.

All three of the plots of land have been passed down through the generations of the three original families, but the last owner of mine never married or had children. The other two however, have since updated the original homes to more modern styles. Both demolished the homes that once sat on the original land.

The cottage that sat at the very top of the mountain belonged to the Lamont family. The original had always been my favorite, but in the last couple of years it was demolished and replaced with a behemoth of a mansion. The size was unnecessary, truthfully. To my knowledge the new owner, and the only descendant of Cornelius Lamont, has no family. Of course, I can’t be sure because he is very reclusive, and we don’t see much of him in town.

I slip as I make my way up the stairs, scraping my knee on the concrete. My knee burns at the pressure as I stand, limping my way up to open the door to the cottage. There’s a noise in the background that startles me; my heart is racing as I slam the door behind me.

After turning on the lights inside the entryway, I set my things in their places before walking into the bathroom to wash the day away. My clothes land in a pile beneath me as I take off my skirt and cardigan. The warmth of the water is welcome as I step into the tub, the steam filling the small bathroom quickly.

As reluctant as I am to leave the shower, I turn off the water and grab my towel, drying off before walking to my room to get dressed.

It was important to me that my room embodied me, so it’s very green and beige but smells like a combination of old books and flowers. I lay down in my bed and grab my remote to turn on my small television. Typically, I prefer to read at night, but exhaustion is already taking over my body, so sleep will overtake me soon. After I scroll through my options, I settle on a recently released true crime documentary.

As soon as it starts, I lay down and wrap myself into a cocoon of my blanket. It doesn’t take long before the heaviness overtakes my eyelids.