Something More
A Well Paired novel
By Marianne Rice
First Edition Published 2020
Copyright © Published 2020, Marianne Rice. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Editor: Silla Webb
Cover Artist: Just Write Creations
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Also by Marianne Rice
A Well Paired Novel
At First Blush
Where There's Hope
What Makes Us Stronger
Here With You
Finding Our Way Back
Something More
A Wilton Hills Christmas
Marshmallows & Mistletoe
Cocoa & Carols
The McKay-Tucker Men
False Start
False Hope
False Impressions
Standalone
Smoke & Pearls
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Marianne Rice
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
THE END
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
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Also By Marianne Rice
About the Author
For Karen.
You asked, and now you shall receive.
-M
xoxo
CHAPTER ONE
The clump of slimy seaweed and crunchy kelp at her feet was exactly what Mia Parker needed right now. Inspiration. Wiggling her toes in the cool sand, she took out her notebook and began to write. After a few minutes, she hit writer’s block. Again.
With a loud sigh, she stood, placing her notebook on her beach chair. Even though it had been nearly two years since the geriatric man had accidentally mowed her down with his car, her foot still gave her pain from time to time. Being on her feet waitressing at Hope’s restaurant, The Happy Clam, and cutting hair at Lily’s Sea Salt Spa hadn’t helped her recovery any, not that she’d ever complain to her friends.
Mia was a self-sufficient, independent woman. Having her friends and family dote on her the few months when she was laid up had nearly killed her. She hated being at the mercy of others.
Although one good thing came from it—having all that time to scribble down some ideas she’d had floating around in her mess of a head for the past few years. Ever since Mia had helped her mom out at her bookstore five years ago when her mom had the flu, Mia had fallen in love with children’s story hour and the cute books about fairies and pirates and talking trees and cars. The story ideas were endless.
Once a month, the bookstore hosted the event, offering buy-one-get-one deals on all children’s books. Mia had never been a big fan of little rugrats, but when they looked at her with such hero worship after she’d read Pinkalicious and Interrupting Chicken, she felt kinda ... cool. The pink princess book wasn’t exactly her style, but the girls who came in wearing little tutus and striped tights with flowered dresses seemed to eat it up.
The chicken book was her favorite, though. The little chicken who interrupted her dad over and over again when he was reading not only made the children giggle, it had also sparked Mia’s imagination. She’d never had any aspirations to be a writer or storyteller. Not until she looked out on those smiling, dopey, adorable little faces and answered some of the silliest questions.
Kids had never been her thing. Her types of books were the ones with villains, killers, and hot couples. Yet, somehow, story ideas about sea creatures, talking kelp, and a family of fish stranded on the beaches of Crystal Cove kept popping into her head.
The ideas swirled around while she lay trapped in her bed, unable to hobble down the flight of stairs from her apartment. Then she’d transitioned to a fancy walking boot and crutches after six weeks. The walk to the beach was only a half mile, a quick stroll with two working legs; a nightmare with crutches. So, she’d jotted down ideas and conversations she had in her head while she lounged on her living room couch.
During her recovery, Ty had picked her up on Tuesday mornings and brought her to Books by the Ocean so she could help out with story hour. Her brother had been a godsend, even when he was a royal pain in the ass hovering over her. The one contribution she could make while being immobile was reading to children. It was something Ty liked to tease her about. Hanging out with people her size.
Being only five-one hadn’t bothered her. She actually got more attention because of her lack of height. The men at bars in Rockland flocked to her, bought her drinks, made jokes. The sketchy dudes showed their true colors right away in their crude humor, and Mia would walk away not wasting her time with them.
The halfway decent guys would make her laugh, maybe crossing the line here or there, not that Mia minded. She liked to have a good time. Not in a slutty way, exactly. Carefree was how she’d label herself.
Past tense. The past year, healing from the accident and watching her friends fall in love had made her reassess her life, not that she’d had that come to Jesus moment with her friends. They thought she was an open book; keeping a few things to herself was new to her, and she kind of liked it.
Crouching in the sand—something that bothered her foot on rainy days—she rolled the cuffs of her jeans and waded up to her ankles in the cold Atlantic. The cool June nights kept tourists at bay for a few more weeks. Until then, she had this little slice of heaven to herself.
A line of seaweed tangled at her ankles, and she bent to pick it up, flinging it back into the ocean. She did the same with the shells that poked through the sand as the tide pulled away.
“You should leave the wildlife alone,” a deep voice said from behind.
Mia tossed the broken clamshell into the ocean before turning. “It’s seaweed and dead clams. It’s not like I’m ruining some poor bunny’s habitat or anything.”
