Second Chances: Finding Love In Manning Falls Novel – A noise down the hall startles me. I creep that way. and the sound gets louder. My sister jokingly makes that noise sometimes. I bite my lip and inch the bedroom door open. I don’t cry out when I see them undressed, my fiancé drilling my sister from behind. I freeze, though. What is happening? I gather my strength and quietly close the door before shuffling down the hall, tears streaming down my face. My stomach churns, and I fight back the urge to vomit. I take deep breaths, seeking calm. Decision time.
Elle I wipe the tears. I can’t marry him now. My parents will undoubtedly be disappointed, but I simply can’t do it. And I always thought Felicia despised him. Every time they cross paths, she gives him icy glares and acts like she can’t stand him. I return to the kitchen, slip the engagement ring off my finger, and place it beside the party favors. One of those favors is meant for her, my maid of honor. What a joke. What a joke. I need to get out of here, so I storm through the front door, leaving it open. dRILL him. I rush to my car, jump in, and turn the key. Glance back at the house and bite my lip. Slam it in gear and tromp the gas. Merge onto the highway. Now what? Only one thing. I go to my house and pack as many clothes as possible into my suitcases.
If I stay, my parents will persuade me to go through with the marriage. They’re so worried about their image that a daughter canceling her wedding for any reason would be a nightmare for them. I load everything into my car and head north out of Dallas with no particular destination in mind. After driving a while, I pull into a rest stop and grab my phone. Have to take care of a few things before going any further. I call my boss at the bakery first. It rings four times before she answers. “Hello.” “Nancy, this is Elle. I won’t be coming in for a while.” “That’s all right. Honeymoon preparations, I presume?” “I’m not getting married.” “Cancel the cake, then?” “Please.” “How much time do you need?” “I don’t know. But I’m leaving. I have to get away from here.” “I understand. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” “I won’t, thanks.” I hang up and dial Parker. She never liked Jordan. Ever. And she warned me like any best friend would. I should have listened.
“Hey, Park,” I greet when she answers. “Busy, Elle. Can we talk later?” “This’ll be quick. I caught Jordan drilling Felicia. I’m leaving town.” “What! Really?” “Yeah.” “Cocksucker.” “He is. Anyway, I left the ring at his house, and I’m leaving. I wanted to let you know.” “Are you serious?” “Yes.” “I’m so sorry, Elle.” “That’s all right.” “Felicia, huh? She always acted like he was beneath her.” “I’m sure he has been. That and every other position.” “Prick.” I hear a faint voice in the background. “I’ll be right there,” Parker says. “I’ll let you go, Park. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m about to post on Facebook that the wedding is off. My parents will flip.” I bite my lip, thinking about their reaction. “Don’t worry about them. This is your life, and you need to do what makes you happy.” Easier said than done. “I’ve gotta go, Elle. If you need anything, I’m here. Proud of you.” “Thanks, Park. I’ll call when I get to wherever.”
I hang up and go straight to Facebook. Announce the wedding is off, carefully avoiding flowery language. I power down my phone and lay it on the seat next to me. Put my car in drive and pull back onto the freeway. Where to? I don’t have to think very hard. I love the mountains. I’ll drive to Amarillo and head north—no final destination yet, just somewhere in Colorado. As I drive, I realize that I might be able to go all the way without stopping, and no one is here to tell me otherwise. It’s an incredible feeling. I like it. And to think it took catching my fiancé with my sister to make me realize that I can’t continue like this. I’ve spent my entire life doing things for everyone else. It’s madness. “No more,” I say aloud. “No more, because I’m doing things for myself from now on.”
I glance at the clock—fifteen minutes left to finish this donut order. It’s time to keep moving. I like it here at The Cake Place. When I drove through Manning Falls in the colorful state of Colorado, I spotted the Help Wanted sign hanging in the bakery window. Destiny? I pulled over, applied for the job, and Ruth, the owner, hired me on the spot. She’s even letting me stay in the apartment above the store, typically reserved for visiting relatives. But since it’s vacant right now, it’s all mine. What a stroke of luck. I may have overcommitted this morning when I told Ruth I could handle everything while she went to her doctor’s appointment. I’m baking while Ann, who recently turned twenty-one and loves to party, takes care of the counter up front. The stress is mounting, but I can handle it. I have to. I slide another pan of muffins in the oven and lower the final batch of donuts into the fryer.
