The Awakening of Nina Fontaine Read online

  The Awakening of Nina Fontaine

  Awakening Series Book One

  Michelle St. James

  Blackthorn Press

  Contents

  The Awakening of Nina Fontaine

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Links

  Also by Michelle St. James

  The Awakening of Nina Fontaine

  Awakening Book One

  by Michelle St. James

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2017 by Michelle St. James aka Michelle Zink

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Isabel Robalo

  1

  Nina was torn from her thoughts by the screeching of the subway coming to a stop. She was almost surprised to see the platform on the other side of the window. Somewhere along the way, the view on the other side of the glass had changed from the blue expanse of the Hudson River to the concrete platform at Montrose station, a sea of bodies angling to get on the train even before it came to a complete stop.

  She grabbed her bag and stood, inching her way to the door on unsteady feet, still unused to the wobble of the train under her feet, the unexpected jolts and sways.

  She had only the vaguest of memories of getting off at Grand Central, making her way through the maze of tunnels to the train that would take her out of the city proper and over into Brooklyn. In fact, her last solid memory of the morning was standing awkwardly outside Ron Goldstein’s office with Peter after they’d signed the divorce papers.

  The doors of the subway opened with a woosh of compressed air and she followed the crowd onto the platform, working around the press of bodies waiting to get on the train.

  She glanced at the signs for the exit. It was something she still hadn’t figured out: how to orient herself underground in order to take the most efficient exit. She usually picked one randomly only to discover she’d added an extra two blocks to her walk by taking the wrong one.

  She headed for a set of stairs with a combination of giddiness and resignation. It wasn’t like the extra time mattered. There was no grocery shopping to do, no dry cleaning to pick up, no dinner parties to plan.

  There was only her realtor Melissa Abrams, a woman so amenable and cheerful she would probably wait an extra hour for Nina and then say she was happy to do it because it gave her time to check her already immaculate makeup or shop from her phone for another pair of frighteningly high heels.

  She exited onto the sidewalk and entered the shallow stream of people heading away from the station. Most of the crowd was heading toward it, probably on their way to work in the city. In the past decade, Brooklyn was increasingly gentrified, but a majority of the city’s employers were still across the river in Manhattan.

  The neighborhood was eclectic, a mix of upscale bistros and coffee shops along with the occasional bodega that had managed to stick around amid rising rents and a populace more interested in shopping at Whole Foods.

  She thought about Larchmont, her suburban neighborhood north of the city, the houses spread out enough to feel private and close enough together that calling someone your neighbor still felt honest. There was no subway, and the streets were crowded with luxury cars and SUVs designed to carry kids to soccer practice and ballet class.

  She wouldn’t miss it. She wasn’t any more at home there than she was in Brooklyn, and it wasn’t just the divorce. She hadn’t felt at home there in years, maybe ever, definitely not since she and Peter found out they couldn’t have children.

  No one who worked in the city lived a half hour north of it unless it was because the public schools were good, the neighborhoods picturesque enough to raise a family, the commute to work still doable. She and Peter had been an anomaly, a lonely pair in a sea of families, although she suspected now that the “lonely” part had been more about their relationship than their lack of children.

  She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to think about Peter today. Didn’t want to think about their various failures and missteps. It was over. That was the short version of the story, and the only version that mattered at the moment.

  She spotted a window up ahead, an image of a steaming cup painted onto the glass under the word ROAST, and checked her phone. She wasn’t due to meet Melissa for another twenty minutes, plenty of time to grab a much-needed cup of coffee. She’d been carried through the morning by sheer nervousness — facing Peter for the first time in weeks, signing the papers that would make the end of their marriage official, the prospect of finalizing the lease on her new apartment.

  Her energy was waning, the coffee she’d consumed at the house — the last time she would ever do so after handing over the keys to Peter in exchange for a buyout on her half of the house — metabolized and leaving her with caffeine crash that would be epic if she didn’t head it off.

  She picked up her pace, trying to look as focused as the people around her even though for the first time in ages she had no purpose. It was hard to remember now why she’d felt so much urgency in her old life, but it had been there, gnawing at her like a frenzied mouse searching for cheese that didn’t exist.

  She stepped into Roast and tried to tamp down the nervousness that was her constant companion in the city. It was ridiculous. She was a capable, intelligent, forty-five-year-old woman. There was no earthly reason why she should be nervous, why she should feel out of her element, here or anywhere.

