Conundrum: A paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma.

Chapter Six: No Turning Back

Harmony was a close knit community whose residents' favorite pastime was to gossip, a fact Theresa had chosen to overlook when she made the decision to move back to her childhood home. Small towns such as Harmony are breeding grounds for the lies and jealousy that fuel gossip. Some of the gossip currently circulating Harmony's population was old, recycled: Crazy Old Tabitha was really a witch, and liked to cast spells on her innocent neighbors to make their lives miserable. Sam Bennett, the handsome Chief of Police, had long ago had a whirlwind affair with Ivy Crane, the icy Grande Dame of Harmony's social elite. Martin Fitzgerald, patriarch of the Lopez-Fitzgerald clan, had not really vanished off the face of the Earth, but had been brutally murdered by one of Alistair Crane's "associates" after finding out too much information about the inner dealings of Crane Industries.

Still, some of the current gossip was newer, fresher: tennis champion Whitney Russell had taken to wearing flowing tops this summer, perhaps to conceal a growing bump; could she possibly be pregnant before she was married? A blonde woman who looked suspiciously similar to Gwen Crane had been spotted several times over the course of the summer with a man who looked suspiciously nothing like her husband, Ethan, who had not been seen once in the years that he had left Harmony for LA.

Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald, one time resident home-wrecker and tramp, had returned to town just over a month ago, and had already snagged herself the richest, most desired bachelor in Harmony, Nicholas "Fox" Foxworth.

Though she had done everything in her power to stay out of the limelight, there was something about Theresa that the gossipers loved. Luckily, Theresa had learned to turn a deaf ear to gossip over the years. She had learned that gossip, though it might start out with a grain of truth to it, almost always blossomed to an ugly, flat out lie. Gossip, in Theresa's opinion, was hurtful and hateful.

Gossip destroyed people.

Gossip had almost destroyed her.

If the people who wasted their days speculating and gossiping about her since her return to Harmony had actually cared enough to take the time to find out the truth about her relationship with Mr. Foxworth, this is what they would discover:

Every morning (well, at least Monday through Friday) at seven, she and Fox would meet up at the beach and go for a three mile run before heading to the Book Café for coffee and perhaps a croissant. They would discuss the latest news, politics, and occasionally, their views on religion. They would talk about the movie they had seen last night, the chances of the New England Patriots going undefeated this season, the merits of Egyptian cotton versus satin sheets, but rarely did their conversation get any more personal than that.

At least in the morning.

After going their separate ways, Theresa would head to her B&B, which was coming along beautifully. Usually, Fox would drop by during the day to help her and Fancy with the painting, to hang up pictures on the wall, or to just keep Theresa company. Sometimes, he stayed all day, sometimes, just an hour. But Theresa was grateful to him just the same.

In the evenings, they could usually be found at Fox's condo, tossing together an antipasto salad and sharing a bottle of wine. Occasionally, they were joined by Chad and Whitney, or Fancy, but more often than not it was just the two of them.

If the gossipers in question were truly observant, they might catch a lingering glance between them, a wistful stare. They might take notice of how Theresa's expressive brown eyes lit up with pure happiness whenever Fox would enter the room, or how his would drop with unconcealed disappointment when she would tell him goodnight before heading to bed.

Alone.

At her place.

But those who gossip tend to only see the obvious. In doing so, they miss the subtle nuances of life, such as the way Theresa's cheeks would now flush a bright pink whenever her hand would casually graze his as she passed him a refill of his favorite cabernet, her fingers burning where her skin had brushed against his. They missed Fox's warm brown eyes lighting up as he watched Theresa perform the most mundane tasks of life, glowing with raw, unadulterated adoration.

The gossipers chose to see only what they wanted to see. They saw the girl who had so doggedly pursued Ethan Crane now pursuing another wealthy bachelor like the true gold-digger she was.

As usual, the gossipers had taken a small truth- because it was true that Theresa and Fox were falling in love, albeit unknowingly- and put their own darker, more sinister twist on it.

For whatever reason, those who gossip seem to get twisted pleasure out of spinning a web of deception.

Perhaps they found their own life to be lacking, unremarkable.

Dull.

Boring.

Or perhaps by gossiping, they were able to forget about their own sins, to find comfort in the knowledge that at least there was one person that they were truly "better" than, one person out there who had more skeletons in their closet then they.

In any event, the gossipers had gotten it wrong.

Theresa was not pursuing Fox.

He was not pursuing her.

Nothing more than a friendly kiss on the cheek had occurred between them in the two months she had been back in Harmony.

