Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2)

by Lilian Monroe

Wes has a new project he’s been working on—some sort of building in town that he wants to fix up. He says it used to be his mother’s favorite space, but he won’t tell me where it is or what he’s doing. “It’s a surprise,” he promises, and even though it kills me not to pester him with questions, I do my best to refrain. There’s always a grin on his face whenever he talks about it, and if I happen to catch him coming home from it, he’s always dusty and dirty and sweaty, as if he’s been doing physical work. The gleam in his eyes warms my heart.

  Maybe Wes needed something like that. A project. A way to honor his parents instead of avoiding the memory of them.

  It’s nearly February by the time Sean and Alina come back. Eli, who left in mid-January to go work with them again, seems almost relieved to be back in Heart’s Cove. He asks to stay at the cabin, and both Wes and I are more than happy to let him.

  When Sean and Alina move into a rented place on the edge of town, I don’t dread their arrival. Wes and I are good. We don’t have to fake it anymore. What’s happening between us is real. When we meet up with Sean and Alina for dinner on one of their first evenings in town, the meal is actually pleasant. The dynamic has changed—there’s less tension. Less falseness.

  The meal we eat is delicious. I haven’t had food from a high-end restaurant like this in…years. I don’t regret giving up that lifestyle when I divorced Nate, but I’m not too proud to say I do miss some of the nicer things that life had to offer. Wes gives me a funny look as I order a bottle of wine for the table, arching his brow when I go through the whole rigamarole of tasting it before the waiter pours. It’s like he’s surprised I’m comfortable in a place like this, when I’m usually the queen of casual.

  But, hey—if Sean and Alina offer me a delicious meal and all I have to do is endure their presence, who am I to refuse?

  It helps that Wes is beside me. He’s a calming presence at my side, the warmth of his body always present. His uncle tells us about the research his team has put into the new store location, and—call me crazy—I actually think a sporting goods store will be a great addition to Heart’s Cove.

  When we finish our food and sit at the table with the last few sips of our wine, Sean’s eyes flick between the two of us. “You two seem very cozy.” He swirls his glass of wine a couple of times. “Even more so than when we left.”

  Wes shifts in his seat. “We had nice holidays together.”

  “That’s great,” Alina cuts in, curving her lips into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

  Sean clears his throat. “Well, if that’s the case, maybe we should talk about things.”

  I frown. Talk about things? I glance at Wes, whose face has flushed pink.

  Sean takes a sip of wine before setting the glass down, its stem looking comically slender in his big hands. “If the trust will be released to you, Wes, I’d like to offer you a business proposition.”

  Wes stiffens beside me. “Simone and I aren’t married.”

  Oh. Oh. I’d almost forgotten about that—about the trust and the inheritance and the multimillion-dollar payday hanging over Wes’s head. Such a ridiculous condition on his parents’ trust. Marriage should never be forced, and it certainly isn’t necessary in order to be happy.

  Sean waves his hand and looks me up and down as if he’s searching for something—for what, I’m not sure. He returns his gaze to Wes before speaking. “If the trust doesn’t go to you, I was going to use my portion of it to start the Heart’s Cove location for my new store. But now that it seems you’ll be inheriting it after all, I’d like to work with you. If you’re willing to sell me some of your parents’ land, I’ll develop it—bed and breakfasts or an outdoor retreat, something that will feed customers to the store—and cut you into the deal.”

  “We’re not married,” Wes repeats through clenched teeth. A muscle feathers in his cheek. “I don’t know what will happen to the trust money, to the land.”

  Alina snorts. “You’d be a fool not to get married when there’s that much money on the line, Wes.”

  “You would know, wouldn’t you?” he snaps.

  I sit very, very still, my eyes on my glass of wine.

  Alina tilts her head ever so slightly, her face a mask of calm. “Maybe this type of attitude is the reason your app failed to take off the way you wanted, Wes. You don’t have what it takes to make it in business.”

  The subtext of her words is painfully clear. This is why I left you, she’s saying. She might as well have a billboard attached to her forehead with the words painted on it.

  I gulp, putting a hand on Wes’s arm. “We’re not talking about marriage right now,” I say. “Whatever Wes wants to do about the land and money, that’s his business.”

