Match Cut: A Standalone Small Town Romance (Foxe Hill Book 1) Read online

  Match Cut

  Julie Olivia

  Copyright © 2020 by Julie Olivia

  [email protected]

  www.julieoliviaauthor.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by C. Marie

  Cover Photo from iStock

  Cover Design by Julie Olivia

  Contents

  About “Match Cut”

  Playlist

  Match Cut (n)

  1. Keaton

  2. Violet

  3. Violet

  4. Keaton

  5. Violet

  6. Keaton

  7. Keaton

  8. Violet

  9. Violet

  10. Keaton

  11. Violet

  12. Keaton

  13. Violet

  14. Keaton

  15. Violet

  16. Violet

  17. Violet

  18. Keaton

  19. Violet

  20. Keaton

  21. Violet

  Epilogue

  Nice to See You!

  About “In Too Deep”

  1. Grace

  2. Grace

  3. Grace

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Julie Olivia

  About the Author

  About “Match Cut”

  Match Cut is a full-length, standalone contemporary small town romance!

  When I moved back to my hometown of Foxe Hill, I knew a few things for certain:

  First, I needed to overcome the world’s worst case of writer’s block. My first documentary film might have won some big awards, but that doesn’t cement a career. Second, this move must remain temporary. After ten years away, I don’t plan on staying. Third, and most importantly, I cannot, under any circumstances, fall back in love with my brother’s best friend, Keaton Marks.

  Easier said than done in Foxe Hill.

  When I’m around Keaton, I feel less like an award-winning filmmaker and more like the teenager I was when I first fell for him. He’s still the gorgeous, quiet, and way out-of-my-league man, now complete with biceps and a beard—have mercy on my soul—and I’m still his best friend’s little sister.

  Keaton wouldn’t notice me even if I wanted him to, so it’s just business as usual when I keep running into him—completely innocent up until the day he pulls me into the most earth-shattering, world-changing, is-this-really-happening kiss.

  With my film career on the line, I can’t afford any distractions. But the way he’s looking at me now, with his eyes wandering as far as I’d always hoped they would? It’s the biggest distraction I can think of.

  Welcome home, Violet.

  Playlist

  “Sun It Rises” - Fleet Foxes

  “Thirteen” - Elliott Smith

  “If I Didn’t Care” - The Ink Spots

  “One Of These Things First” - Nick Drake

  “Only For You” - Heartless Bastards

  “It’s a Ball” - Black Taxi

  “I Had Me a Girl” - The Civil Wars

  “County Line” - Dr. Dog

  “Gimme All Your Love” - Alabama Shakes

  “Sea of Love” - Cat Power

  “First Day Of My Life” - Bright Eyes

  Match Cut (n)

  A visual edit used in filmmaking to display a deep sense of connection between two separate individuals, objects, or events.

  One

  Keaton

  It’s funny the things we remember. If you told me one of my favorite memories of Violet Marie Ellis was the way she sat in a movie theater, I’d tell you, Yeah, that sounds weird but about right. It’s also interesting how that particular quirk of hers keeps flashing in my mind over and over. I think about it often, though admittedly more in the past two weeks.

  I met Violet Marie Ellis when we were both kids; she was eleven and I was thirteen. At that age, I was too distracted by mind-numbing algebra, working at my grandpa’s sandwich shop, and general prepubescent unease to view her as anything other than a little girl. But, when we grew older, ‘little girl’ became less of an applicable term.

  I realized it was an issue around the age of eighteen when I somehow always had some excuse to avoid her gymnastics recitals. I have to pick up another shift at work, too much homework, I’m sick… I’d fake the flu if it meant I didn’t have to hide an embarrassing boner at the sight of my best friend’s sixteen-year-old sister in a fitted leotard.

  Yeah, my best friend’s sister.

  I know.

  “Keepin’ me company tonight, Keaton?”

  The raspy voice of First Stop’s owner and main bartender, Todd, gives me a start, and I lift my pint to him in response as if toasting this fine Thursday night—this Thursday night that surely isn’t different from any other. No sir. It’s the same as always, mostly quiet save for the radio playing over the speakers and a few barely legal kids scooting along the dance floor.

  In reality, I’d be lying to myself if I truly insisted this was just another Thursday. It’s different because Violet Ellis is moving back to town.

  The teens flounce about on the dance floor with their too-short shorts—which are completely unnecessary in early spring. Todd’s wife, Meredith, is out there as well, trying to lead the careless crowd as best she can.

  If you want to judge the profitability and success of a small town, I recommend visiting the local bar on a Thursday night. Do not judge by Saturday night attendance. The numbers are inflated; that’s too easy, and the first thing you need to know about my small town is that we don’t like anything easy. We’re realists, and we know Foxe Hill is dying.