Mia eyed the stranger up and down. She didn’t recognize him. Waitressing at The Happy Clam and giving buzz cuts at the spa gave her the advantage of knowing most people in town. That and living here her whole life. After thirty-two years, Mia considered herself knowledgeable of all the locals and the regular summer people.
This guy, with his ironed khakis and button-down shirt, didn’t look familiar at all. Granted, it was hard to see his face shielded by the brim of a baseball cap and aviator shades that covered his eyes.
Still, there was an unwanted pull. Different time, different place, she would have flirted.
“There’s a reason the seaweed washes up on the sand. You’re ruining the ecosystem by tossing it back to sea.”
The stranger crossed his arms, and his shirt pulled taut across his chest and biceps. He wasn’t beefy, wasn’t thin or scrawny. The man was kind of ... just right. Athletic without being too obvious.
“Are you the seaweed police or something like that?” Mia mirrored him and crossed her arms, sticking out a hip to go with her attitude.
“Something like that.”
“You know the slimy seaweed crap is just gonna wash up again, don’t you?”
“It’s still part of a food chain. Like plants, algae and seaweeds depend on sunlight to create energy through photosynthesis.”
“So, you’re like a science teacher?” She didn’t care that she sounded like an ignorant sixteen-year-old.
“Not exactly.”
“I never did well in science.” She smirked, hoping to draw out the stranger’s personality. “And I don’t understand why we have to have so much of this stuff littering our beaches.” She kicked at a strand of sea kelp that floated nearby.
“Seaweeds play a major role in marine ecosystems.” The stranger uncrossed his arms and stepped toward her, bending at the waist to unwrap the tangle at her feet. “As the first organism in marine food chains, they provide nutrients and energy for animals. Because it’s a primary producer and makes its food from the sun, many organisms feed on the kelp and then, in turn, feed other animals. It also provides shelter for many forms of sea life.”
Somehow the mysterious man made the boring lecture semi-entertaining. Maybe it was his broad shoulders. Possibly the way his butt looked in his pants. Or the way his shades rested on his cheekbones. Either way, he knew his marine stuff, and it was kinda hot. Maybe he could give her a few pointers for her book.
He let the strip of grossness float on its own, stepping out of the way when it threatened to tangle with his feet, which were not bare like hers.
“Uh, your shoes are getting soaked.”
“Yeah.”
When the tide went back out, she noticed he wore black rubber boots under his khakis, which were dark with water up to his calves.
“Are you’re like an ocean whisperer or something?”
The man cocked his head to the side and let out a harsh, frustrated breath, mumbling words or curses she couldn’t quite understand.
“Down boy.” She wagged a finger at him. “I don’t pollute. Not the ocean or woods or side of the road. I recycle. And I don’t kill our fish. I eat them, hell yeah. That’s right.” She nodded as if she was the baddest ass around. “You do realize you’re in a fishing community, right? Or are you one of those people who think the fishing industry is wrong, and we should let fish overpopulate our oceans? Maybe ban people from the body of water that makes up seventy-five percent of our earth?”
See? She knew her science too. Sort of.
The man rolled his shoulders back and let out another aggravated sigh. “The fishing industry, when rules and regulations are followed, can be helpful to our ecosystem.”
“There you go with your big, fancy words again. Are you sure you’re not a science teacher?”
He shook his head and walked backward until the tide no longer reached his feet. “A hydrologist.”
“Like fire hydrants and stuff?” She couldn’t tell if the man was hiding a smile or a frown.
“More like a marine biologist.”
“Oh. Well. That’s nice. You working at the marina?”
“Around.” The man bent down and picked up a straw wrapper from the sand, tucking it in his pocket. He turned and left, not revealing anything else and not asking Mia for her name.
“Rude prick,” she muttered under her breath. Mia made her way back to her beach chair, packed up her notebook and pencils, and shook out her towel before shoving it into her bag as well.
So much for brainstorming her next book. All she had figured out was a seaweed queen and a surly crab. No. Too cliché. The crab would be the princess of the beach, keeping the surly seaweed out at sea.
Maybe a tsunami comes and washes all the icky seaweed away, and the crabs and lobsters and cute fishies live happily ever after.
Mia tucked her folded beach chair under her arm and trudged through the sand to her little Honda, shaking away thoughts of the surly, crabby stranger man.
“WHAT’S WITH THE GLUM face?” Hope wiped down the bar top and tossed the rag in the sink behind her. “Don’t tell me you’re calling out tonight.”
Mia had been waitressing, bartending, and was even a part-time assistant manager at Hope’s restaurant for nearly ten years. It wasn’t that she didn’t love working at The Happy Clam, but for the past few years the work had been less ... gratifying.