Nobody but themselves knew what went on between them behind closed doors.

People could waste their time speculating about the nature of their relationship, but the honest to God truth was that they were not together.

Well, at least not yet...

Theresa was starting to get frustrated. She had been in Harmony for nearly two months, and things were not going exactly as she planned.

She had planned on moving back to Harmony, getting her B&B ready to open, and enjoying a quiet, simple life with no distractions.

Theresa did not like distractions.

And right now, she was more than distracted.

Nicholas Foxworth had swept into her life and taken her by complete surprise. She had known, from their first conversation on the phone, that she would like him immensely. But she had no way of knowing, back then, that he was the type of person who would show up on her doorstep, unannounced, with not one, but ten bouquets of wildflowers that he had seen at a roadside stand and bought just because the colors reminded him of her. She had no way of knowing, back then, that he would remember some obscure conversation that they had had about poetry, and that her favorite poem was "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron, and that he would present her with the original manuscript, in a frame of antique gold, at her house warming party. She had no way of knowing, back then, that the mere mention of his name would cause her heart to race in her chest, her hands to turn clammy. Or that the mere sight of him would cause her breath to catch in her chest, her knees to go weak.

Back then, she had no way of knowing that she would fall in love with Nicholas Foxworth.

And that was the biggest distraction of all: being in love with an amazing man when she was quite unsure if she herself was ready to be loved.

"Fancy, has Fox ever been in love?"

She hadn't meant to ask the question, but it had been on her mind lately, and somehow, quite by accident, it had just slipped out.

It was the last Friday in August, and Harmony was teeming with tourists in town for the annual Harmony Regatta and Ball. Three days of sailing, carnival amusements, and elegant attire. The Regatta had always been one of Theresa's favorite things as a child, and now, as an adult, she found herself anticipating it more than she did back then.

So far, August had been a sweltering month, one of the hottest on record. It had been a month of dips in the ocean and frozen mojitos at the Seascape, a month of snow-cones on the pier and late night strolls on the beach.

August had been a month of change, the month Theresa had found herself finally letting go of the past and looking forward to her future.

And she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

It had been Fox's idea to run the registration table at the Regatta. Serve some pancakes to the participants, re-introduce herself to Harmony society, get the name of her B&B out to the public.

The name of her B&B had come to her one night when sleep wouldn't come.

Conundrum House.

She had always loved the word conundrum, how it was so fun to say, how the complex word was really so simplistic in meaning.

Conundrum. A paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma.

How she loved that word. Until she realized that her life had become a conundrum from the second she laid eyes on Fox.

An exaggerated sigh from Fancy snapped Theresa out of her rambling thoughts.

"I was wondering when you might bring up this subject. I was kind of hoping for later rather than sooner, though."

Fancy flashed a fake smile at an elderly man, Mr. Wilcox, who was signing his grandson and friends up for the Regatta before returning her attention to Theresa. The registration booth had been a hit so far, and Fancy and Theresa had found that free pancakes and coffee drew more people to their booth than any other form of advertising ever could. They had received over 100 names and email addresses of people who wanted to know about the grand opening, and several people had actually booked rooms for later in the year.

"So, may I ask why you want to know? And why are you asking me, and not him?"

Theresa could feel Fancy's eagle sharp eyes boring down on her through her oversized Chanel glasses as she scooted her lawn chair into the shade of a pine tree. In the two months that they had known each other, Fancy had become a true confidante, and Theresa knew that her bluntness was not intended to harm, but was born out of true curiosity.

"It's, um, just something I've been wondering about. It's not something that that's easy to bring up in casual conversation, you know? I don't want to pry information out of him, but I just, I really haven't learned too much about him and I guess I'd like to know more about him."

Fancy's face softened at Theresa's honest reply. Wiping her brow, she lifted her sunglasses onto her head, like a headband, and smiled at her friend.

"Touché, T. And Fox isn't exactly forthcoming about his personal life is he?"

She thought for a moment about what to say next, carefully formulating the words in her mind rather than just blurting them out in true Fancy behavior.

"Okay, so I'll give you the short answer: Yes, Foxy has been in love before. He's actually been in love twice. But if you want the dark and dirty details, you'll have to ask him about. It's just not my place to tell."

This was the first time that Theresa had asked Fancy about Fox and his life, and it left her feeling a little unnerved. She knew her face always betrayed her true emotions, so it was no surprise to her when Fancy continued, "Give Fox a chance, Theresa. When he's ready, he'll open up to you and tell you about his past... and what he is feeling. He's definitely worth the wait. And I've never been one to advocate my friends taking an interest in him, so believe me when I tell you that you are the first girl that I've ever told any of this to."

