by Rebecca Ryan
It makes me happy The Inn is a refuge for them both.
"I'm a good rider," Cory says, not looking up. He still pronounces his words in that Elmer Fudd way, with ‘ry-door’ making me smile even more broadly. He shifts the leather lead in his hand like a rein and his hands—sticky with popsicle juice—make this a tacky job.
The breeze is foamy and full, bending the new grass tufted everywhere along the road, the beach, the cliffs. Somewhere, a gas-powered lawnmower is being pushed by an over-zealous gardener, its drone a promise of summer.
"Is Devon off today?" Finn glances around.
"I think so," I say. "I think she's off on Saturdays now."
He starts to laugh. "That's when that David Keller guy is on right? That was the deal? As long as they don’t have to see each other?"
"It's not funny," I say, and Cory looks up at me. "We’re just teasing now," I explain, slowing Salty to a standstill. "Time to slip off, young whippersnapper. You want help?"
"No thank you." Cory drops the lead, which slithers to the ground, then he swings his right leg behind him and—after staying perched for a moment on Salty's wide back—he, too, drops to the ground.
"Good job, my man," says Finn.
Cory pulls at the inside of his pants. "My legs feel stretched out."
There's another, "Hi, guy," behind us and Laurel walks around the corner, a brown shopping bag in her hand. Her wild hair is bunched up in a hair tie and her cheeks are pink.
"So?" I say.
"So, I registered," she says. "I don’t know how I passed the English placement test." Reaching down with her other hand, she cradles Cory's head as Finn walks over and takes the paper bag from her. Now she strokes her son's head with both hands. "Mommy's going to school too, next fall, after summer," she tells him.
We all see him stiffen a little and then she adds, "I know, it scares me too, but you are so brave I thought I should be brave too."
Cory tilts his head up and says in his little sing-song way, "If you can do it, I can do it?" but there's the upturned note of a question at the end.
"Yes. That's exactly right. Here." She extends her arms to take the bag back. "We'll get outta your hair." And I swear, she winks at Finn.
As I slip the lead off Salty and let him nibble at an apple bit, I turn to Finn. "I saw that. What's going on?"
"Why does Devon hate Dave Keller so much?"
It's a long, convoluted story which I can’t believe he hasn't heard. "It's the getting-kicked-off-the-soccer-team-in-high-school thing."
"That was ages ago." He opens the gate for me, and I hang up the halter and lead.
"I know, but it was huge news. He kicked her off the team and she filed a Title IX against him," I explain.
"Wasn't she the only girl on the soccer team?" he asks.
"What's your point? There was no girls' team."
He grabs me around the waist, pressing us together, and heat roils between my legs.
How can he do this to me every single time?
"Your guests can see us," I say, my voice sounding all breathy.
The Inn is open and already welcoming guests. Summer's mostly booked at full capacity. Inside, the wide tamarack tables are gorgeous, and we compromised on those old windows. He went with the Plexiglass.
"Chloe and the crew fed them well. I'm sure they're all off on adventures by now." He dips down for a swift, wet kiss, his musky aftershave wafting as I pull away.
A flutter of pulse beats in his neck and it makes me want him more. "Shouldn't you be helping Nic on some case then?" I question, and the vertical line that appears between his eyes makes me laugh. "Don’t act all innocent with me. I know you've been helping out some."
"Just two installations and an escort for personal protection," he says. "Some actor."
That actor was Harrison Ford. Harrison Ford. "And you know you love it."
"Love this more," he says. "Hey, I do need some help, though. With something."
I glance toward the clinic and lower my voice as I say, "Travis is up there sleeping. Not now."
Pretending to be shocked, he widens his eyes. "That's not what I was eluding to, missy. I need help in the herb garden. Something's come up and I don’t know what it is."
"Ask Chloe,” I instruct. “That's her territory, not mine."
"Come on." He slips his hand in mine and, interlocking fingers, we head toward the back of The Inn and face the sea.
Sage, rosemary, thyme, and oregano are all starting to stretch from the ground, woody fronds pushing up with flecks of greenery.
I kneel down. "These all look exactly like what they are," I say.
"But what about this one?" He pushes back a stiff frond of sage and there, on Allison's rock, is a little cardboard box with a single fresh carnation stuffed on one side.
Standing swiftly, I take a step back, my heart thudding.
"It's for you," he says. "Grab it, grab it now. That's what I've learned."
