by Nina Lindsey
“Oh, my little Dorothy.” Destiny held up the stone, turning it to capture the light. “You always had the courage. The necklace just reminded you of that.”
“Thanks, Glinda.” Aria hugged her friend. “Good luck with your man behind the curtain.”
With a wave, she headed to her van and drove to the Outside Inn, where Hunter had been staying for the past week until he found an apartment.
Both he and Aria had agreed that since things had happened so fast for them, it would be best if they didn’t try and find a place together right away. He wasn’t happy about her staying alone on Mariposa Street, but he was at the café and her apartment so often that he might as well have been living there.
After parking in the lot, she walked to the inn’s gate. Dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt streaked with dirt, his hair rumpled and his jaw unshaven, Hunter was crouched beside the front walkway with a trowel and a plastic flat that held several blooming plants.
In neat rows on either side of the flagstone path, he’d planted at least thirty zinnias. The flowers were bright bursts of purple, red, yellow, pink, and orange. Alongside the zinnias, he’d planted pansies, daisies, and petunias, creating cheerful rivers of color all the way to the porch.
“Hey.” He rose to his feet with a smile, his eyes sparking with appreciation at the sight of her.
“It’s lovely.” She indicated the flowers.
“Yes, it is.” He kept his gaze on her.
Aria smiled and moved in for an embrace.
Hunter hesitated and gestured to his shirt. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re perfect.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, breathing in his scent of sunshine and clean sweat. “Has Mrs. Higgins seen this yet?”
“Nope.” He checked his watch. “She’s supposed to be back in about ten minutes or so. She said she had a few errands to run.”
“You did an incredible job.” She eased back to admire the flowers again.
“Good to know considering I’ve never planted a flower in my life.”
“First time for everything.”
An old Cadillac pulled into the inn’s driveway, and Mrs. Higgins got out of the driver’s seat, a red handbag looped around her arm and a straw hat perched on her head.
“Oh, Aria, I’m glad you’re here! What in the…” Her voice trailed off as she took in Hunter, the flowers, and the array of gardening equipment. Her eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Zinnias.”
“Three dozen.” Hunter proudly spread his hand toward the flower beds. “I know you said Hank used to line the front walk with zinnias for you, but I thought it would be nice to include flowers that represented all of the Outside Inn rooms. Except for roses because they seemed kind of complicated, but I’m going to do some research and find out where to plant—”
Mrs. Higgins flung her arms around him so hard that Hunter almost stumbled back a step.
“Thank you so much.” Tears choked her words. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Aria couldn’t stop smiling. Hunter hugged the older woman and grinned at Aria over the top of her head. Mrs. Higgins fumbled for a tissue in her handbag.
“This is the most wonderful surprise I’ve had in ages.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I do hope you’ll both join me for tea.”
“We were just waiting for you to ask.” Hunter bent to start collecting the gardening tools. “Did you make those seven-layer bars with the butterscotch and chocolate chips?”
Mrs. Higgins beamed. “A whole pan, just for you.”
“Excellent.” Hunter patted his flat stomach and rumbled a noise of appreciation.
“And I finally had this made for you, my dear.” Mrs. Higgins dug into her bag again and extended a bright red ribbon to Aria. An old-fashioned key dangled from a loop at the end.
Aria took the key with faint bafflement. “What’s this for?”
“I thought you might want your own key.” Mrs. Higgins winked at Hunter. “So you can stop climbing in the window of the Rosebud Room.”
Aria’s face heated. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Hunter chuckled. “So much for subterfuge.”
“Oh, Hank and I climbed through a few windows in our day, too.” Eyes twinkling, Mrs. Higgins started toward the front door. “I’ll go get the tea started. Come in whenever you’re ready. And thank you, Hunter. Hank would have liked you a great deal.”
Aria suspected the older woman couldn’t have paid Hunter a greater compliment. She slipped the key around her neck and helped Hunter clean up the walkway before they joined Mrs. Higgins for tea. Hunter drank three cups of Earl Gray and ate about five seven-layer bars and a dozen cookies while Mrs. Higgins waxed rhapsodic about Hank’s love for gingerbread.
After returning to Mariposa Street, they fed the cats and cleaned up the lounge. Aria wrote out her Sugar Joy order for the following day while Hunter sprawled on the sofa with his laptop. Fang leapt up from underneath the table, prodding at Hunter’s thigh before stretching out beside him.
Unlike the other cats, Fang wasn’t a snuggler, but ten days after Hunter had officially adopted him, the old cat was increasingly less fearful and nervous. He was starting to eat with the others, and though he still preferred to crouch under the sofa, he always ventured out when Hunter was nearby.
His gaze on the screen, Hunter absently reached over to rub Fang’s head. The cat half closed his single eye in pleasure.
“Does that work for you, too?” Aria ran her hand through Hunter’s hair.
“Oh, yeah.” He closed his eyes, his chest rumbling with the deep tiger purr that sank deep into Aria’s blood.