With those words she pushed her glasses back down onto her face and beamed at Mr. Wilcox's grandson. Handing him a plate of pancakes she said, "Good luck, babe. Don't wreck your boat."

Several hours later, Theresa found herself shrieking with laughter as Fox pulled her towards the fortune teller's booth, trying to ignore the goose bumps that shot up her arms when he intertwined her hands with his.

"Fox, I hate fortune tellers!" she gasped as they came to a halt before the red and yellow tent. He gently released her hands and nudged her with his shoulder.

"Are you kidding me, Tiger? I thought this would be right up your alley, with you being a complete control freak and all."

As usual, his eyes twinkled with humor as he gazed down at her.

Theresa gasped with indignation, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.

"You did not just say that."

Her lower lip twitching with laughter gave away the fact that she wasn't truly angry with him, and he took full advantage of that knowledge, enjoying the game that the two of them always played.

"Okay, then. You're not a control freak. Happy, kiddo?"

Theresa simpered up at him, playfully, her doe eyes in full puppy dog mode.

"But, I do think maybe you're scared. Scared of a batty little old lady telling you truths that perhaps you don't want to know?"

That observation hit a little too close to home. She quickly diverted her gaze and stepped away from the entrance to the tent, crossing her arms over her chest to ease the chill that had just overtaken her body.

Long ago, she had visited this same booth and heard the one thing she had longed for so long to hear: that one day, she would be Mrs. Crane. At first, she had not believed the fortune teller, but then the old lady began describing Theresa's bedroom to her, divulging facts about her that not even Whitney, Theresa's best friend, knew. Of course, the old woman's ramblings turned out to be a complete fabrication, but still, to do this, fortune tellers creeped Theresa out like nothing else.

"So, Tiger, is that it? You're chicken?"

But, Theresa had never been one to resist a dare, so she turned on her heal and shot Fox what she hoped was a charming smile.

"You suck, Foxworth. Let's go."

This time, she grabbed his hands in hers and pulled him through the entrance, ignoring how his body shook as he tried to conceal his laughter. His shaking abruptly stopped as they entered the tent, both of them taken over by a heady scent that smelled to Theresa like fresh pine and clean cotton, to Fox like warm vanilla and jasmine.

The tent was cool and dark, with velvet curtains of indigo and raspberry draped haphazardly around the room. Plush pillows lay on the floor before a small table with a crystal ball placed in the center. Behind the table, with long, weathered fingers grasping the ball, sat an old lady, an unkindly sneer upon her distorted face.

"Come in, my lovelies, come in," she beckoned with a croak, motioning them to sit on the floor. Fox looked at Theresa with uncertainty, and she nodded in response, indicating that they should sit down.

"I was wondering when you might come to see me, Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald," the lady continued as they settled down onto the pillows. "Although, I must say, I'm a bit surprised, as well. Did I not tell you your fortune before? Was it not to your liking? Was there something about finding out that you would become Mrs. Crane that did not satisfy you? Or were you perhaps wondering if somehow, your fortune had changed?"

Theresa's face turned an ashen white as the color slowly drained from her cheeks, her eyes transfixed on the crystal ball. The tent, so cool before, was suddenly stuffy, stifling hot. Beside her, Fox's sharp intake of breath went unnoticed as he too sat there, mesmerized by the glowing orb.

The old woman let out a laugh, but it was a laugh that could only be described as a cackle.

"Yes, Theresa. I remember you. I remember your face lighting up with hope at my words, and how hard you struggled against believing me! It took you two visits to see me before you realized that I spoke the truth. And here we are, seven years later, face to face. Why are you here today, Theresa?"

Theresa found it hard to speak, to form the words she so desperately wanted to say. The perfume was intoxicating: it was almost like it had induced a trance over her.

"You were wrong. Theresa will never become Mrs. Crane."

Fox finally was able to speak, his words in defense of Theresa.

The lady cackled again, turning her attention towards him, seeing him for the first time.

"Aw, Nicholas Foxworth. Always the eternal optimist. Yes, I know who you are my dear, and I also remember telling you your fortune that same year at that same carnival. You and your little friends laughed at me, but I remember what I told you, because I chose my wording so carefully. You will only find true love-"

"Within utter agony. Yup, I remember too, you old bat."

Fox had fully regained his senses, and was not amused.

"I never liked that fortune. Seemed a bit... melodramatic for my tastes."

