Clarity: Hate to Love You, #1

By Anna Albo

The past year hasn't been kind to Grace. Her parents lost their business, her beloved grandfather passed away, and she ended things with the guy she thought she loved but who turned out to be a jerk instead.

 

Since then she's been existing.

 

Barely.

 

Despite all the setbacks, she's determined to follow her dream of being a lawyer, but she's got some problems. First, can she even get into law school? Second, can she afford it? But her biggest problem is Jason McCarthy, the new super-hot guy in town trying to steal her heart. His cool and calm demeanor is a perfect complement to her chaotic life.

 

But when it all comes together—or all falls apart—Grace has to make some difficult choices.

 

Can she pursue her dreams and find long-lasting love too?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Albo
• Release date: Mar 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999102579

Anna Albo

Anna Albo is a prairie girl who loves the city.  From new adult to chick lit and everything in between, Anna writes contemporary romance and women’s fiction that makes people laugh and love. When Anna isn’t writing her latest book, she’s enjoying a cup of tea while attempting to create a culinary masterpiece. She lives with her partner Mike, their dog. To get updates and information on new releases, sign up for my newsletter by clicking on my website link.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I’ve always had a unique way of dealing with loss. When I was eight, I pretended that our old tabby, Holly, was out prowling the neighborhood and would be home as soon as she was finished terrorizing all the other felines. When Grandpa died, instead of accepting it, I told myself he’d gone on a long vacation overseas and would be home soon. The problem with this delusional way of thinking was that eventually reality sets in, and when it does, the consequences crush you. There are times I’ve been merrily skipping along through life and then it would hit me; I’d never see Grandpa again. Ever. These moments would catch me off guard, mostly at inopportune times like the middle of History class or out with friends. I’ve struggled, trying to hide the tears, claiming something was in my eye—whatever I could think of. Thankfully the reality checks come less often now. Grandpa’s been gone a year, but every once in a while I miss him so much it hurts.

And maybe that’s why I don’t get close to people anymore. I have my family and Anita, my best friend. I don’t need or want anyone else because eventually you have to say goodbye, and when it comes to goodbye, I wasn’t very good at it.

But then something happens and it changes everything you know.

Clarity. It washes over when you least expect it, a feeling of warmth and certainty even in the most uncertain of times. Why it came to me today, a day just like any other, was still a mystery. But I felt it, an unmistakable feeling like a fuzzy blanket on a bitterly cold day. I smiled. Despite the circumstances of the previous year, my precarious present, and my uncertain future, I knew it would be okay. There was no mistaking clarity.

Hey, everything all right?

I looked up at Cathy, my boss. A mixture of confusion and worry etched her face.

I’m fine. My mind wandered a bit, I said with a small laugh.

That’s so unlike you. I’m usually the one with my head in the clouds.

I took a rag and wiped down the counter area of dried up coffee spots. We had a bit of a lull. With winter setting in, flights for the holidays would be on the increase and shifts at work a little more plentiful. Despite being in school full time, I took as many shifts as possible. I was the epitome of the starving student, with the one perk of being able to drink all the coffee I wanted for free. But who can live on coffee alone?

I thought about money a lot, mostly because I didn’t have very much of it. Instead of being a political science major, I should have studied economics the way I crunched numbers. I had become so frugal Ebenezer Scrooge would have looked like a shopaholic. I cut up my credit card, buried my debit card in the backyard, and now paid for everything by cash and cash only. I couldn’t remember the last time I bought anything new; going out to the movies or drinking with my friends were luxuries. I hated living this way but I had no other choice.

Once again, so absorbed in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed a waiting customer. I knew practically everyone who worked at the airport from the pilots to the air traffic controllers. At one time or another they came to us for coffee. While there were a slew of places to get your java fix, we were by far the best. So when I looked up, way up, at my latest customer wearing his distinctive navy and gray Customs uniform, I knew I’d never seen him before. His light blue eyes stared at me, waiting for me to take his order. Just as I was about to speak he barked it out.

Large dark roast. Black.

I closed my opening mouth and poured his coffee. He slapped the exact change down on the counter and took a seat at one of the empty booths. He’d been carrying a paper under his arm and now he settled in to read it. I beelined for Cathy to get the scoop on this one.

He’s new, she said. Started a few weeks ago. He’s not overly talkative, that’s all the intel I have so far. You know those Customs guys. They pretty much keep to themselves, except Louis, of course. I’m guessing we’re this guy’s first posting before he gets transferred to his dream location.

Minneapolis isn’t his dream location?

Cathy let out a chortle. I love your sarcasm, Grace.

I went back to my cleaning. In six weeks, the Thanksgiving then Christmas season would kick in and the airport would be buzzing. The greater traffic would carry into the new year as people travelled to warmer destinations for holidays or came home to be with loved ones. Cathy would increase my hours, and if I had any hope of ever getting into law school, I needed every last dollar. Yes, money was always on my mind.