She bent to kiss his forehead before settling on the other side of him. “How’s the research going?”
“Not bad. The plan is underway.”
“Uh oh.”
He pinched her thigh gently before clicking to a lengthy spreadsheet.
“Even if we get denied federal funding, we’ve got commitments from several investors who want to support historical preservation,” he said. “We also got a sizeable donation from the VP of the Intellix Corporation up in San Francisco. Juliette is sending in her proposal next week, and I have a meeting with a firm up in San Francisco called Studio Twenty-Five. They’re a group of designers and architects who specialize in historic architecture.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“It’s a start.” He leaned over to set his laptop on the table. “I used to have an idea of starting my own company one day, but when I was moving up the Imperial ladder, it got pushed into the background. Especially when the CEO position was within reach. I never thought I’d start a property development company that specializes in urban restoration and revitalization.”
“First time for everything.” Aria nudged him in the arm, her heart swelling with pride as it always did when Hunter talked about Monarch Enterprises.
Though still very much a fledgling company, Monarch had a strong foundation with support from Hunter’s wide network of friends, colleagues and property developers—many of whom had offered him lucrative positions with their own teams after discovering that he’d left Imperial. Though he’d turned down all offers, his excellent reputation preceded him, and he’d been fielding frequent calls from colleagues wanting to work with him and support his company.
Mariposa Street would be his first project—a complete overhaul and restoration of the old district, starting with the basics of graffiti clean-up, inspections, assessments, and repairs. Hunter had been studying countless guidelines and standards for rehabilitating historic buildings, and he’d become a veritable encyclopedia about Mariposa’s history and architecture.
His goal with Monarch was to maintain the historical context of the district while also opening it up for appropriate modernizations and turning it into an asset for the entire town.
Aria nestled against Hunter’s side—unlike Fang, she was most definitely a snuggler—and
rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.
As Jumbo pounced gracefully onto her lap, Aria thought that maybe Destiny had been right about a few things. Like the wisdom of cat spirits. No coincidences. And that all events in her life had led Aria right to this moment with Hunter, the place where she was meant to be.
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Can a sexy action-movie hero teach a beautiful, brilliant professor how to lose control?
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And I Love Her
Bliss Cove #2
Chapter 1
“I will not accept any late assignments.” Calista Prescott snapped her laser pointer shut and swept her gaze over the lecture hall of a hundred shuffling, slouching undergraduates. “If your paper is not either in my hand, on my desk, or in my mailbox by five p.m. Friday afternoon…that’s the day after tomorrow, to avoid any misunderstanding…then you will receive an incomplete. And no, emailing me a copy does not count. Printed copies only. No exceptions. Class dismissed.”
Chatter and sighs of relief filled the air. The students stuffed notebooks into their backpacks and started checking their phones. Her graduate teaching assistant, Jordan, approached from the projection booth with a stack of slide carousels.
“If you ever want me to put your lectures and slides on a twenty-first century computer, I would be delighted.” He set the carousels on the table with a grimace, as if he were carrying forty-pound cement blocks.
“The slide projector suits me just fine, thank you,” Callie replied crisply.
“You mean the ancient relic?”
“A perfect tool for teaching ancient history.”
With an unsubtle roll of his eyes, Jordan wound up the electrical cord and placed the carousels and remote control into boxes. “I’ll put this all in your office.”
As he and the rest of the class began heading toward the doors, a barrage of anxious-looking students approached the podium like a Spartan army on the march. Callie stiffened her spine.
“Professor Prescott, did you get my email about my grandma in the hospital…?”
“I can’t get my printer to work, Dr. Prescott…”
“The book I need hasn’t come in at the library yet…”
Callie encompassed the group in a tight smile and hardened her heart to their puppy-dog eyes and beseeching pleas. In her early days of teaching, she’d learned her lesson about showing any weakness. These kids might look like scruffy, ear-pod-wearing innocents, but they could smell blood.
“You’ve all known about this assignment since the first day of class.” She closed her leather satchel and snapped the latch. “No exceptions. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
The group sagged with dismay, and one girl—Laura—bit her trembling lip.
Walk away, Dr. Prescott.
Callie picked up the cashmere cardigan she’d left on the back of a chair and slipped it on. She started toward the door, her heels clicking purposefully. Behind her, the students radiated nervous despair.
Keep walking. Keep walk—
Was that a sniffle?
Her heart sank. Gripping her satchel strap tighter, she swiveled and leveled the group with an icy glare.
“I will have extra office hours today, tomorrow, and Friday afternoon until five. I will also plan to check my email more often than usual. Should you encounter further obstacles in your research and writing, you may either come to my office or email me. I will do my best to assist you. But there will be no exceptions. I wish your grandmother well, Mr. Hamilton.”
Without waiting to see if her remarks mollified them, she strode from the lecture hall. Hopefully her hard-ass attitude would still deflect any notion of weakness.
