Finding Harmony

Chapter 3: Chloe

I pulled into the grocery store parking lot a little before eight, already mentally sorting through the rest of my day.

School pickup at three.

Second shift at the diner at five.

Figure out why Liam suddenly refuses to eat anything green.

Again.

The bell above the store door jingles as I step inside, and the familiar smell of coffee and fresh bread hits me immediately.

“Morning, Chloe.”

I glance up to find Jimmy behind the register, grinning at me over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Morning.”

“The app’s loaded with deliveries already,” he points toward my phone. “A couple of regulars in town, and Betty’s cabins are starting to fill up for the summer.”

“Already?” I pull my phone from my back pocket and open the delivery app. Sure enough, orders are already rolling in.

Tourist season.

My favorite and least favorite time of year.

More money, but twice the work.

“Thought Betty usually didn’t rent the lake cabins out this early.”

Jimmy suddenly looks way too interested in rearranging the gum display beside the register.

That alone tells me he knows something.

I laugh. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Jimmy.”

He lowers his voice dramatically. “Apparently, a famous musician rented one of the cabins.”

I snort. “And where exactly did you hear that?”

Jimmy scratches the back of his neck. “Betty might’ve mentioned it.”

I grin. “Betty tells you everything now, huh?”

His ears turn pink.

“Well,” he mutters defensively, “we spend time together.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He points a warning finger at me while trying not to smile.

“What’s his name?” I ask, glancing back at my phone.

“Jasper something.”

That means absolutely nothing to me.

“Helpful.”

“He’s English,” Jimmy adds. “Betty said women online are apparently obsessed with him.”

“Women online are obsessed with a lot of questionable men.”

Jimmy laughs loudly at that.

“He ordered enough tea to survive the apocalypse,” he says. “That’s all I know.”

I shook my head, smiling to myself as I grabbed a couple of delivery crates from the stockroom and began filling out the orders before loading up the delivery van.

Most of my morning passes the same way it always does.

Mrs. Jensen needs help carrying groceries into her kitchen because of her arthritis. Mr. Calloway insists on giving me stale peppermint from the bowl by his recliner. I spent ten minutes listening to Mrs. Ramirez complain about her son not calling enough.

Small town life.

Everybody knows everybody, and nobody gets away with anything for long.

By the time I finished my last stop in town, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, warm light spilling across the lake road as I headed toward the cabins.

I roll the windows down and let the breeze blow through the van.

This part of the ride never gets old.

Tall trees line both sides of the road, patches of sunlight flickering through the branches while the lake glitters blue through the gaps.

For a few minutes, everything feels quiet.

Simple.

Then I pulled up outside Cabin Seven and nearly choked on my own spit.

A sleek black Range Rover is parked outside like it was dropped directly out of Los Angeles and onto our dirt road.

“Subtle,” I mutter.

I grabbed one of the crates from the back of the van before walking up to the porch.

That’s when I hear it.

A guitar.

Soft at first, then clearer as I get closer.

Whoever’s playing is good. Like, perfect.

The voice that joins in sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

Deep. Rough around the edges. The kind of voice that sounds like heartbreak and whiskey.

Okay.

Maybe Jimmy undersold the whole musician thing.

I round the side of the cabin and froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

The man sitting on the porch looks up at the sound of my footsteps, and for one deeply unfortunate second, my brain completely stops functioning.

He’s unfairly attractive.

Dark hair falling into his eyes. Scruff along his jaw. A gray hoodie pushed up at the sleeves, revealing tattooed forearms.

And those eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen.

Jesus Christ.

He smiles at me, and somehow it gets worse.

“Please tell me that’s the food.”

There’s a slight English accent under the roughness in his voice, and suddenly I understand why women online are obsessed with him.

I clear my throat. “Uh… yeah.”

Smooth, Chloe.

His smile widens like he knows exactly what’s happening to me right now.

He sets the guitar aside and stands, and wow, he’s tall too. Fantastic.

I force myself to keep walking.

“Thank God.” He takes the crate from my arms easily. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Jet lag.” He shrugs. “And I may have forgotten normal people need food when they aren’t being shoved backstage catering every six hours.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Something in his expression softens slightly, like he’s relieved I reacted normally.

"Here, let me grab that for you," he says as he reaches for the crate.

I tried very hard to ignore how good he smelled.

"Oh, thanks. There's one more crate I have to grab."

"Okay. Let me sit this down inside and I'll come grab it."

"You don't have to do that."

"I insist."

He disappeared into the cabin for less than a second before reemerging.

“I’m Jasper, by the way,” he volunteers as we walk the short distance back to the van.

“Chloe.”

“Lovely name.”

The way he says it should honestly be illegal.

He grabbed the crate, and I closed the back of the van.

“You live around here?” he asks.

“Born and raised.”

“Then maybe you can help me.”

I glance up warily. “Help you with what?”

“How not to look painfully out of place.”

I laughed again despite myself.

“You’re driving a luxury SUV through a tiny lake town. I think that ship sailed.”

“Fair point," he says with a grin.

He enters the cabin, and I follow behind.

The cabin’s surprisingly cozy. Big windows overlooking the lake. A half-open suitcase was dumped near the couch. A guitar case is leaning against the wall.

It already looks more lived-in than I expected.

“So what brings you all the way out here?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His expression shifts slightly.

“Needed a break.”

Simple answer. Heavy delivery.

I immediately regret asking.

“Well,” I say awkwardly, “you picked the right place for disappearing.”

His eyes meet mine then, sharp and amused.

“Disappearing?”

Heat crawls up my neck.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re right.” He laughs softly. “That’s actually exactly why I came here.”

For a second, the room goes quiet.

Not uncomfortable exactly.

Just… aware.

Then he picks up a box of tea and lets out a relieved sigh.

“Oh, thank Christ.”

I snort.

“That serious?”

“You have no idea.” He points the tea box at me. “This right here might be the only thing keeping me mentally stable.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“I am dramatic. I write sad songs for a living.”

That catches me off guard enough that I laugh again.

He smiled like that was his goal.

Dangerous man.

He starts unpacking the rest of the groceries while I stand there trying to remember how normal human interaction works.

“So,” he says casually, “what should I see while I’m here?”

“The lake, obviously,” I answer automatically. “The hiking trails behind the cabins are nice too.”

“Hm.” He glances at me. “You offering to be my tour guide?”

My stomach does a weird little flip.

“Oh.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m pretty busy.”

It’s not exactly a lie.

Between the boys and two jobs, I barely have time to sleep.

But that’s not the only reason.

Men like Jasper don’t flirt with women like me.

Not really.

His expression softens slightly, like he hears the hesitation underneath my answer.

“Well,” he says lightly, “if you ever change your mind.”

I smile despite myself.

“There’s also a café in town.”

“Good pie?”

“The best.”

“Now that,” he says seriously, “sounds life-changing.”

I laughed again, shaking my head.

I should leave.

I definitely should leave.

Instead, I stand there for a few seconds looking at him while my brain quietly malfunctions.

Finally, I step backward toward the door.

“I should probably get going.”

“Don't forget those,” he nods toward the empty crates beside the counter.

“Right. The crates.”

I grab them quickly.

I make it halfway down the porch steps before his voice stops me.

“Chloe?”

I turn back.

He’s leaning against the doorway now, one hand resting against the frame.

“It was really nice meeting you.”

And annoyingly enough, he sounds sincere.

I tighten my grip on the crates to hide my nerves.

“You too.”

Then I practically flew to my van like a completely normal, emotionally stable adult.

As I pull away from the cabin, I glance once into the rearview mirror.

Jasper’s still standing on the porch watching me leave.