  And yet, her visits to the city — even back when she only took the train in to have dinner or go to the Met with Karen, her best friend from college — were always accompanied by the feeling that she didn’t belong, uncomfortably similar to the way she felt in Larchmont.

  She’d been a refugee of sorts, her Midwestern past and the bucolic college upstate where she’d met Peter long behind her, missing a required piece of the suburban puzzle but still too provincial to fit in in the city.

  She sighed and shook her head as she made her way to the back of the line in front of the counter. She wouldn’t engage in a pity party. She would make a new home for herself, would find her place in the world without Peter — starting now, at this little coffee shop around the corner from her new apartment.

  The coffee shop was cute, although she was still getting used to the microscopic size of everything in a city where real estate went for hundreds of dollars per square foot. There was room for the counter along half of one wall — a sign reading COFFEE IS LIFE behind the baristas taking orders and making coffee — and not much else.

  Two tables were crammed next to the wall opposite the counter, but there wasn’t enough room for anyone to sit without getting jostled by the six people standing in line. A bakery case under the cou
nter displayed pastries and glass jars held a variety of coffee beans labeled by region and roast.

  The crowd was young: a pretty woman in a beanie, her long hair spilling out in waves, a couple dressed in almost identical slim-fitting pants, a smooth-faced young man, a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder while he tapped on his phone, a broad-shouldered man whose face she couldn’t see, his jacket stretched across his wide back, blondish hair shaved at the back of his tan neck.

  Nina felt like a tourist in a foreign land, looking for clues that would help her understand the natives. She wondered if the people around her would feel the same way in her old neighborhood, if they’d exclaim over the spaciousness of the local stores, if they’d snicker at the cardigans and tailored slacks of moms on their way to PTA meetings.

  “What can I get you?”

  The question came from a rosy-cheeked young woman with short, dark hair behind the counter, and Nina realized she’d made her way to the front of the line.

  “Large coffee, black.”

  The young woman shouted out her order, took Nina’s money, and handed her change. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too,” Nina said, moving to the end of the counter where everyone waited for their orders.

  Hers came up first, one of many advantages to taking her coffee black. She reached for the cup and turned, narrowly missing a wall of a man standing right behind her.

  “Oh! Sorry!” She held her cup over her head and away from the crowd, then looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

  His grin was quick and wide, the light in his eyes making it clear he wasn’t annoyed in the slightest. “You’re armed and dangerous with that thing.”

  She laughed. “It’s a little tight in here.”

  It was the man who’d been in front of her in line, the one with the broad shoulders and the jacket.

  Except the rearview hadn’t done him justice. He was well over six feet tall, his shoulders every bit as wide as they’d looked from behind, his face unlined but rugged, blond five o’ clock shadow darkening his chiseled jaw in spite of the early hour.

  He was also young enough to be her son.

  Well, not really, but he was definitely too young for the flare of lust heating her face.

  He stepped aside enough for her to pass and looked through the crowd toward the exit. “I think if you start from here and move to the left of the guy in the beanie, you’ll have a straight shot at the door.”

  She followed his gaze. “Green beanie or blue beanie?”

  His chuckle was low and gruff, the kind of laugh she could imagine coming from him in the dark.

  “Blue.”

  She nodded and gave him a mock salute with her free hand. “Wish me luck.”

  A slow smile sneaked onto his face. “Somehow I have a feeling you don’t need luck.”

  She drew in a breath and turned away before she could do or say something stupid, before he could see the flush she felt creeping up her neck.

  He was right though: she maneuvered to the left of Blue Beanie and was outside in seconds, the bracing January air a welcome contrast to the heat ravaging her body.

  She scolded herself as she hurried toward the apartment. He was a handsome man, that’s all. She would think of him as a friend’s son, one of the nice college boys who used to mow the lawn in the summer, although Mr. Blue Eyes was definitely older than college-age.

  As for the warmth still heating her body, it was probably just a hot flash, the onset of menopause, which was likely going to hit her any second, a nice little reminder from the universe that she was far too old to be lusting after the gorgeous man in the coffee shop.

  2

  Karen was standing outside Nina’s new apartment building, stomping her feet, the breath leaving her body in puffs of cold air. Her coat was emerald wool, perfectly tailored to her svelte body. Nina had a flash of envy. Karen had managed both to have a son — now in college — in her early thirties and to retain her slender figure.