She glanced at her slim gold wristwatch. One hour until her meeting with the senior professors in the Classics department, which gave her just enough time to drive over to the Bliss Cove Library and pick up the books she’d ordered through interlibrary loan.
She preferred using the local library since the college library was always so slammed with requests from students and other professors. Not to mention, the Bliss Cove librarian Beatrice was highly efficient, a quality Callie both appreciated and often found lacking in other people.
Outside, the grassy expanse of the quad at Skyline College teemed with students trudging to their next class, backpacks slung over their shoulders as they balanced their cell phones with takeout coffee cups. The May sun peeked through a fluffy layer of clouds, and a breeze strengthened the scent of the Pacific Ocean and the surrounding redwood forests.
Callie had always loved the picturesque beauty of the small private college with its brick buildings and tree-lined flagstone pathways. If it weren’t for her meeting, she’d have gotten herself a coffee and found a quiet place to sit and enjoy the lovely day.
But…junior professors who were up for tenure and trying to finish a book proposal on Greek mythology didn’t have time to enjoy the day. Or to enjoy anything, really.
Her phone buzzed, and she paused to pull it from her satchel. A text popped up from her sister Rory: Drinks at the Mousehole tonight?
Callie typed a reply: Sorry, going to Mom’s then working.
After dropping her phone back into her bag, she got into her car and drove toward the library. Ocean waves splashed against the rocky coastline, and downtown Bliss Cove bustled with people out walking and shopping. Everything about the town—from the ivy-covered buildings to the town square presided over by a white gazebo to the Mousehole Tavern tucked away in a grove of redwoods—was part of Callie’s blood. Even when she was a child, she hadn’t been able to imagine living anywhere else.
Flexing her hands on the wheel, she let out a long breath. Now more than ever, she wanted—needed—to stay in Bliss Cove. Being awarded tenure would ensure her job security and also allow her to continue living where her roots were planted.
She followed the coastal road north out of town to an expanse of land where a massive, old Victorian mansion sat beneath a bower of trees. A round tower rose from the back, giving the place a fairy-tale quality.
She parked, grabbed her purse, and climbed out of the car. She ascended the columned front porch and went inside. A hush filled the cool, dark air, and a few people sat at the long tables reading and studying.
Callie approached the weathered, wooden front desk. The librarian, Beatrice Delaney, was busy checking in books.
“Hi, Bee.”
The young woman startled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Callie, sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” Callie set her satchel on the desk. “I just wanted to pick up the books you ordered for me through interlibrary loan. You messaged me that they were in.”
“Yes, the last one just came in yesterday.” Bee turned toward the hold shelf and perused the alphabetically stacked titles. “I told Peter to put them under your name, but I don’t see them here. Hold on a second.”
She picked up the landline phone—cell service being spotty on this isolated stretch of coastline—and dialed. “Peter? It’s Bee.”
With a sigh, Callie glanced at her watch again. Forty-five minutes to her meeting. She also needed to stop at her office on the way to pick up her notes.
An elderly gentleman approached the desk with a stack of mystery novels, giving Callie a nod of greeting.
“Callie, I’m sorry.” Bee turned, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. “He mistakenly put them back in the stacks instead of on the hold shelf. I’ll run up and get them for you.”
Callie stifled a rush of impatience. She shook her head, indicating that Bee should help the gentleman check out his books. “It’s okay, I’ll get them.”
Before Bee could protest, Callie picked up her satc
hel and hurried toward the worn staircase leading to the upper floors. She reached the third floor and crossed the expanse of looming shelves to the Greek mythology section in the very back. She checked the list of call numbers on her phone.
Eight books—and she’d left her book bag on campus. No time to come back later either, as she had to get over to her mother’s house right after the meeting. Besides, she was here now and she wasn’t about to waste time.
She perused the shelves and hauled out the heavy books from between others that were coated with dust. The last volume was so large it was stacked sideways on a lower shelf. Callie knelt to yank it out and grimaced as cobwebs clung to her cashmere sleeve. Some of the shelves had apparently never seen the benefits of the library’s cleaning budget.
She put her phone back into her purse. After piling the books on top of each other, she hefted the stack into her arms and hurried back to the stairs. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the narrow, gated elevator, which she usually avoided due to its advanced age. She started toward it. Her arms were already strained, and she’d need to shave seconds off this errand to avoid being late.
She punched the call button with her elbow, shifting the books into the crook of her other arm. Smears of dirt and dust covered her beige silk blouse and the front of her sweater.
She groaned. All she needed was to walk into the meeting and face six senior professors with smudges streaking her clothes. If Bee got her books checked out quickly, she might have time to stop at the ladies’ room and try to clean up.
Where was the elevator? The darned thing didn’t even have numbers indicating its location. She shifted again, hitching her satchel higher up on her shoulder. Her long, straight hair was starting to escape its usual neat chignon, which meant another repair before the meeting.
She blew a stray lock of hair away from her forehead and hefted the books to her other arm. Strength training at the gym was nothing compared to hauling around Greek mythology books.