Sommerville Days

By Vicki Batman

Raving Beauty: What if the love of your life was in front of you all along?
Store Wars: The competition is heating up when Janie's old flame returns to town and is running his family's store. Could following dreams break her heart?
San Diego or Bust: When a young woman plans a romantic getaway with her boyfriend, disaster strikes. Is her Mr. Right the right Mr. Right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vicki Batman
• Release date: Feb 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005217778

Vicki Batman

Vicki Batman’s stories are full of her hallmark humor, romance, possibilities, and will delight all readers. She has sold many romantic comedy works to magazines, several publishers, and most recently, three humorous romantic mysteries. Along the way, she has picked up awards and bestsellers. Avid Jazzerciser. Handbag lover. Mahjong player. Yoga practitioner. Movie fan. Book devourer. Chocaholic. Best Mom ever. And adores Handsome Hubby.

Book preview

Dedication

To Handsome: Every second, every minute, every hour, every day.

To my sisters: thanks for reading and thinking my work is funny.

To the Guilty Girls book club: happy years.

To Susan: forever grateful for the push.

To those of you who read: nothing is more gratifying.

Acknowledgements

Judy Roth for editing.

Liese Sherwood-Fabre for helping a friend make her work better.

Sylvia McDaniel for all things related to a bad foot.

Michelle Miles for being a good friend.

To the Plotting Princesses: I love your support.

Raving Beauty

Chapter One

I can’t believe I let your loony brother, who’s tormented me all my life, talk me into this.

With my eye on the teenage competition standing off to one side, I tugged the swimsuit’s leg opening into place to better cover my hip. Just because I did some modeling in college doesn’t make me a pageant diva. Back then, I was incredibly skinny, and clothes fit easily.

Daniel is a rat. He took advantage of your third, or was it your fourth, margarita, Kelly? Maggie Ackerman, my best friend and roommate, adjusted the scarlet satin sash draped across my body. Glittery stick-on letters spelled out Miss Yahoo! Ranch Steakhouse. Don’t worry. You’re beautiful and will be fine. Now, hold still.

I watched her pick my brown hair at the crown of my head with an old-fashioned teasing comb. When the eerie suspicion I resembled a scary dame with Big Texas hair from the television show, Dallas, I turned my head to avoid the mirror.

Close your eyes. She blasted my hair with several short bursts of super freeze-it hairspray. Now, that ain’t goin’ nowhere.

I spit-wiped a sticky spot on my right cheek. My volunteer stylist needed to work on her aim, preferably with both of her eyes open. Here’s wishing nobody I know sees me like this.

There. The scrunch of her nose reflected how pleased she was with herself. Feeling better?

Like a slab of beef. Please stop messing with my hair, Maggie. I have a raging headache. I might need another Ibuprofen.

On an empty stomach—

Hey, I had to starve for two days so I’d be passable compared to the seventeen year-olds.

You’re not dead yet.

Like I said, compared to them, I’m as ancient as Moses. How’s my makeup?

She fisted her hands on her hips. You’re complaining about your makeup?

If I have to do this, I’ll do it in style. Lipstick? I angled her way and spread my lips into a toothy, ghoulish grin.

All clear.

Blush?

Slutty.

Body?

Screw-able. She giggled.

I guess the starvation plan worked. I smoothed my hands along my ribs, which did feel a bit bony after the two-day starvation plan and skimmed them over my sleek hips.

She tweaked a stray lock from my cheek. Daniel knew what he was doing when he asked you.

Daniel. I gritted my teeth. How I hated that name. That nemesis. That giant pain. And Maggie’s twin brother. Oh, he did, did he?

She didn’t say anything. Just lifted her left eyebrow.

Why didn’t his latest hoochie coochie step up? I asked.

Miss Perky and Perfect? She shook her head, sending her auburn wavy locks flying. That’s long over—thank God. No one liked her. She was all talk and no action.

No action? Unbelievable. I rolled my eyes. All guys want action.