  Nina had managed neither, her body becoming measurably less defined during her years in the suburbs, as if an aging body was some kind of twisted gift from the universe, the only way she actually fit in with some of the other moms. She’d been able to reverse some of the damage with a vigorous gym schedule in the months since Peter had moved out, but she would never be as slender as Karen.

  “Thank god!” Karen said when she spotted Nina. Her fiery red hair was blown out into perfect curls, her makeup polished but understated. “I was about to light a fire in one of the dumpsters to keep warm.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s not that bad. Besides, you could have gone up and waited.”

  “With Melissa?” Karen made a face and pursed her painted lips. “I’ll take the dumpster fire.”

  Nina laughed. “She’s not that bad.”

  She reached for the buzzer and pressed 2A, making a mental note to have the Super put her name on the directory.

  The door buzzed a few seconds later and Karen reached for it. “You sure you want to do this?” she asked, holding it open for Nina.

  “I’m sure,” Nina said. “It’s not like I have a choice anyway. I need a place.”

  “Yeah, but not in Brooklyn.” Karen’s distaste was obvious. “You don’t even have an elevator.”

  “The exercise will be good for me,” Nina said. “Besides, I’m on the second floor. It’s not a big deal.”

  “The offer to stay at my place still stands.” Karen’s heels clicked on the stairs as she followed Nina to the second floor.

  “I appreciate it, but I’m good.”

  Karen’s apartment was gorgeous — a two bedroom on the Upper West Side in a building with both a doorman and an elevator — but Nina hadn’t even been tempted. They’d both changed since they’d first met as college roommates. Nina wasn’t sure their friendship would survive being roommates at this phase of their lives.

  Besides, as terrifying as it was to think of being totally on her own, it was a little thrilling too. She was ready — to decorate a space with nobody’s taste in mind but hers, to take walks alone at all hours of the day and night, to dance in her living room and stay up late watching old movies without apology or explanation.

  She didn’t want to be beholden to anyone — not even Karen — and there was no way she could afford something in the city. She’d blow through her money in six months.

  The second floor opened onto a dingy, narrow hall with chipping paint. Nina’s door was right at the top of the stairs. The other four apartments on her floor were spaced around the hall on the way to the staircase leading to the third and fourth floors.

  They’d barely stepped off the stairs when the door to 2A opened, Melissa smiling from the other side of the threshold.

  “Welcome home!” she said.

  It had the feel of something practiced, a well-worn line pulled out and dusted off with every new tenant she placed, but Nina couldn’t begrudge her. The enthusiasm seemed genuine.

  Nina stepped over the threshold. “Thank you.”

  Karen and Melissa exchanged greetings with the chilly air of women who felt themselves rivals for no discernible reason, and they all moved into the living room.

  Nina immediately felt more relaxed. She remembered now how much she loved the little apartment, how golden the morning light was coming in through the two windows, the black iron of the fire escape standing like an abstract sculpture beyond the glass.

  The living room was large enough to accommodate both the couch that was being delivered later that day and a small desk, although right now she had no idea what she’d do with a desk, given her lack of a job. The room had high ceilings and opened onto a small but efficient kitchen. Beyond the living room a short hall led to a bathroom and a single bedroom.

  Melissa clicked her way to the half-wall separating the kitchen from the living room and slid a leafy plant toward Nina.

  “A little housewarming present for you,” she said. “You get such great light here. I’m s
ure it’ll grow like crazy.”

  Nina smiled. “Thank you so much.”

  “And of course,” Melissa said, picking up a pen next to a sheaf of papers, “the lease.”

  Nina skimmed the paperwork — they’d already gone over the terms — and took the pen. She held it over the signature line, hesitating.

  “Is there any reason I can’t use my maiden name on the lease?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Melissa said. “It’s a legal alias of your married name, and I’m assuming the social security numbers match.”

  “They will.”

  She hadn’t made the decision to return to her maiden name until this moment, but she was suddenly sure it was what she wanted, the perfect way to start the next phase of her life, not as Peter’s ex-wife, suburban refugee, failed maternal vessel.

  As herself. As Nina, whoever that was.

  She signed her name with a flourish, then set down the pen and stared at the signature with satisfaction.

  Nina Fontaine.

  3

  Twelve hours later, she was surrounded by friends and feeling good. The sofa had been delivered on schedule, along with the bed she’d bought from Ikea, and the movers had come with the paltry personal belongings she’d taken from the house upstate.