Want Me Always (Heron Harbor Book 1)

by Lea Nolan

  "Oh dear God no."

  Juan thrust a fist bump in the air. "Yes! A blind date. This is what you need."

  Smith shook his head. "No, it is not. I'm good. Really."

  Brittany rested her hand on his shoulder. "Your brain might know Wren isn't coming back, but your heart hasn't let go. The only way to do it is to find someone else to care for."

  "It isn't that easy," Smith answered.

  "You won't know unless you try. Meet my friend. What do you have to lose?"

  Chapter 16

  Avery poked her head into Wren's office. "There's a woman here who insists on seeing you but she doesn't have an appointment."

  Wren looked up from a lease she'd been negotiating for a large commercial property. "Is she a client?"

  "No. But she says you know her and you'll want to meet with her. Should I call security?"

  This was highly unusual. As the managing partner in the office, Wren didn't see people straight off the street. "Who is she?"

  Avery squinted at the business card in her hand. "Madeline Connors. She's a librarian from Delaware."

  Madeline. In Atlanta. "Show her in!"

  A moment later Madeline was improbably in her office, looking the picture of health in a soft floral dress and pearl necklace. Wren gave her a welcoming hug and guided her to the sofa. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea? How about some sweet tea? After all, you're in the South now."

  "Oh no, thank you. I had a late lunch and I'm afraid I can't stay long," Madeline draped a pink jacket over her lap. "I imagined I'd need this, but I didn't realize how warm Atlanta is in September."

  Wren eased into a nearby arm chair. "Be grateful it's not July. You'd have melted to the sidewalk. So tell me, what brings you to our fair city?"

  "Why Smith's book tour, of course. I'm accompanying him to some of the places I've never visited before."

  "Oh. Right." Wren smiled and pretended to know what Madeline was talking about. She'd been so busy with work she never followed up with Eleanor, the literary agent, about Smith's cookbook.

  "It came out this month and has been a top ten seller ever since."

  Joy filled Wren's heart. "That's fantastic. He deserves every bit of that success."

  "He's pretty sure he got a little help along the way."

  "Of course. You edited his manuscript."

  Madeline nodded. "And someone helped him land the biggest agent in the business." She raised a knowing eyebrow at Wren.

  Wren flicked her wrist, batting the praise away. "Anyone would have done it."

  "Not anyone. Someone who cared about him."

  "I did care about him." Wren's words were quiet. Solemn.

  "You used the past tense."

  Leave it to a librarian to pick apart her grammar. Wren looked down at her hands in her lap. "I suspect I'll always care about Smith."

  No, she knew she would. He was the one who got away. Correction—the one she let slip away because past pain had left her too scarred to fight for what she wanted.

  To fight for him. For them.

  The shame of that made her feel weak and small.

  But there was nothing she could do about that now. It was in the past. The decision had been made and they'd both moved on. She'd built a new life, sort of, in Atlanta, and he was a major cookbook author with probably lots more success on the horizon. There was no turning back.

  Time to change the subject. She cleared her throat. "How did you know where to find me?"

  "You're not the only Donovan sister to occasionally land on Heron Harbor."

  Wren knitted her fingers together. “And what did my lovely sister Raven happen to share?”

  Madeline chuckled. “Oh, not much. Though she did mention something about you living like a vagabond. Though it seemed very out of character for you.”

  Wren laughed. “I appreciate that. First of all, I was never an actual vagabond. I had a place to live. It just wasn't mine, per se. And second, I have, in fact, signed a lease." Though it was for the very same apartment she'd been living in since she first arrived in Atlanta. She simply took over the lease when it expired, and the law firm secured another apartment in the building for out-of-town clients.

  "And do you get out of the building much? It really is quite important to breathe fresh air."

  Wren curled her fingers around the chair's arm. "Wow, she really did air all the dirty laundry, didn't she?"

  "It's my fault. I dragged it out of her.” Madeline winked.