I sit on the slab of granite with the vein of rose quartz and open the lid. Inside is cotton, then a ring—a beautiful, little opal ring set in silver.
The next thing I know he takes the ring from the box and is kneeling— kneeling—next to me and my lips tremble.
"Claire Russo, I love you with all that I am and will be. I love you for who you are, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life, through it all. The good and the bad. Please choose to marry me."
Please.
As if there was someone else.
And then I realize that, for him, there was once someone else. But now, today, he is choosing to love me, choosing to marry me.
Me.
Warm tears begin in the corners of my eyes and I wipe them away. "Of course," I whisper, watching as he takes my left hand and slides the ring on my third finger.
I finally look at him and his eyes, always so fathomlessly with blue-green, are bright with tears of his own. He kisses the back of my hand and there's a tremor in his lips. Rising, he sits beside me. He takes me in his arms and we kiss gently, tenderly, feeling out this new world.
"I never thought I would ever meet anybody like you," I start to say, but then he kisses me more fervently. His tongue inside me, my head tipped back, his hand on my neck. His other arm holds me tight, the sea breeze stirring our hair.
We break apart.
"There's something I have to tell you first, before we tell anyone," I say finally, carefully.
Finn tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and then drops his hand to the necklace and kisses that as well.
"Did you mean what you said last fall?” I ask him. “About little people? About this blue world being us and we might fill it with little people?"
His smile is all I need, but he decides to further explain. "I would love them."
"Them?" I repeat.
"Them."
This means he wants children. More than one. "How soon?" I ask.
"Nine months?"
I hold my breath for a moment. "How about seven?"
The last thing I remember is Finn's eyes, so full of love. His hands on either side of my face. His fierce, quick kiss. How hard he presses me to his chest, and the warm thud of his heart.
COMING NEXT. . .
Love Bound is the first in a multiple book series. Here's the very beginning of the second book about Echo Bay, the Russo clan, and the men and women who love them. I think you can figure out whose story Letting Go is about!
Chloe
The very first town crossing from Ohio into West Virginia, is Bethlehem. I always took it as a sign. Until I let that go—the whole idea of signs, and I returned to Maine.
At six-thirty, I'm prepping in the kitchen, up since four getting croissants ready to bake, making sure the goat's milk yogurt set, chopping cilantro and tomatillos for salsa. It's what our mother did when we five were kids. It's what I do now.
What I should have been doing all along.
But I didn't.
I disappeared for a decade.
/> "Hey, these look great," says my younger sister, Claire, glancing at the tray of warm, golden croissants.
"Man, don't mind if I do," says Finn Colton coming up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. Even in wetsuits they look adorable together. Like they were just meant to be. They swim together every morning, out in the cold, mid-coast Maine Atlantic. Now she's going to dry off and prep for surgery at her vet clinic next door and he's probably going to work out in the gym and then plant himself upstairs in the office he built for himself.
"Help yourself," I say and smile. My smile feels stiff, even to me. He grins, and grabs one, but Claire senses the barrier. When she turns around to leave, without taking a croissant, I just feel empty.
"Bye," I offer to her back but I don't think she hears me.
Finn, her boyfriend, owner of the Echo Bay Inn, is my boss. He's kind of my savior but in a real way, not some religious way. When I returned, he needed someone in the kitchen to help reopen The Inn, our old home, and I showed up.
The one thing I took when I left was our mother's recipe book. Now it sits on the kitchen counter, next to the landline phone by the entryway to the back hall.
I stare out at the garden flanking the hillside down to the water. As the late summer fog lift, lobster boats head out with seagulls swirling above. Dinghies shift slightly along the peer, tethered close. Cranking open the little window above the sink, the heavy dew smells of ripe salt and sea marsh.
I'd almost forgotten that smell.
Tears begin to prick and I wipe my eyes quickly. The last thing I want Claire to see, is me crying. She's just a year younger than me, fourteen months to be exact, but she's the acting older sister. Everyone knows it.
I forced her into that position. When I left she had to take care of the other three and herself. They all just let me return because they're nice. Though they haven’t said it, they all act like they've forgiven me, but there's been no discussion.
I don't know if I can forgive myself. I wreaked so much damage on a damaged family.
Suddenly, set against the gray of fog and thready clouds, comes Bryce Tucker and I wipe my eyes again and hold my breath.