  Actually, no, my grandfather taught me to be nicer than that: We’re in a steady decline.

  In most bars, you’ll see cowboy boots hitting the floor every few beats—people making up their own line dances while a rising country star belts out songs that get a whoop and holler from the crowd. Women in heeled boots run across the dance floor with a man in tow. His smile is wide because although his belt buckle is big, his woman’s personality is likely much bigger. Strong cologne and stronger convictions, a lot of cheap beer, harsh whiskey, collared polos, scuffed jeans, camouflage overalls…are you getting the picture yet? Visit a town on a bustling Thursday night and you will see all this—but not in Foxe Hill.

  “Your better half looks like she’s doing alright on her own,” I say to Todd as he pours me another beer. Meredith wasn’t born in Foxe Hill. She and First Stop’s owner, Todd, met online, and she’s a Foxe Hill transplant. A former librarian, she is now spending five days a week line dancing with the youth and the other two co-leading a book & movie club with me at the local theater. She may not be native, but she’s a natural.

  “And where’s your better half?” Todd asks. My stomach jolts, and I laugh again. It accidentally comes out shaky, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Todd is referring to my best friend, Asher.

  “He’s picking up Violet,” I say.

  “Violet?” Todd says with wide eyes and a grin. “Now what’s draggin’ her back here?”

  “She’s here to make another movie,” I say.

  “Good for her!�
� His statement is genuine, and I can see the slight sparkle in his old eyes. “We sure miss her!” Yeah, who doesn’t? Violet was the quiet girl, and it’s hard not to like the shy, pretty girl. Well, shy until you get to know her, anyway.

  Todd lets out a small chuckle to himself.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Odd she’s coming back, though.” His tone shifts. It’s the same sound I hear from anyone when old locals move back. It’s like a small betrayal when people leave. Unfortunately, it seems to be happening more and more as the older crowd gets even older and better schools pop up a city over. “I’m glad, but it’s odd. She’s a hotshot now, right?”

  “She hasn’t changed.” I attempt to soothe the unspoken worry I know he has, and maybe I have it as well. Because who knows? Maybe California warped her. Maybe she drinks celery juice and eats kale salads exclusively. Or maybe she’s still the same.

  “She won an award for that last movie, y’know,” I say, changing the subject. “Made it all on her own. I think it’s pretty neat.”

  “Sure, it’s neat,” Todd replies with a small shrug.

  That’s quite an understatement. Violet’s breakout documentary on the value of education in America was a hit among both audiences and critics. Unfortunately, Todd’s neutral reaction to it is about the norm in this town. We had a screening at the local theater on Main Street, but the turnout was scarce, to say the least. That said, I was amazed.

  “Well, we’re happy to have her back either way,” he says, wiping another small area of the bar. There is no stain. This bar is spick and span and has been since five o’clock yesterday when the only visitors were a few locals. “Never thought I’d see the day…thought she’d stay here just like her brother.”

  I return the smile and look back into my beer. I knew she’d make it.

  My leg jitters underneath the bar. When I look up, Todd’s mustache twitches like he’s deep in thought, but he’s not looking at me and my obvious anxiety. He’s staring at Meredith dancing on the open floor alone, crossing here, swinging there… The teens are tittering at a long table near the dance floor, but their attention is no longer on the retired librarian enjoying life to the beat of her own cowgirl boot.

  “I’ll keep her company,” I say, downing the rest of my beer and sliding it back to Todd, who tosses me a wink of appreciation.

  I walk over to Meredith, easily falling in line beside her. I don’t even need to find which step she’s on; it’s just natural at this point. Just another Thursday night. She smiles, dark red lipstick shining back at me and wisps of her bangs breezing back and forth with each turn of her heel.

  “Nice of you to join me, Keaton.”

  “Yeah, well, I need the distraction.”

  I dip my thumbs into my belt loops, sliding a leg to the left, dragging the right to follow suit. We both turn and a couple girls from the long table join us, attempting to fall in step just as seamlessly as I did.

  “Rough week?” Meredith asks before grinning over to the flannel-clad girls and their boots that were certainly made more for walking rather than farm work.

  “Shop doesn’t run itself,” I say. My sandwich shop is the least of my worries. I keep glancing at the door, waiting for that familiar blonde to walk across the threshold.

  The small group of us clink our heels in front and in back then turn to the side.

  Meredith delays the turn for a bit, watching as the small group of teen girls join us, and she leans toward me, mumbling, “Nothing like a cute man draggin’ all the young girls out here.”

  “Nah,” I say.

  “When’re you gonna settle down, Keaton Marks?”

  “I guess when I meet the right person.”

  With one more turn and a glance toward the entrance doors swinging closed, my words disappear in my throat.