I ventured over to the tables. Some needed cleaning with abandoned coffee cups and crumpled napkins. Absently I tossed the garbage and scrubbed down more tables.

Any good places to eat around here?

The Customs agent startled me with his question. I looked around to see who he was talking to, but his eyes were focused on me, waiting, bored. What kind of place are you looking for?

Something decent, he said. I’ve checked out a few places, but they’ve all been pretty bad.

His coarse tone betrayed something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was he flirting? He was kind of cute. I didn’t normally go for tall blonds, but I’d consider making an exception for him. The real question was whether he was going to ask me out with his cheesy pickup approach. Are you looking for Italian, Chinese, Greek? What kind of food are we talking about?

So far everything in this town has been crap. I just want a meal that didn’t come out of a freezer or a microwave.

Are you Gordon Ramsey or something? Was he for real? Was he looking for a Michelin-star restaurant? This was a Midwestern town, not Paris.

Right, never mind, he said with obvious irritation.

So he wasn’t asking me out. Didn’t matter because I didn’t like him anyway.

The remainder of my shift was uneventful. I took the bus home, a twenty-minute ride, and used that time to study. When I walked through the door, I could smell my mom’s mouth-watering stew, the perfect meal for a cool October evening. The meal was just for me and my parents. Both my siblings had moved out. Pam lived out west where she’d found a job as a buyer for a clothing retailer and Evan, my brother, had married the previous summer; he and his high school sweetheart, Sara, were expecting their first child, something my parents desperately looked forward to. It was the only bright spot in a dark period.

Anita phoned, my mother said as she began setting the table. I took the plates from her and she went back to the stove to stir up her stew one last time.

I’ll call her later.

It may have sounded strange, but Wednesdays were my favorite day of the week. I didn’t have to get up early for classes so I could sleep in an hour or two. Every other day consisted of waking up at five a.m., taking the bus to school, classes until the afternoon, and a shift at Anthony’s three evenings a week. I worked almost every weekend but found a day to volunteer at Greta’s House, a shelter for abused women. I volunteered there for a few reasons: I enjoyed the work I did, I felt appreciated, and it looked good to any future law school.

My dad came to the table and gave me a slight nod. He settled in and began to eat. He didn’t say much these days, instead he spent most of his time sitting in front of the television or reading a newspaper. He barely talked to Mom anymore.

He ate quietly, his head downcast. I wanted to reach out and give him a hug, but we just didn’t do that anymore. The last few years had taken so much from Dad and I worried that one day he’d just give up. Maybe Mom didn’t think that way, but there were many times I checked up on Dad, just to make sure he was all right, that he hadn’t done something crazy.

Mom kept conversation going about her impending grandmotherhood. I wondered if a baby would snap Dad out of his funk. Sadly, I didn’t think it would.

I ate more quickly than I should have, probably to get away from the glumness of the dinner table. I should get some studying in, I said, escaping. I went up to my room carrying my backpack. I called Anita, but got her voicemail. I settled on my bed and pulled out a book. It was only a few minutes before my eyelids became heavy. For some reason my last thought wasn’t of Anita or Political Ideas and Ideologies, but of the mysterious new Customs agent.

CHAPTER 2

Thursday lunches were exclusively with Anita. We had a standing date for 12:30 p.m. at the main campus cafeteria. I found her nursing a large chai latte, reading over a marketing textbook and making some notes. She’d recently lopped off her long black hair in favor of a short bob. She claimed the new ‘do freed her from the confines of long hair and being a slave to pleasing the male species. While I questioned her thought process, her new look was fabulous. It suited her thin, toned frame.

I took the seat across from her, setting down my half-ton backpack with a thud and pulling my brown bag lunch from it.

I called you last night.

Sleeping, she said, slamming shut her textbook. We’ve only been back in school for less than eight weeks and I already feel overwhelmed.

Her mocha-colored brown eyes did look a bit droopy, and her deep bronze skin tone did lack its rich color, but Anita Kumar was still a goddess. She walked into a room and everyone took notice—male and female.

Law school doesn’t usually accept slackers.

Tell me about it. I’d kill for a good party right about now, Anita said, and sighed.

Anita and I had been friends since middle school. She’d been the new girl, her father uprooting her from back east after her mom died from breast cancer when Anita was only thirteen. He thought he was doing the right thing, but I think Anita resented him for taking her away from her friends when she needed them most. When Anita arrived, I took her under my wing . . . or so I thought. In our friendship, Anita most definitely wore the pants and I was okay with that.

We studying Sunday?