No oil splashback this time. Small win. I recheck the time five minutes to go. I’ll make it. While waiting for things to finish, I carry a fresh tray of muffins up to the front. As I pass through the swinging doors, I spot a man, tall and imposing. He’d be handsome if not for his scowl. I stare a moment too long and lower my hands, causing muffins to slide off the tray and onto the floor. I gasp and quickly raise my hands to prevent the rest from following. Thankfully, Ann is here to help. She takes the tray, and now I detect the faint smell of something burning. The donuts! I rush back to the kitchen and hoist the fryer basket from the hot oil. Dang it! Ruined. Good thing I made extras, just in case. After glazing the donuts and boxing them, I carry them to the front, and the man is still there. He glances at his watch as I approach the counter and impatiently taps his fingers on the glass.
Must be the person waiting for the donut order. I’m only a few minutes late, so why the hostility? “Is that my box?” he snaps. I double-check the order slip. “Are you Carson?” “For crying out loud.” He snatches the box from my hands. “I’m sorry.” He sighs as if I’ve committed a grave offense, and then he does the unexpected. Turns and walks away. “Hey! You need to pay for that.” If a pin hits the floor, it’ll echo. He spins on his heel and rages back. I instinctively and wisely step away. He slams the donut box down and pulls money from his pocket. Slaps two twenties on the counter. “Thank you.” I head to the register, and he turns and stomps off before I can give him the change. “Who was that?” I ask Ann, who is standing by the display case. “Carson Manning. He owns the lumber yard outside of town.” A lot of people named Manning around here. “Is he related to Ryan and Axel?” She nods.
“Brothers.” I lower my head, and she chuckles. “I forgot. They both asked you out, didn’t they?” “I can’t believe he’s related to them. They’re so nice, and he’s so rigid.” Ann inhales sharply. “Yeah. Well. Every girl in town wants to bed him.” I’m not every girl, and though he may be gorgeous, I have no interest in him or any other man. I’ve declared a man strike—no dating for the foreseeable future. And I won’t change my mind, even with the Manning brothers around. Thank goodness for the ringer in the kitchen. I was afraid Ann wanted to delve deeper into the subject of men, and I don’t want to go there. Nobody needs to hear my horror story. Ruth knows some of it, but not all.”Here, Elle,” she says, adjusting my leg to enhance the stretch. “That’s it,” she encourages before moving on. I may have to consider a membership if I stay in this town. The end of class brings me great joy. I’m not accustomed to this kind of torture, but I am proud of finishing. I get back to work.
Ruth is letting me introduce some of my favorite treats to her customers. I’ve been adding them gradually, and they’ve been well-received, often selling out by noon, when the store closes. It makes me feel good. Another thing that might make me feel good is doing something other than work. The wellness center has been suggested, and it’s conveniently located a few blocks from the donut shop. Catherine, one of our regulars, teaches yoga there. Ann goes sometimes and loves it. I promised I’d come and try it, so I do. The center is a sizable building, and when you walk in, you find a giant basketball court with doors along the perimeter. I start walking, searching for the right room, and eventually find it. I slip in quietly and grab a mat at the door, trying to go unnoticed. I prefer staying in the back because I’m not good at yoga. Not good at all.
Catherine is at the front, dressed in red yoga pants and a matching sports bra, her brown hair pulled up into a bun. She spots me and gives a small wave. I smile briefly before shrugging off my jacket and pulling off my sweatpants. Underneath, I’m wearing black Lululemon yoga shorts and a Nike tank top. Midway through class, I realize I’m enjoying it. Catherine is a gifted instructor and easy to follow. She circulates the room, offering guidance. I grab my bag, intending to slip away before anyone can engage me in conversation. I’m almost out the door when Catherine catches up. “Elle!” she calls. I stop and turn.
“I’ll see ya.” I start to move away. “Join me for tea at the diner?” I would rather decline, but I need to make new friends, and Catherine seems lovely. “Okay, sounds nice.” We leave together and chat about the class as we head to the restaurant next door. I follow her inside. I haven’t been here before. It’s charming, with country knick-knacks adorning the walls. Formica tables and vinyl seats evoke a sense of nostalgia. Everyone seems to gawk as we walk through the place. Is that Carson Manning? Is he stalking me? I ignore him and follow Catherine to a table. What a jerk.