The Last Place You Look Read online

  All she wanted was a quiet place to lick her wounds and figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. Fly under the radar and make a little routine and mostly keep to herself. Ha. If today was anything to go on, and she had a feeling it was, keeping to herself was not going to be an option.

  * * *

  Taylor Winslow backed her truck up to the rear entrance of Finger Lakes Consignment. She let herself in the back door and called out a greeting for Loretta, the store owner and the very first person to put Taylor’s work in her shop.

  “I’ll be with you in two shakes,” Loretta said.

  “Take your time.” Instead of waiting, Taylor went back to her truck to grab some of the things she could carry on her own: a set of four kitchen chairs, a pair of end tables, and a rocker. She was just pulling the rocker out when Loretta emerged, complete with overalls, a flowy top over them, and gray hair held up with what appeared to be a pencil.

  Loretta let out a low whistle. “That’s a beauty.”

  Taylor grinned, unable to suppress her satisfaction at the compliment. She’d used a new technique to spin the rails of the back and base. The result managed to feel both modern and traditional, intricate without being fussy. “I’m pretty pleased with it.”

  “Do I want to know how long it took? Or how much it’s going to cost?”

  Although she did a lot of custom orders, the bulk of Taylor’s business came from consignment and wholesale. Loretta’s store, nestled in the heart of Finger Lakes wine country, was one of her primary outlets. They’d worked together long enough that she didn’t bristle at the question. “I’ll have you know it’s no more than a regular rocker.”

  Loretta folded her arms. “Well, that’s just plain stupid.”

  Taylor shrugged. Since she carved each piece by hand, tweaking how she turned things on the lathe didn’t add to the overall time of a project. Once she got the hang of it, of course. “You can charge more if you think it’ll sell, but I’m happy with the standard rate.”

  Loretta tutted. “We’ll see.”

  Not only was Loretta one of her most reliable customers, she was one of Taylor’s most supportive. It was Loretta who’d encouraged her to branch out, who never hesitated to put something in her shop and see how it would do. Between that and being a seventy-year-old spitfire, she was one of Taylor’s favorite people. “Yes, ma’am.”

  They unloaded the kitchen table that went with the chairs and a small desk she’d managed to make adjustable. She saw no reason why someone who wanted to stand while working on their computer should have to do so on ugly particleboard. They carried everything inside, leaving a few pieces in the back and bringing the rest out to the main shop floor. “Looks like business is good,” Taylor said.

  “I’m out of Adirondack chairs again.”

  She didn’t bother trying to hide her groan. “Seriously?”

  “I can’t seem to keep them in stock.”

  She appreciated their popularity and their price point. They fell into the bread-and-butter category of her business—easy to turn out and quick sellers, if lacking in the inspiration department. “I’ll bring ten more.”

  Loretta gave her a noisy kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

  “I know.” She chuckled. “Really, though, you’re my favorite customer. Anything to keep you happy.”

  “Make it fifteen, then?”

  Taylor rolled her eyes, but smiled. They played this game, but in truth, Loretta pushing her chairs meant even more money in her pocket than Loretta’s. Her grumbling was done in jest. “You got it, doll.”

  Loretta went to her office to cut Taylor a check for the recent sales and Taylor poked around the store to see what new items Loretta had added to her inventory. The shop sold some furniture, but also clothes, jewelry, and knickknacks, vintage and new. “You know who’s coming back to town?” Loretta called.

  Loretta’s shop sat right along the wine trail, but she lived in Kenota, the same town Taylor had spent her whole life in. She wasn’t much for the small-town gossip that came along with that, but Loretta lived for it. “Who’s that?”

  “Julia Pierce.”

  She’d not expected it to be someone she had any interest in or even knew. Hearing Julia’s name took her by surprise and, well, something else. Taylor accepted the check and made a point of keeping her tone light. “Is that so?”