He's coming up from helping one of the older lobstermen, Brighty, untangle gear and bait traps, and now I watch him hike toward The Inn along the little shore path with sure strides.
There's a sudden sensation in my groin, deep in my sex just watching him come up the path, cutting a dark brooding figure, windbreaker hood up, those flashing brown eyes, the color of caramel.
The back screen door slams and I hear him shuck his boots and hang up the jacket on the peg rack.
He swings into the kitchen, faded jeans, a slightly holey, light green mock turtleneck sweater, all conspiring to try to hide his body and failing. The guy is tall, well over six feet and built, his thighs are hard as rocks. I know because I danced with him once. A couple of months ago, at Claire's one year plus birthday party.
We haven’t really spoken much since.
When he sees it's me, he stops and does a kind of double take and with a hand on the doorjamb and his face in profile he asks. "So, where's Finn?"
I gesture at the tray. "You can have one. Go ahead."
Frowning, he avoids both my eyes and the croissant. I don’t know which is worse, his or Claire's refusal to eat my baked offerings of peace.
He just glances at me and I feel like an idiot.
"They just came in from their swim," I say, beginning to crack one of many eggs into a bowl.
"Okay then," he says, tapping the doorjamb with his hand and then he turns and disappears into the library.
I exhale after he leaves, noting the space where he stood. I don't like how empty that space feels right now. I also don’t like how I feel right now.
Agitated, alone, hopeless.
These are all the feelings that took me away from my family.
I need to be very, very careful around Bryce Tucker.
Bryce
I haven't read a book in a year. Books are Finn's thing. So why I seek out the library every time that girl talks to me, is beyond me. I stand in the library surrounded by books and wide white windows, my heart pounding, trying to regain my composure.
I remember how good she felt at Claire's party, her body long and lithe, moving to the music, her mane of coffee colored hair streaming behind her then knotted in a bun when she was out of breath, a sheen on her skin. How her hand felt on my shoulder. How fragile her smile was. How her blue eyes veiled some devastating pain. How I wanted to kiss her, feel her, hold her. How I didn't do any of those things.
But that was one night. Now she's retreated into some part of herself, where everyone's excluded, and we only exchange niceties.
And yet every single fucking time I see her I just want to ravage her. She's got to be five ten and with her stature comes a kind of easy grace that's breathtaking. But there's an element to her that's broken, and I have learned to stay away from broken women. In the end they eat you up.
I hear Finn coming up from the basement. It's where he's built a gym. When there's a sock on the door, we're not allowed in. That’s when he and Claire are working out together. I don’t ask.
"Did you get that text from Nic?" he asks, rounding the corner. I'm two inches taller, at six four and an ex-Seal, so I intimate most guys. But not Finn. He throws a towel at me. He's trim, sweating, and a little out of breath. "Some business guy needs private security at a convention in Portland. You're it."
I grin. "So you get Harrison Ford and I get some tech guy?"
"Hey, I'm just the part timer," he says.
He's also the co-owner of Colton Security Systems along with Nic Silvano, his old college buddy.
I shake my head. "That makes no sense. Full timers should get the choice work."
There's movement behind him and my heart skips a beat, registering it's Chloe before my eyes and brain do. She's on her way to the large dining room with Bunsen burners and heating trays. I catch a glimpse of her as she scoots by, trying hard not to be seen.
But our gaze meets for a second and she turns away.
She is clearly giving me all the signals she is not interested. When a woman wants you, she makes eye contact, and holds it. I know…
THANK YOU!
Thank you so much for reading Love Bound. If you have a few seconds, please leave a review on Amazon. People actually do read them! And drop me a line at http://www.rebeccaryanbooks.com or on Facebook @rebeccaryanbooks. I am very grateful. You reading my books means I get to write more and that is a happy place for both of us. And if you really want to be in the know, join my Reader's page for teasers, insights, group fun and more at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/rebeccaryanbooks/
Acknowledgments
I want to thank so many people who made this book possible and my life less hectic while I wrote. It's always scary to start a new project and they have been, and, so supportive. They include Lori Gravley, Jude Walsh, Deb Wilburn, Laura Carlson, Holly Hudson, and Kate Geiselman, who all help keep the writing lights on in my brain. My children, Hannah, Lee, Kira and Joe listen to me whine. A final, deep, thanks to April Wilson for all her support and friendship over the years and to Julie Collier who has turned into so much more than my PA. I am so lucky to call them both friends.