  "We both know that's not true. Yes. I do leave the building. I have several hobbies that take me out into the wild. I've joined a walking club, and an Italian conversation club that meets at the public library, and I volunteer at a legal clinic." And she'd been seeing a therapist to deal with her trust issues, but she didn't need to divulge that to Madeline.

  "That's wonderful to hear. I wish Smith could...well, I shouldn't air his dirty laundry."

  "No, I suppose you shouldn't." Though Wren ached to know more about what was happening with him. To learn if he'd moved on with more than just his professional life.

  "He's quite busy. This tour has him jetting all over the country. Thank goodness he can rely on Juan to keep the restaurant running, and he has the most marvelous replacement chef who is filling in for him in his absence. It helps that it's the off-season. And Brittany has been a doll, too. She's the bartender at Harbor's Edge now. Though I think she's gone a little overboard with this matchmaking thing. You know how she is."

  Wren's stomach clenched. Brittany was matchmaking...for Smith. Since when did he need help finding a date? Wren shook her head. "Actually, I barely know Brittany."

  "She's well intentioned, I'm sure. But I've said too much. Smith would be displeased if he knew I'd told you. He doesn't even know I'm here. He thinks I've gone to visit the Margaret Mitchell House museum, which is absurd since I never liked Gone with the Wind."

  "I'm glad you came to visit, even if it meant lying to him. It was really nice seeing you."

  Madeline reached over and clutched Wren's arm. "You too, dear." She glanced at her watch. "We need to prepare for this evening's book talk. Ever since his six part mini-series on the Cuisine Channel started airing, the crowds have become so big Smith has to sign the books in advance." She stood up from the sofa.

  Wren rose to her feet. "Wow, he really is a star." He was on television and she hadn't the slightest clue. A peculiar sense of disloyalty crept over her. That was the sort of thing she should have known. If she had she'd have called to congratulate him, or at least sent a note.

  "You can't imagine the groupies. They're shameless." Madeline opened her purse and pulled out a narrow envelope. "I know you're probably busy, but on the chance you're free, it would be nice if you came. Seven o'clock at the Carter Hotel. It's sold out, so you'll need this ticket."

  Gwen took the envelope as she walked Madeline across the office toward the door. "I'll see what I can do." No promises. Even if she wanted to go—and she wasn't sure she did—she didn’t know if she was ready to see Smith.

  "Oh, there's one more thing." Madeline took a small wrapped box from her purse and handed it to Wren. "I'd hoped to give you this last year but never got the chance."

  Wren gazed at the shiny gold wrapping paper. "You didn't need to get me anything."

  Madeline shook her head. "I didn't. Not really. Please. Open it."

  Confused, Wren placed the ticket to the book event on her desk, then tore open the paper on the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a silver charm bracelet covered with tiny bird charms. It was delightful and reminded her of her father. He always gave little bird-related gifts to her mother, and to Wren and her sisters. Birdies for my birdies, he used to say. "This is lovely. Thank you."

  "It was a gift from your father," Madeline said.

  Wren's head cocked to the side as she tried to work out how Madeline would have ended up with a gift her father had intended to give to Wren. "I don't understand."

  "You father gav
e it to me."

  "You?" Impossible. He and Madeline were barely acquaintances.

  "Francis and I were quite close for several years. It was something we chose to keep from you kids."

  Wren felt the floor tilt beneath her feet. She stepped backward and sank to the edge of her desk. Her father hadn't been the devoted, lonely widower she'd assumed. He'd had a relationship. With Madeline. "Why?"

  Madeline stepped beside Wren. "If we told you girls, it would make it real. Neither of us were ready for that."

  "Does Smith know?"

  "He knows Francis and I were friends. I doubt he suspects more."

  Wren took the bracelet from the box and gazed at the tiny bird charms. There were ten in all, but her favorites were the cardinal, oriole, and blue bird. "Did you love my father?"

  "More than I can say."

  Wren looked up from the bracelet in her hand. "Did he love you?"