His tone, though light, held a sharpness that Theresa had never heard before, and there was something in it that roused her from her reverie.

"I spoke the truth." The old lady repeated her previous statement, no longer cackling, her lips in a tight line as she appraised the two of them. "And I still do.

"Theresa, one day you will be Mrs. Crane. And Mr. Foxworth...only with agony will you find true love. Wasn't I right? Wasn't love agony in the end?"

"Enough. Theresa, let's go. You were quite right to not want to come in here."

He reached down, and gently lifted Theresa to her feet, his arms around her waist as he led her to the exit. They were almost out before Theresa turned to face the old lady one last time.

"You are a horrible person. You do not speak the truth; you speak lies. You must be truly miserable to inflict pain on others how you have today."

And with that Theresa and Fox exited the tent, his arms still wrapped tightly around her as they were greeted by the harsh sunlight.

Silently, he released her and they walked down to the beach, not speaking a word until they were completely alone. He helped her down onto the warm sand before sitting down beside her, his eyes distant and slightly hurt.

"Fox, why are the ghosts of my past following me?"

He looked over at her, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips.

"Why do the ghosts follow anybody?" he replied, running his fingers through the sand, tracing small circles in the grains.

Silence overtook them once more, the sounds of the carnival now drowned out by the high tide gently rolling on shore. At sea, the sailboats dotted the horizon, preparing for the Regatta, making one last trial before the race the following morning.

After a while, Theresa turned to him, pulled him to her in a lopsided hug. He gazed down at her, pushing a stray curl from her forehead.

"Has anyone told you, Ms. Lopez-Fitzgerald," his voices a hoarse whisper," That you have the most amazing eyes?"

"No in a very long time," she answered, her voice as equally as soft and hoarse as his.

Never breaking eye contact, Fox gently tucked another stray curl behind her ear, causing tiny tremors to shoot through her being as his thumb grazed her cheek.

Not since Ethan had she been touched so tenderly. Not since Ethan had she allowed anyone to get this close to her, to touch her this way. She knew she should pull away, to put a stop to this madness that was threatening to take her over, but she couldn't.

It just felt too right.

"Well, they are. Amazing. And you need someone to tell you that every day that you live, so that you don't forget."

His thumb had not left her cheek, and was softly, ever so achingly softly, tracing the curve of her jawbone.

"Your eyes are like a kaleidoscope." His voice was softer than before, more ragged. The space between them had closed somewhat, as if their two bodies were drawn together, magically, magnetically.

And still, his hand remained on her cheek.

"Like a kaleidoscope? How?" she managed to murmur in response, her eyes feeling heavy as she looked into his. Her chest was heaving deeply, breathlessly, and she knew at that moment that she was lost. Nobody- not even Ethan- had ever had this kind of effect over her.

"They're so expressive. A kaleidoscope is constantly in motion, the image always changing, moment to moment. The basic colors and design are always present, but the pattern is never the same.

"I see that in your eyes, Theresa. They're the window to your soul. I always see hope in your eyes, and I am thinking right now, a little bit of lust?"

With that, Theresa raised her hand to slap his chest, but before she could ruin the moment, Fox caught it in his, bringing her arm down, settling it between them on the warm sand, fingers laced together.

"Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of anger, maybe some resentment. But always, Theresa, I see hope."

"And you see all this how?"

Still holding her hand, his thumb now tracing tiny on her palm, Fox inched closer to her, closing the remaining space between them.

"It's not how I see it all, Theresa, it's why."

Feeling his warm breath on her cheek as he pulled her ever closer, if that was even possible, Theresa suddenly jumped up, a shaky laugh trying to conceal her true feelings.

"Oh, no you don't, Casanova," she said, taunting, still feeling quite breathless. Her cheeks were warm and flushed, but somehow, she managed to regain herself, to put an end to the insanity.

"I'm no Casanova," he responded, standing up, towering over her. "No matter what Fancy might say, I'm nothing of a heartbreaker. I just want you to know that."

His gaze was now pleading. As she looked up at him, heart still pounding in her chest, Theresa knew that he was being honest with her. She smiled at him, a true smile, trying to reign in her emotions.

"I believe you," she finally whispered, and after what felt like an eternity, he grinned back at her.

"Theresa...would you like to come to the ball with me tomorrow? Like, as my date?"

And before she could listen to her head, she listened to her heart. A voice answered for her, a voice that was strangely detached from her body. She heard the voice answer, "Yes, Fox. I would love to be your date tomorrow."

And she knew, at that moment, that there was no turning back.