That’s my understanding. She studied me carefully. Besides, he didn’t really care for her.

Hmm, not buying it. He sure showed her off like she was Empress of the Universe.

He said so, and he has never lied to me.

Maybe her sainted brother hadn’t lied to her. Maybe he’d lied by omission.

Before I could ask more, the pageant organizer, dressed in a professional black suit with Asian-inspired sticks securing her dark bun, rushed thru backstage, an iPad tucked in the crook of her arm. She stopped where we participants had gathered and consulted her device. Next up, ladies, is Kelly Stinson. Kelly?

Me? Already? My stomach sunk to my feet. I placed my palm over the raging jitters playing havoc with my tummy and rubbed a circle, hoping to soothe all into oblivion. An antacid would be a superb idea.

I raised my hand. Here.

Ready? The coordinator pointed. Please find your place.

Maggie took my upper arm and steered me between the curtains in the wings where other contestants standing in a row were waiting for their turn. She whispered in my ear, Two more before you.

Sooo not great.

She said, You’ll be perfect. Trust me.

Trust me. The two reassuring words everyone uttered when all had big doubts.

My sightline moved past the curtain to the auditorium seats. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Maggie’s twin, Daniel—

Did he have to come? Just because he owns the restaurant was no reason for him to show.

When Daniel’s gaze hooked up with mine, he elbowed a guy to his left. Before I could duck back into the wings, both twisted to look my way and waved. Enthusiastically.

Oh. My. God. I stepped back. He brought a friend? I angled my head to the ceiling above for divine intervention. Someone toss dirt on me now.

Maggie peeked over my shoulder. What is it?

I leveled my unhappy face on her. Your beloved clone and his compadre eyeballed me. I’m dying of embarrassment.

Nobody’s ever died from embarrassment…that I’ve heard of. She rose to tippy toes and stole a quick look. Cool, Dan brought Ben Stewart. He moved back to Sommerville a few weeks ago. I always had a tendre for him.

The Ben Stewart? The one from high school? I stared their way again. The nerd I remembered used to be skinny, short, and knobby kneed. Topped off with the black, plastic-framed glasses all dorks wore, white undershirts, baggy jeans, and red Converse high-tops with holes in the toes. Back then, I was pretty positive he hadn’t changed clothes much. But then, most teenage boys didn’t. Ick.

That’s not him. That’s not Ben, I said. The one we knew in high school was a weirdo. This guy looks…normal.

Her face altered into one of those you are so wrong sweetheart expressions. He’s evolved. Geeks do that, you know.

I peeked around the curtain again. The new and improved Ben had cropped, sun-streaked hair, broad shoulders a girl could lean on, and well-defined muscles filling out his sky-blue polo shirt.

Too bad there isn’t a male category in this competition. He’d win easily. I said, I swear that isn’t him—

Ladies and gentlemen, the emcee said into the microphone. Next up competing for Miss Sommerville is Kelly Stinson. Kelly represents Yahoo! Ranch Steakhouse.

Gently, my pal nudged me forward. Hearing the audience’s whoops and claps, I plastered a smile on my face and took a step. The heel of my four-inch stiletto caught in a sizeable indentation in the hardwood floor. With a fast prayer, I managed to correct myself before executing a major swan dive off-stage and strode with the confidence one could summon when thrust into a group of girls ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter.

Kelly is the owner of Creative Boutique which specializes in goods crafted by Sommerville locals. She loves to read, run, and misses her favorite companion, her kitty, Romper. The announcer bent toward the microphone. How about a big Texas howdy for Kelly?

Using the skills I’d honed as an erstwhile fashion model in my golden days of college, I crossed the stage toward the podium, paused with hands on my hips. When the applause had died, I pivoted to move center stage. As my heel caught another divot, grace abandoned me. With a pop-pop-pop, my ankle bowed cockeye, and this time, my worst nightmare came true. I tumbled over the edge of the stage.

Landing flat on my flipside, I blinked vacantly at the acoustical tile ceiling. Somewhere in my stupor,