Free Berch by V. Vaughn

CHAPTER ONE
    P ulling down my pencil skirt, I smile, because it’s loose enough I don’t have to suck in my belly. My life may be a failure, but at least I’ve managed to lose the fifteen pounds I gained in the five years since I graduated from high school. Just in time for my reunion. Too bad that feat isn’t something I can brag about when people ask how the high-powered finance job I don’t have is going.
    Giggling makes me glance across the parking lot of the Elks Club to Jessie Thompson, who is now a Stewart. She never left Winter Valley, and I’m told she’s happily married with three children. Is that Kayla—“Shit!”
    My purse lands with a thump, and my phone skitters across asphalt as I land on my hands and knees. I’ve stepped in a pothole and twisted my ankle. The Prada! Crap, that pocketbook is worth more than I’ve made all year waiting tables. I scramble over to lift it gently and inspect the crocodile leather. Just a small scratch. Relief washes over me as salty dirt stings my tongue when I lick my finger to smooth out the imperfection. Apparently the insurance policy on rental purses isn’t actually supposed to be used, because for me, that option has been revoked. I glance at my burning palms and find they’re scraped and red but not bleeding. When I roll to sit on my bottom, I find my knee is a different story. Warmth makes me gaze at the blood that gushes out.
    “Fabulous.”
    I clutch the red Prada to my chest, worried I’ll get blood on it, when black catches my eye, and a man in jeans and a charcoal dress shirt stoops down to pick up my phone. Berch Lindholm. My stomach flutters. I’ve always known Berch. Winter Valley is a small town, and we spent our childhood on the same playgrounds and in the same classes. Even when we were in high school and in different social circles, I knew who Berch Lindholm was.
    He says, “You’re bleeding.” Berch hands me my phone and pushes his Clark Kent-style glasses up his nose as he says, “I’ve got something in my truck. I’ll be right back.”
    My mind flashes back to our graduation night, and my cheeks flush with shame. I’d had too much to drink, gone into the woods to get sick, and then gotten lost. Berch found me on the ground crying and helped me back to my friends.
    I brush gravel from my legs and notice my shoe. No freaking way! The four-inch stiletto heel of my Louboutin has snapped off. Dollar signs I can’t even afford to imagine flash through my mind. I sigh as I remove it from my foot. It serves me right for wanting to show off the successful life I don’t have.
    Berch squats down next to me with a water bottle and take-out napkins. He gazes at me, and I’m swept away by eyes that make me visualize what arctic waters must look like. “Can I wash your knee for you?” he asks.
    I nod because I, Raven Lynch, voted most outgoing in our class, am speechless at the hands of the drop-dead gorgeousness Berch has become. His blond hair is long and casually swept to the side. He was a lean boy, and as a man, he’s grown into his strong cheekbones, while his shoulders and chest have broadened. He’s wearing cologne that draws me in, and I inhale while trying to be discreet. Mother of all that’s holy, I want to stick my nose in his neck and lick him.
    I flinch when the water hits my knee. He says, “I’m sorry, Raven. But you really want to get this dirt out.”
    I find my voice. “I know. Thank you.” I recall how I never thanked him the night he rescued my drunken butt, because I was so embarrassed. And then I left for the summer, making this the first time I’ve seen him since. “Again.”
    Berch stops wiping my cut to glance up at me. “It wasn’t a problem then, and it isn’t one now.”
    “You look amazing, by the way.”
    He chuckles. “Is it the glasses? I’m told chicks dig the nerdy look.”
    “Berch!” I chuckle too. He’s holding my leg with one hand while the other is cleaning my knee, and I’m suddenly