Yes, but I work until five, I said, taking a bite out of my hummus, sprouts, and feta pita. Much to the chagrin of my parents, Anita had introduced me to vegetarianism. This caused much bickering and all-out confusion with Mom. In her mind we were meat eaters; that’s why we had three steakhouses. She fought me for months, nearly a year, until she realized I was not going to relent. Only then did she start thinking more outside the box and even enjoyed a good batch of hummus herself. She became more adventurous with dinner and even claimed that my lifestyle choice made her enjoy more vegetables. She still made beef, pork, and chicken for my dad, but it didn’t bother me. My mission wasn’t to convert.

How goes work?

Anita asked about work all the time. Firstly, she had the luxury of not working. Having a big-shot banker for a dad meant that he paid for everything. Secondly, I always had entertaining stories from my job. It was no secret how much abuse I took at Anthony’s. The worst abusers were those with delayed or cancelled flights who often used the Anthony’s staff as punching bags. At first it bothered me a lot, sometimes to the point of tears, but now I’d become so accustomed to the insults, jabs, and name-calling that they deflected right off me.

There’s a new guy at Customs.

He sounds cute. Do tell, Anita said, leaning forward and pushing all her books aside.

How did you leap to him being cute?

You wouldn’t have mentioned him otherwise. Besides, I love a man in uniform.

I rolled my eyes. If anyone hated a man in uniform more, it was Anita. Campus police were very familiar with my best friend. There wasn’t a protest she hadn’t attended, rally she hadn’t missed, or a sit-in she hadn’t sat at. Anita the Activist did not mesh well with people in positions of authority.

Your sarcasm never fails.

I’m curious. What’s his story?

I don’t know yet. I’ve spoken to him once and it’s not like sparks flew.

Anita’s light brown eyes inspected me and I knew she could see everything. I hated how transparent I was. So you like him.

There’s nothing to like. I could feel my cheeks start to burn. Damn it!

He’s totally hot?

He’s a jerk.

You like him! Do you want me to call him after school and see if he likes you?

Oh, shut up.

Anita let out a laugh. It’s nice to see you showing an interest in the opposite sex again. It’s been awhile.

Who has time?

Now Anita took a turn rolling her eyes. You can blame it on all the problems your parents have had, but I wouldn’t blame you for taking your time dating again. Eric was a rat, plain and simple.

No need to insult innocent rats, I said, taking another bite of my sandwich. All discussion of Eric was off the table and Anita knew that. He was ancient history—no, he was beyond that. He was prehistoric history, and if there was a time period before that, then, well, you get the picture.

It’s been over a year now, Anita continued. It’s time.

Did you finish that American Lit paper yet? I asked with one swift change of subject.

Nearly done. You?

I’m just doing some revisions now. I could use at least an A on that paper.

We finished up lunch and the latest gossip. I had Bio followed by my Democracy and Citizenship class before a four-hour shift at Anthony’s. As I was leaving, Anita caught my arm.

Look, sorry about bringing up Eric. I didn’t mean to piss you off.

You didn’t, I said sincerely. Anita had a lot of questions but I didn’t want to answer them.

If you like the guy in uniform, pursue it. What do you have to lose? Even if you just hang out with him a few times. No big deal.

I frowned a little. There’s nothing to pursue. It’s not like he’s done anything. I guess he caught my eye, that’s all. Totally harmless.

Like I said, it’s nice that you’re showing an interest in someone. You owe it to yourself to at least give it a shot.

GETTING INTO LAW SCHOOL wasn’t as easy as having good marks and an excellent LSAT score. I needed at least two reference letters and to exhibit that I was an active member of my community. So when I first started volunteering at Greta’s House, my intentions were to build up my law school application more than anything benevolent. My first day volunteering changed all that.

Greta’s House was a safe haven, an escape, and a chance at a new life for many of the women and children who walked through its doors. I normally had no exposure to the women who just entered the facility. My job came later on, to help women write resumes, fill out government documents and application forms, find jobs, and anything else to assist them in their new lives. Ellen Ortiz was the first person I helped when I started volunteering two summers ago. Her husband, a bus driver, had made Ellen and her young sons’ lives a misery. It’s not that I knew her story right away; it took Ellen nearly three months to open up to me, and when she did, a friendship was born.

Looking back, I couldn’t imagine that Ellen, with her assertive disposition, would allow a man to terrorize her the way that he did, but I learned a lot at Greta’s House—and the first lesson was never to judge or assume. Any woman could come from an abusive situation. Class, race, and religion didn’t matter; anyone could be a victim.

I helped Ellen with her job applications, but ironically, her future was at Greta’s House. She made such an impression on the staff both as a hard worker and an inspiration to the other women in the facility that she was offered an administrative assistant and peer counsellor position. In the evenings she took college courses in hopes of becoming a certified therapist all while caring for her two boys. Ellen amazed me each and every day.

Hello, Grace, Ellen said when I went in for my volunteer shift. I tried to get to Greta’s House at least once a week, and if I couldn’t, I made sure to devote twenty hours per month. It was the single most rewarding work I’d ever done. I’d often bake cookies for the ladies, and when my mom found out what I was doing, she and