  Loretta nodded, needing minimal encouragement to keep going. “Divorced, or at least on her way there. Martha told me her wife ran off with some model. Or maybe it was her personal trainer. I’m not sure which.”

  Taylor’s throat tightened. Not only was Julia coming home, but she was single. No one could read her thoughts, but she chastised herself anyway for where her mind went. If Julia, who’d left Kenota at nineteen and not looked back, was moving home, it meant her life was in shambles.

  “What? My gossip too dull for you?”

  “Huh? No, no. I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve seen her.” She wasn’t thinking at all about the colossal crush she’d had on Julia for pretty much the duration of high school.

  “Were you close before she moved to the city?”

  Ha. She wished. “Friendly, but not close. We graduated the same year.”

  “Well, you should look her up. I’m sure she could use a few friends.”

  Taylor made some vague reply about doing just that and excused herself, citing work. On the drive back to her workshop, she let her mind wander down memory lane. They’d played softball together, but Julia had been a graceful outfielder and Taylor the rough-and-tumble catcher. They’d been in a lot of classes together because their tiny school only had one honors section for most subjects.

  After graduation, Taylor had gone for her associate’s in business, and Julia had headed off to Binghamton. She’d moved to the city only a couple of years later to be with her big city girlfriend. Other than a chance run-in one Christmas a few years prior, she hadn’t seen her since.

  Not that any of it mattered. They hadn’t been tight then and it was unlikely they’d become so now. And given her apparent taste in women, there wasn’t a chance in hell Julia would be interested in some small-town furniture maker.

  Still, Taylor couldn’t seem to turn her mind away from the Julia she remembered and thoughts of the woman Julia might be now.

  Chapter Two

  Julia survived dinner, her first night alone in the old house, and a visit with her parents the next morning. Without two kids dominating the conversation, things got uncomfortable quick. Since she’d be seeing plenty of them at the winery, she made excuses about getting settled in and escaped to the solitude of Meemaw’s.

  She should probably stop referring to it as Meemaw’s house at this point, since doing so both gave her a pang of missing her grandmother and made her feel bad about her current living situation. Resolved to make it her own, Julia worked her way through the house. Leaving out family photos and items that made her smile, she boxed up knickknacks no one had claimed, lace doilies, and about half of the several dozen throw pillows Meemaw had loved so much. The shift made her feel decidedly better.

  She stopped around noon, realizing she hadn’t eaten yet and wishing she’d gone to the grocery store when out visiting her parents. No problem. It wasn’t like she had a schedule to keep, at least not yet.

  She didn’t bother with a shower, instead putting one of Meemaw’s ancient cardigans over her cutoffs and Fairmount Ridge T-shirt. She climbed into Meemaw’s Buick and made the short drive into town. At the Shurfine, she grabbed essentials. Maybe she’d drive to Ithaca in a few days and visit Wegmans. It might be dumb to miss a grocery store, but she’d missed Wegmans.

  Before returning home, she remembered the torn window screen in her bedroom, the one she’d discovered when she went to open the window for bed. The one that had kept her from leaving the window open overnight and made her sleep sticky and uncomfortable. She headed in the direction of the hardware store. How hard could it be?

  Five minutes later, Julia stood in one of the aisles of Nuts & Bolts and surveyed her options. Why were there so many? Rolls of screen and rubber tubing of different weights and sizes, kits that promised to include everything she might need. A kit was probably the way to go, since she had no idea what she was doing. She picked up two that looked identical but one cost twice as much as the other. What was the difference?

  “Julia Pierce?”

  Julia closed her eyes for a second. It was only a matter of time before she had to run into someone, but seriously, did it have to be twenty-four hours after arriving? She turned in the direction of the voice, a fake smile firmly in place, and found herself face-to-face with Taylor Winslow. Fuck. “Hey.”

  Taylor smiled. “I’d heard you were back.”

  “Yeah.” She’d probably also heard the story behind it. Reason number two hundred to hate small towns.