  Violet Marie Ellis stands there wearing a short dress, the color funeral black. She’s always veered toward blacks rather than the bright red flannels and brown boots of the local Town & Country couture. Whether the black is a rebellious statement or just a fashion preference, I’m not sure. It could be a sign of long-term mourning, like the death of her former ties to this hometown.

  She stands there, eyes squinting as she scans the bar.

  When she spots me, she jumps, no doubt shocked to see a familiar face so suddenly. She smiles, slightly raising her small hand in greeting, and my heart sinks down to the creaky hardwood floor. She’s more beautiful than I remember. Her legs are lean and strong, and I can see the deep red lipstick she’s wearing. She would have never worn red lipstick in high school, but it suits her.

  Her little black dress looks like it’s meant to be casual based on how she’s paired it with crisp white sneakers, but for a casual outfit, that dress is shorter than it has any right to be. Although I’m not particularly disappointed in how it looks, there’s still a small part of me that wants to tug it down to a more modest length. No man should be staring at her the way I am now.

  As if on cue, the door swings open once more and there stands her brother, Asher. He towers over her in height. His resting face is brooding with a quizzical brow and a slight frown—not at all reminiscent of his true, boyish personality. At the moment, he looks like a mountain man ready to destroy the next person who looks at him the wrong way.

  Asher hasn’t noticed the way I look at his sister. I try to keep it that way. Around the time Violet was fifteen, he punched a guy who had a crush on her. Punched the guy. I only saw the tail end of the fight as I was dragging Asher away. At the time, Violet was still just a little sister to me as well and I could see why he would hit someone, but it’s a bit different being on the other side now.

  I walk over, stretching out my hand, working out the nerves.

  “How was the airport?” I ask, stopping short of the pair of siblings.

  “Hell,” Asher says through a laugh, his resting face transforming from intense hunter to his usual jovial expression, like night and day. “I’m not leaving this town again if I can help it. Vi can catch a ride next time.”

  “Rude,” Violet says. Hearing her voice for the first time in years is almost alarming, yet so familiar all the same. The tone is sharp with sarcasm toward her brother but still has that lilt of softness to it, the kindness of a woman raised right but not afraid to put a man in his place.

  She’s more confident, and I like it.

  No. No, I can’t.

  “Got any plans tonight?” I ask. They both shake their heads, mirroring one another.

  “I guess just settling her in for now,” Asher says, putting his hands in his pockets, swinging back on his heels. “But I definitely need a drink or something before I stop by Mom’s house. She’ll want to talk until midnight, I guarantee it.”

  “Drink it is,” I say, tossing a wave over to Tom, who is already waving back, a beer on display and waiting for Asher.

  “What a saint,” Asher murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, before making his way to the bar, leaving me alone with the beautiful woman in front of me.

  Violet also has her hands in the pockets of her dress, mimicking her brother and swinging back on the heels of her white sneakers. She glances left to right before meeting my gaze. She lets out a laugh, and it’s forced. I wonder if it’s weird for her to be back here. The dilapidated ceiling, the walls decorated in all types of old memorabilia from World War II all the way to the framed photos of any celebrity who might have floated through this town. The wall of pictures is small, each one framed in a dark wood that’s faded over the years.

  “Well, come here, you big lug,” she finally says, holding out her arms in a welcoming gesture. My heart pounds as I accept her offer, wrapping her in a hug. She smells like lavender, but in the second I take to realize this, I’m already pulling away before the hug goes on a bit too long.

  “You survived the plane,” I say.

  “Define surviving. Children kicking the back of my seat, turbulence, a bad in-flight movie…” she says, trailing of
f with a grin. Her petite shoulders rise in a shrug.

  “The works, huh?” I say.

  “Let’s just say I’m happy to be back on the ground.”

  “And back in Foxe Hill?”

  She tilts her head side to side as if considering her answer. “I’ve been on the road so long that a friendly face isn’t exactly unwelcome.”

  “Wow, ‘not exactly unwelcome’—so kind of you.”

  She rolls her eyes in a joking gesture, smiling wide. “Leave your attitude at the door.”

  We’re tossing banter back and forth, and it’s different. She’s bolder, more experienced in life. She’s not afraid to bite back.

  I didn’t think I could be more attracted to Violet, but it seems I was very much wrong.

  “So, how long has it been?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “Oh, we’re doing small talk now?” she asks, laughing again, light and airy.

  “You leave your attitude at the door,” I respond. “We excel at small talk here.”

  “That’s good,” she says. “I’m about to get a whole lot more of it soon.”

  “Violet!” Todd yells from the bar, throwing a hand in the air in a wave. “Beer?”

  “Whiskey,” she calls back. I didn’t expect that from her, but then again what do I know about her now? Since we last spoke, she’s turned of age, she’s had life experiences…is she even the same girl?