Beth

They say if the walls could speak, they would tell a thousand stories. The Malcolm Estate is so steeped in history, it could tell more than most.

Its roots stretch back to 1621 when my great, great, great something grandfather Sir Thomas Malcolm sailed to America. He was originally slated to come on the Mayflower, but he had family matters to attend to, so he sailed the following year on the ship Fortune. He built this house for his sweetheart in Lexington, Massachusetts in 1645.

I've lived in this house with my father and sister (and now niece and nephew) for most of my 30 years, and know every nook and cranny of it. It is a handsome brick Colonial, with nine front facing windows, black shutters and brilliant flower beds that dot the veranda. Years later, a portico was added, making it even more charming.

As much as I adore my home, I love the gardens even more. Depending on who's within, the house can sometimes be loud and noisy, even hostile, but the gardens are a sanctuary of calm and reflection.

Usually, that is. Today, I feel little peace as I weed the flower beds and shake the soil loose from the tender roots. I feel just as uprooted as the plants.

My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and check it. It's a text from David.

Well? Are you in?

I am flooded with equal parts hope and dread.

It is a way.

It's the only way I see right now to save my family's home, but it's a long shot. My fears are too strong to attempt this on my own, and if I try, I will be undermined by reminders of my place, of my limitations. I can only attempt this if I am away from here, and even then, it won't be easy for someone like me, someone who prefers to live quietly in the background rather than draw attention, someone who has failed more than once.

The cell phone buzzes again. You have to hand it to David. When he wants something, he's persistent.

C'mon. You know you want to do this.

He is wrong. I don't want to do this. I want it done for me. I want someone to step in and see the brilliance of my ideas and execute them without me having to beg or compromise. But fairy godmothers don't exist, unless they come in the form of pushy friends pushing me outside my comfort zone.

Setting my phone aside, I pull the last few weeds and stand up.

My father's plan is to rent out our home for now, but I don't know how long that will last before we will be forced to sell. Unless we find a way to pay the property taxes and maintain it, another family will eat at our family table and walk the long mahogany-paneled corridors and sleep in our bedrooms. It is a humbling thing, perhaps humiliating is the better word, to comprehend losing the home that Malcolms have lived in since before the Revolutionary War. 

I open the texts and read through them again. David's been pestering me all week.

Considering we still need to finish packing up the house and move out this weekend, I really shouldn't leave, but this is something I need to do.

The drive to Cambridge only takes only about half an hour from our home when the traffic is light, which thankfully, it is right now. I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine of my blue 12 year old beamer. It was given to me as a early graduation present at the start of my senior year of high school. I'm deeply attached this car, and my baby still runs like new.

Stepping out of my car, I stare at the sign on the building that reads Solere Enterprises. I've been here a few times over the years, but it still feels strange, like I'm walking into another life, a life that might have been mine.

Solere, after all, was the name I had chosen when I dreamed up the company with my friends back in our Harvard days.

For a moment, my nerves get the better of me. Am I insane to go after this dream after my previous failures? Maybe. Then I think of being stuck with Father and Mariah in our beach house all summer and shudder. It's not an option to back out, not this time. I square my shoulders and walk toward the doors.

The lobby doors swish open and I step inside. The cool air is a welcome respite from the heat. The walls and the floors are just as I remember, polished black marble expanses in every direction. Sleek leather couches and glass tables are neatly arranged in the waiting room. Large gold vases of Calla lilies grace the tables, and the fragrance is intoxicating. I walk to the reception desk. A stunning woman with neatly coifed red hair and dressed in a sleek black dress is on the phone. She raises a manicured finger - one minute.

I am suddenly self conscious, feeling dowdy in her presence with my limp brown hair that hasn't been cut in eight months and my ripped jeans. I brush away dirt clinging to my thigh. I had forgotten to change out of my gardening clothes, but it doesn't matter. I will be quick—in and out.

The redhead hangs up the phone and looks at me expectantly.

"Here is my application for the Next Big Thing competition," I say, passing the form across the desk. She looks at my name, smiles and passes it back to me.

"David asked that you bring it to him in person."

Of course he did. So typical David. Force me to come all the way up to his office dressed in my grubs.

I pick up the form and walk across the marble floor to the elevators. The doors open. I step in and hit the button for the 15th floor. When the doors reopen, I head toward his office. A gorgeous brunette woman with a pixie cut is sitting at the desk painting her nails black. She looks like a mix between a young Halle Barry and Alice from the Twilight movie. I beginning to wonder if there some type of "supermodel only" policy when it comes to hiring women. I certainly didn't add it when I made suggestions for the original employee handbook. I seem to vaguely remember this woman from my last visit. I think her name is Marci? I clear my throat.

"I'm here to see David," I say. Marci doesn't even bother to look up from her manicure.

"He's with someone. Have a seat," Marci says, motioning toward the waiting area while simultaneously fanning her nails. Look at her, hitting two birds with one stone, I think sarcastically.

I sit on one of the sleek couches, picking up a dog-eared copy of Inc. Magazine. David and Heidi are posing on the cover. David has his hands in his pockets and is looking dapper in his typical preppy jeans and t-shirt and that little smirk on his face. Heidi's hand is on David's shoulder. She shows off her curves in a killer formfitting dress and her gorgeous blonde hair falls loosely past her shoulders. Her bright smile radiates confidence. I remember how proud they were to score the cover. I was so proud of them too, proud and little sad. I flip through the pages half heartedly, but I can't focus on the pages. My nerves are getting to me, and I feel all wound up.