  Madeline nodded. "I believe he did."

  "Then why keep it a secret? Why not make it real?"

  "Your father was determined never to marry again. He didn't want you girls to think he was trying to replace your mother. And after my disastrous marriage to Smith's father, I wasn't anxious to jump into another one."

  "We would never have wanted him to sacrifice his happiness for us." It was unfair to put that kind of responsibility on her and her sisters.

  "He didn't see it that way."

  Wren’s father had underestimated her and her sisters. She and Raven and Lark would have been happy for him and would have welcomed Madeline and her children into their family.

  "And you were okay with this arrangement?" Wren asked.

  "I was for a while. When I changed my mind, I couldn't change his. That's when he sought funding to study birds on other barrier islands and you stopped spending your summers on Heron Harbor."

  So that was the missing piece of the puzzle. Wren never understood why her father abandoned his research on Heron Harbor and started over in South Carolina.

  "I don't feel right about having this. He gave this to you. You should keep it." She put the bracelet back in its box and handed it to Madeline.

  She shook her head. "I no longer want it. That bracelet is a reminder of the biggest regret of my life. Francis and I put our fears before our own needs and sacrificed a life together. Who knows what could have been had we chosen to freely love each other?" Pain was etched into every line on the woman's face. "Promise me one thing. Learn from our mistake. Don't let fear keep you from what you want."

  Madeline embraced Wren, then left. For the rest of the afternoon Wren worked, occasionally pulling herself from leases and lawsuits to consider the ticket and bracelet that sat on her desk. As the hour of the event approached, she had a decision to make.

  She could skip it, take the elevator upstairs to her apartment and eat a pint of ice cream, or she could walk the three blocks to the Carter Hotel and face Smith for the first time since she'd left him on the beach house porch a year ago.

  She could go.

  She should go.

  She wanted to go.

  Still, she sat frozen. What the hell was happening to her?

  The charm bracelet sat in the open box. She picked it up and laid it out in her palm. How sad. This beautiful piece of jewelry, which had obviously meant so much to her father, now symbolized Madeline's greatest regret.

  As Madeline's words echoed in her head, Wren clipped the bracelet to her wrist. Don't let fear keep you from what you want.

  Wren picked up the ticket and rose to her feet. She had an event to attend.

  Chapter 17

  Wren arrived just as the ballroom doors were about to close. An usher checked her ticket then handed her a gift bag and she slipped inside, taking a seat in the back row. The room was packed with at least a hundred people.

  Wren dug into the gift bag. Inside was the cookbook, Cuisine from Harbor's Edge, a rubberized jar opener printed with the Harbor's Edge logo, address, and website, a tiny jar of Harbor's Edge brand strawberry jam, and a wrapped blueberry mini muffin, just like the ones he'd made for her the morning after she'd stayed over at his home.

  Her mind flooded with memories from that morning—and the night that preceded it—making her heart ache just a little bit but she grabbed hold of herself and shoved those bad boys right back where they came from. She'd made her choice and now she had to live with it. He'd clearly moved on. And judging by the throng of adoring fans in this ballroom, he was headed for stardom.

  Desperate to distract herself, she grabbed the hardcover book from the bag and flipped through a few of the glossy pages. Expecting only to see recipes and images of his mouthwatering meals, she was surprised by the many photos of Smith. In his backyard garden. On his boat. Fishing off the pier. He looked gorgeous in every one of them. Of course. Those piercing blue eyes seemed to leap off the page and reach right into her heart.

  Dammit. So much for taking her mind off him. She slammed the cover shut and shoved the book back into the bag. Maybe this was a mistake. She should probably leave.

  Just then, the lights dimmed and Janya Patel, Atlanta's most popular local television anchorwoman, stepped onto the raised platform and into the spotlight. The audience cheered as she introduced Smith and he joined her on the stage, wearing dark jeans and a crisp, navy-stripped, buttoned-down shirt. He shook Janya's hand then waved to the crowd before they both took their seats.