  “It’s been a while.” Taylor’s expression appeared to be a cross between curiosity and pity.

  Julia glanced down, only to be painfully reminded of her appearance. Why was the universe so cruel? “Yeah.”

  Taylor could have left it at that, wished her a good day and left her to her own pathetic devices, but no. She angled her head slightly. “I’d heard you were back, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe it.”

  Julia ran her hand up the back of her neck, only to remember her hair, in one of those messy buns that was supposed to look sexy but never managed to on her, was as much of a disaster as the rest of her. The thin thread of what remained of her composure snapped. “So, I’m guessing you’ve also heard the why.” Taylor winced, making her regret the snarkiness of her tone.

  “Only that you’d broken up with Erica.”

  It struck her that Taylor knew—remembered?—Erica’s name. But investigating would prolong this conversation and, at the moment, she just wanted to escape. “You heard correct.”

  “So, what are you working on?” Taylor nodded toward the shelves. “I mean, not that you have to tell me. You just looked a bit lost and I thought maybe I could help.”

  Seriously? Not only did she have to bump into Taylor—looking fucking gorgeous, by the way, in carpenter pants and washed out gray Bandwagon Brewery tee—she had to do it while looking like a hot mess and advertising how clueless and helpless she was. She should say no, thank you and walk away. But even as her pride screamed for her to, the rest of her, the part who’d slept in the oppressively stuffy bedroom, reconsidered. “I’m trying to repair a window screen.”

  Taylor smiled. Or was it a smirk? “Have you done that before?”

  “Not technically.”

  She seemed to consider for a moment. “I don’t want to step on your toes, or imply you can’t handle it, but would you like some help?”

  God, this was mortifying. But it was Taylor. Even though she’d gone from sort of cute to drop-dead gorgeous in the last ten or so years, she’d always been nice and not one to gossip. And, honestly, Julia was pretty desperate. “I’m not going to say no if you’re offering.”

  The smile grew. Maybe Taylor’s hesitation wasn’t about being judgy but something else entirely. “I have an appointment soon, but I could come by this afternoon if you’re free.”

  Oh, she was free. “That would be great.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  At least the gossip wagon hadn’t picked up every detail of her sad existence. “My grandmother’s house. My parents still own it, so it’s been sitting empty for the last year.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Pierce.”

  “Thanks. It was sad for all of us, but she was ready.”

  Taylor nodded. Not the awkward, pitying nod of someone who didn’t know what to say, but one that exuded genuine empathy. “Mine was the same. Still, it’s never easy.”

  “Yeah.” She paused, unsure of what to say next.

  “Do you want to exchange phone numbers? I can text you when I’m on my way over.”

  The window. Right. “Sure.” Julia fished in the cardigan pocket for her phone. When she pulled it out, a tissue and a peppermint fell to the floor. She cringed.

  “Let me guess, not your sweater?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s sweet. And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” Taylor offered her a wink that, in other circumstances, might be flirtatious.

  “Thanks for that.” She unlocked the screen and typed in the number Taylor recited, sending her a text of confirmation. A chirping sound came from the phone in Taylor’s hand.

  “Got it.” Taylor reached over and picked up one of the kits she’d been eying, the cheaper one. “Bedroom window?”

  “Yeah.”

  She handed it to her. “This one should do the trick. I need to run, but I’ll see you later?”

  Julia nodded, still not entirely sure how her errand had morphed into help and a houseguest. “Sounds good.”

  Taylor headed in the direction of the cash registers and Julia lingered, not wanting the conversation to limp along while they both checked out. She wandered over to the paint aisle and studied the plethora of color options. She probably shouldn’t be spending the time or money on redecorating, but part of her really wanted to make the house hers. At least a little bit. She grabbed a few shades of green that appealed to her and, confident Taylor had gone, made her way to the check out.

  The boy at the register looked all of sixteen, so she was spared any further recognition or uncomfortable conversation. The drive home took three minutes, but it was enough time for her to make a list of at least twenty things to do before Taylor stopped over. At the top of the list? Look less like a bag lady.