Strange to think in another life, if Isaac and I had made different choices, we would be on the cover with them. I remember back when the four of us huddled around a table in Flour Bakery, devouring scores of delicious pastries (my favorite was the lemon lust tarts), dreaming and scheming together. I know it sounds like a romantic cliche, but we literally drew up our business structure on napkins. I still have some of those napkins tucked away in a scrapbook somewhere. Anything was possible back in those heady days.

I open to the article and eye a timeline of Solere's product line. Our flagship product had been a water bottle that refills itself. Using no electronic devices, it feeds off the user's kinetic energy through a manual pump to produce condensation, and eventually the condensation fills up the bottle.

It had been Isaac's mastermind to create the product and provide them for people in places where clean drinking water isn't available. Students could simply walk to school to fill up their bottles and quench their thirst.

I had been passionately pursuing the dream when life had slapped me in the face, and I had to leave Harvard. Isaac stayed with Solere long enough to sell it, and he, David and Heidi all made out big. The proceeds allowed Isaac to realize his globetrotting dreams, while David and Heidi stayed with the business. Since then, they'd developed several green products. 

To their credit, my friends had offered me financial compensation for the role I had played in forming the business, but I had turned them down. It didn't feel right to take money I hadn't earned. Besides, back then I couldn't fathom not having plenty of money.

When we were students together, about the only thing Heidi and I had in common was we both came from wealthy families. Now we don't even have that in common. I close the magazine. Heidi definitely has the confidence to be cover material, and I most definitely do not.

Setting the magazine aside, I clasp my hands in my lap. I can't wait forever. My family needs me to help finish packing up the house. I can't imagine my father or sister have done much of anything. At least I hired a girl to help out tomorrow. I squirm impatiently. If David doesn't open the door soon, I'll have to leave the application. He won't be happy he didn't get to see me, but he'll live. At least he'll know I made the effort to drop it off in person.

I hear David's laugh in the other room. It makes me smile; no one has a more infectious laugh than him. The door opens. His back is angled toward us, and I hear him speaking to someone.

I admire the attractive back of that someone, with his navy blue t-shirt and dark, wavy hair. But then I hear his voice, the timbre of one that was once so familiar, so beloved, and I forget how to breathe for a moment.

"No! You are not dragging me into another one of your schemes. Have you forgotten the time you dared me to borrow Barry Lloyd's motorcycle and park on it on the top of his dorm?"

"Classic!" David roars. "I will never forget the look on his face when he walked out to find it missing."

"I don't suppose you forgot what he did when he found out it was me that put it there. Crazy as that was, this idea is even worse," the voice says, and I realize it's him! It has to be him.

"C'mon Isaac, I wish you would reconsider. We need you."

My heart beats erratically at the confirmation. How long has it been since I've seen Isaac? 10 years?

"Claire, I need you to make copies," David says, turning and handing his secretary a small stack of papers.

Oops, I screwed up her name, I think in a daze. I could have sworn her name was Marci. Then I wonder why I'm thinking about her, when the man I've dreamed about for the last decade is sitting mere feet away from me in the other room.

"Certainly, sir," she says in a husky voice. I bite my lip to keep from laughing. It's hard for me to fathom anyone calling David sir. I never could without cracking up. I will have to tease him about it.

"Beeeeth!" David notices me and drags out the greeting. "So you decided to go through with it, did you?! Excellent. Let me finish up with Isaac here and I'll be right with you."

Startled eyes turn to face me, and my mind confirms what my heart already knows. I would recognize those gentle green eyes, dark eyebrows, the strong chin covered in sexy scruff and shaggy mane anywhere. Isaac's back in town. He is just as beautiful to me now as he was all those years ago. If anything, time has improved him. Last I heard, he started a nonprofit to build schools in Africa. Why has he finally come back after all this time?

We are locked in a stare that seems to transport us to another place and time, until at last, his gaze breaks away, and I look down at my lap.

"See Isaac? Heidi's in, Beth's in. We need you! It will be like old times. Besides, I think Beth's home is available for the summer if you need a place to rent, isn't it?"

My face burns. I can't say a word; all I can do is nod. The irony doesn't escape me. David doesn't know that the last time Isaac was in my home, he was kicked out and told to never return. There's no way Isaac could possibly want to rent my house, even though he is now certainly wealthy enough to handle the exorbitant rent. I bring cool hands to my warm cheeks. Could this get any more mortifying?

"Just give me a sec to win this chump over," David winks conspiratorially. "I'll be right with you, B."

"I heard that," Isaac says dryly in the background. "You're not winning any points. That's going to cost you the SilentHawk."

"Forget it."

"No deal then," Isaac says stands and grabs his leather coat like he's leaving.

"Hold up," David says, then looks back at me. "Don't leave Beth. We really are almost done, right Isaac?"

"It all depends on how accommodating you are," he replies.

David rolls his eyes, returns to his office and shuts the door.

I let out a deep, shuddering breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

Figures. After 10 years, I finally see the man who was my fiancé for less than 24 hours, and I look like something the cat dragged in.

_________________

So excited to share this story with you! 

So I've created my very first trailer for this book! Please click on the Youtube link above and let me know what you think! As you can see in the trailer, I've cast Channing Tatum and Rachel McAdams for my two main characters - Beth & Isaac. I'm thinking maybe Scarlett Johansson for Heidi. No clue yet for David. If you have any ideas, I'm all ears!

Cool Fact: The bottle Isaac invented is based on the Blu Bottle designed by Yuri Teodorowych featured in the picture above. 

I am currently posting a new chapter every Friday. I hope you join me!

Dedicated to my parents. Some love stories never end. <3