  "Ain't he a snack?" The woman beside Wren asked.

  A brunette two seats down answered. "Girl, he's an entree."

  A red head in the row in front of them twisted in her seat. "Uh-huh, he's so sweet, he's dessert."

  They weren't wrong—Smith did look mighty fine in those jeans—but the way these women ogled him made Wren's skin crawl. Guaranteed, if a bunch of horny men were sitting around equating them to food, they'd have a serious problem with it.

  A blonde several seats down leaned over. "What is wrong with y'all?" she admonished. Finally, someone with a little decency. But then her lips slid into a grin. "He's the whole damn meal."

  The entire section broke into laughter, except Wren, who seriously contemplated telling them that she'd not only enjoyed that meal, but had gone for seconds and thirds.

  The brunette crossed her arms. "Whoever his woman is, I hope she appreciates what she's got. Because there's a line of women waiting to take her place."

  Okay. That stung. Wren had had just about enough. Granted, he wasn't hers, but she still felt protective of him.

  Leaning over, she lay her index finger against her lips and did her best stern-librarian impression. "Shhhh!" She was loud and cutting and didn't care who didn't like it.

  "Thank you." An older woman from across the aisle mouthed.

  Wren winked back.

  Janya and Smith's conversation covered it all. His upbringing on Heron Harbor, how he started cooking at home after his father left and his mother had to work full time to support their family, and how his dyslexia and learning disabilities led to his culinary training.

  He talked about how difficult it was to learn to run a business and write a book but that with the proper training for his LDs, lots of help and support, and perseverance, he'd accomplished all his goals. Janya asked about his favorite dishes and how he'd come up with each recipe. He was charming and funny and told hilarious anecdotes about his never-ending fight with the squirrels pillaging his backyard garden.

  The crowd loved him. It was easy to see why so many people had come out to see him.

  The lights brightened slightly in the ballroom for the question and answer portion of the evening. Attendees lined up at a microphone set up in the main aisle in the middle of the audience.

  The first questioner, a young woman who looked straight out of a sorority meeting, stepped up to the microphone and giggled. "Hi Smith."

  He grinned. "Hi."

  She giggled again. "So, um. I was wondering if you could tell us more about who you dedicated your book to."

 
His cheeks flushed a slight shade of pink. "Yeah. So, I never expected it, but this is always the first question that comes up at these book talks. Wouldn't you rather ask about my lemon poppy seed soufflé?" The audience laughed.

  The woman shook her head. "No." She giggled again.

  Smith took a drink from the water bottle on the little table between his and Janya's chairs. "Help me out here, Janya.”

  She shrugged. "Don't look at me. You're the one who had to make it so mysterious. Give us a little something. Otherwise, I don't think the crowd is going to take no for an answer. Am I right?" She lifted her hands and the audience roared.

  Smith sighed. "Okay. Here's the deal. She's a real person. And no, I'm never going to divulge her name because she'd hate that."

  "Aw, that's it?" The woman at the microphone asked.

  Smith nodded. "Yeah. Next question?"

  Wren pulled his cookbook from the bag and flipped open the cover, then thumbed through the first few pages until she landed on the dedication.

  To W.

  This book is for you.

  I know you're suspicious. You've a right to be.

  Other cookbooks let you down in the past. They were written by bad chefs who had no business in your kitchen.

  They lied about cooking times. Skimped on ingredients. Cut corners with their technique. Some even cheated by stealing other chefs' recipes.

  They broke your trust. No wonder you were afraid to get back in the kitchen.

  This book is different. This chef is different.

  Every recipe is tested and true. The ingredients are pure. The technique is honest.

  You can trust it. And me.

  If you're willing to give this book, this chef, another chance, I promise that each and every meal will nourish you, body and soul.

  What do you say?

  S.

  Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings. He'd dedicated this book to her.

  Another woman was asking a new question. "I'm guessing your book went to print a while ago."

  Smith nodded. "Yes. A few months ago."