  * * *

  Taylor pulled into Mrs. Pierce’s driveway and cut the engine. She wasn’t nervous. Unfortunately, telling herself that didn’t stop the dance of anticipation in her stomach. Nor did it keep her from checking her appearance for the tenth time in the rearview mirror.

  She knocked on the door and steeled herself. It would be fine. It didn’t matter that Julia was even more beautiful than she’d been in high school. Or that they’d never spent any time alone together and now they were about to. She was a grown, successful, confident woman, not some love struck teenager.

  And then Julia opened the door.

  Gone were the messy bun and droopy cardigan. She’d changed into a dress that managed to look completely casual and incredibly sexy at the same time. It didn’t show off her curves necessarily, but it gave enough of a hint. Her light brown hair fell around her shoulders and the bright smile was enough to make Taylor’s breath catch.

  “Hi.” She wanted to say more, but her mouth and brain refused to work together.

  “Hi. Thanks for coming.” Julia swung the door wide and gestured for her to come in.

  “Of course.” Should she comment on the change in appearance or would it imply she was paying attention to that sort of thing? Or that there was something wrong with her appearance earlier?

  “I’m still getting settled, so please forgive the mess.”

  “When did you arrive?” Surely this was safer conversation.

  “Yesterday.”

  “Oh, wow. Really just arrived, then.”

  Julia smirked. “Complete with U-Haul. Lesbian in reverse.”

  Even without the details of what happened, Taylor’s heart broke a little for her. Which was silly since it might have been her decision and she might be thrilled about coming home. But that’s not the vibe Taylor got. There was something vulnerable about Julia standing in the middle of her grandmother’s living room making a joke about lesbian mating rituals. Vulnerable, but also defiant. The combination did things to Taylor’s old-fashioned butch sensibilities. Things that made her feel protective. “I’m sorry for whatever happened. Unless, of course, it’s exactly what you wanted to happen.”

  Something passed through Julia’s hazel eyes, but Taylor couldn’t quite put her finger on it. One thing she could tell for sure—it wasn’t a look of vindication. “Thanks. It is what it is.”

  Just like at the hardware store, she regretted bringing up what was clearly a painful subject. “Let’s take a look at this window, shall we?”

  “I haven’t even offered you something to drink yet.”

  “I’m okay for the moment. I promise I’ll say yes when we’re done.” She offered a wink, hoping to dispel any lingering negativity.

  “Deal.” Julia nodded decisively and led the way upstairs.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected, but old lady caught her off guard. It diffused any discomfort over being in Julia’s personal space. Julia marched over to the window and lifted the sash. “It’s right here.”

  Taylor moved in for a closer look. “Let’s see what we have here.”

  “Does the whole thing need to come out or do we fix it as is?”

  Taylor unlatched the screen, angled it out of the frame, then pulled it inside. “Doing it on a flat surface is much easier.”

  Julia blinked in obvious surprise. “I’m glad one of us knows what she’s doing.”

  She realized she was in danger of steamrolling the project. “Sorry. I don’t mean to take over.”

  Julia waved a hand in this adorably feminine, completely disinterested, way. “No, no. You go right ahead.”

  “Don’t you want to know how to do it yourself?”

  She offered a sheepish shrug. “Honestly?”

  Taylor laughed. “Yes, honestly.”

  “I don’t. I want to want to be handy, but I don’t. I want it done and can’t afford to hire someone.”

  Instead of screaming high maintenance, the comment made Julia seem authentic. Sure, Taylor was biased, and maybe had her own agenda when it came to saving the day, but still. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I mean, I’m not completely useless. I’ve just never lived anywhere where I had to do this sort of thing and it seems a little late to start.”

  “It’s never too late, but if you’re not interested, you shouldn’t.” She paused for a second, then decided to press her luck. “You just need to make sure you’ve got the right friends.”