“No worries. You and Cam can go on your date, or get busy in the back of your car, or whatever you old married people do these days.”
“It’s getting harder and harder to get busy in the back of the car with this growing belly.”
With all her girlfriends now living in marital bliss, she felt even less like she fit in with them. While Hope hadn’t technically been her best friend, she’d been closest with Mia’s brother Ty, and they’d grown into a big sister/little sister relationship.
For a while, that was fine and dandy, but since her thirtieth birthday had passed two years ago, Mia felt like she needed ... more. Between that, it being shark week, and the weird encounter with Mystery Man at the beach today, she was a hot mess.
“Yeah, well.” Mia chucked her small purse under the counter behind the bar and hip-checked Hope. “Get going before Cam comes in here in a tizzy and blames me for making you late.”
“Thanks. I’ll have my cell if you need anything.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Mia waved her away. “It’s not my first rodeo.” She’d taken quite a few months off after her hit-and-run incident, and had worked shorter shifts since.
Her foot didn’t bother her much anymore, but it would never be perfect again. If she told Hope it still pained her from time to time, she’d cut her hours even more, and Mia had bills to pay.
Whether she wanted to or not, she needed the paycheck. Publishing her children’s books was a fantasy she couldn’t count on. In the meantime, she’d continue writing stories and drawing her sea creatures in her spare time; she seemed to have more of that now that her friends all had men.
Not that she was jealous. She totally wasn’t. They were all the marrying type. Well, except Grace. No one would have predicted the Le Blanc’s wild child who partied her way through Europe and came back with her nose high in the air would settle down. And with Brady Marshall, of all people.
Blueberry farmer meets Princess High Maintenance. It was a fun show to watch, and in the end, Brady turned out to be the best thing for Grace.
Compared to the other girls and the trauma, skeletons, and secrets they had, Mia’s life was an open book. She was outgoing, social, liked to dance, and would take just about any odd job that was offered.
But she had one secret, which wasn’t much of a secret. More like a hidden hobby. She knew her friends and family wouldn’t laugh at her and would totally support her, but for now, since her life was anything but private, she wanted to keep this new discovery to herself.
What if she was terrible at it? Insecurity was something new to her. If anything, she’d been over-confident in her attitude, in her lifestyle. She’d been researching writing classes and joined some online groups for children’s book writers, but it was all so new to her. And a tad scary.
“How are plans coming for the party?” Hope put her water glass on the dirty dish tray and draped her coat over her arm.
“Good. Hotel is booked as are the massages and facials.” Talking about Jenna’s bachelorette party was a welcome detour from her mind going down negative alley.
“It kinda feels like we’re cheating on Lily.”
“That’s what I said, but she’s cool with it. It would take her all day with no break to give us all massages, and she obviously couldn’t do them at the same time.” The Sea Salt Spa was the only place nearby that offe
red massages, and Lily had attracted a ton of business lately. But since she was part of the wedding party as well, there was no way they’d let her do all the work.
“Okay. I’m outta here. Call me if—”
“Blah, blah, blah. Leave already. I hope you’re not like this to Marley next week when we’re trying to leave for the casino.”
Hope scrunched her nose. “I’ve been better since I hired Marley, admit it.”
Marley was a necessary addition after Mia’s accident. She was good for Hope, giving her more time to be a wife and mother.
“I guess. Now get the hell out of here before Cam starts to worry.” And he would. Her husband believed she hung the moon. Which she kind of did. Hope rocked.
Everyone thought so. Her group of friends was awesome, and each had their thing. If only Mia could find her place in the world.
CHAPTER TWO
“I’ve never gambled before. It’s actually kind of fun.” Jenna pulled the lever of the slot machine, and Mia couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her innocent friend.
Jenna had been through the ringer, that was for sure. Losing her unborn child in an accident and then divorcing the man of her dreams. She’d lived in Crystal Cove for five years, taking care of a sweet old man, and no one knew her backstory until Tristan came back into her life.
Mia wasn’t much for sappy love stories, but she’d been surrounded by them for the past few years. Hell, even Grace, the prodigal daughter, who was more like Mia than anyone, found love with Brady less than a year after her return.
She was happy for her them she truly was, and wasn’t a bit envious of them. Had she been the settling down type, the marrying and pushing out babies type, she’d be hell-bent on scouring the streets for a man to love her like her friends’ spouses.
They could keep the Hallmark channel stories. Mia would rather have her independence. Her freedom. Her fun. The one thing she did wish for, though, was more stability in her job. Or rather, finding a job.
Something More (A Well Paired Novel) Page 1