  He throws me a glance that has relief and softness written all over it, then hardens his expression to face his uncle. “I don’t want to talk about this tonight.”

  “Regardless of what you want to talk about, Wes, you understand that you’ll have to make a decision soon.” He turns to me. “You both will.”

  “Especially if you want more bags like that one.” Alina flicks her eyes to the Birkin hanging off the back of my chair.

  Yes, I wore it to dinner—but this time, it wasn’t in some vain attempt to fit in. This bag has actually become my everyday bag at some point over the past couple of months. Yes, I realize it’s ridiculous to wear a bag worth that much around town. I know I’m probably ruining the resale value. But…why not enjoy it? It’s mine, after all. It doesn’t have to be a symbol of my failed marriage or a token of the lifestyle I gave up. It’s just a bag. A nice one, at that. It matches my eyes.

  I touch the blue leather and shrug. “One is enough.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Wes’s uncle replies with a snort before draining his glass.

  Wes seethes next to me, his whole body vibrating.

  I clear my throat and stand up. “Thank you for a wonderful evening. I need to be up early tomorrow. Wesley?” I extend my hand toward him and he nods, then follows me toward the exit.

  Cool air rushes over us as soon as we step outside, the night clear and crisp. Wes tilts his head up to the sky and lets out a long sigh. “He’ll be pestering me about that trust for the next year.”

  “Isn’t it in his interest for you not to get the money?”

  “I thought so, but if he thinks he can get me to agree to a business deal…” Wes’s lips scrunch. “He probably thinks he can make more money off me if the land and inheritance stay within the family. If I don’t get it, a huge portion of it gets donated.”

  “It all seems so…” I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. So far removed from what your parents must have wanted.”

  Wes slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “I know.”

  I tilt my head to take in the hard planes of his face, the rough-hewn features that have always made my heart flip. This whole business about marriage…I don’t know what to think about it. It’s not what I want right now. Jumping into another marriage when I lost myself so thoroughly in my first one seems like a terrible idea.

  But if Wes asked me, if he told me he wanted to get married to keep the house that he loves so much…I think I’d say yes.

  That probably makes me a fool.

  A part of me screams at the thought of giving up my hard-won independence. Sure, it would be nice to have someone by my side. To not scratch together a living from the dregs people offer me, to not have to hunt down clients for payment.

  But the money I have is mine. I don’t have Birkin bags lining my closet, but I can stand with my head held high about what I’ve accomplished in the past eight years. Giving that up to marry someone…I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

  “What’s the deal with the purse,” Wes finally says. “Is it expensive or something?”

  I grip the handles a bit tighter. “Um. Yeah. It’s a designer bag.”

  “And would you”—he clears his throat—“would you want more bags like it?�
�

  I consider his words, what they mean. What he’s asking. Letting out a long sigh, I shrug. “Sure, who wouldn’t? It’s pretty. But it doesn’t mean anything to me. Not the way it used to.”

  Wes glances at me, assessing. “What did it used to mean to you?”

  I blow out a breath. “It was…a symbol of what I used to have, I think. Of what I gave up. The cost of my independence.”

  His arm tightens across my shoulders as we walk through town, our breaths misting with every exhale. “And what is it now, if it’s not a symbol?”

  “Now, it’s a bag,” I reply. “It’s just a bag.”

  24

  Wesley

  With my uncle and Alina’s return to town, all my fears return with a vengeance. After weeks holed up at home with Simone without a care or a thought about the future, thinking about this inheritance feels…dirty.

  I can’t get married.

  I don’t want to get married just to pad my bank account.

  I can’t ask Simone to marry me for a thousand reasons. We just met, for one. We only just started taking things seriously. Sure, we get along, but that doesn’t mean we want to spend the rest of our lives together.

  Plus, the inheritance makes things…complicated. Logically, I know she’s not faking her interest in me. She’s not pretending to like me just to get that money. I know that. I tell myself that, and when my arms are around her and I see the light in her eyes, I believe it.

  But when I’m alone with my thoughts, they circle like sharks.

  She kissed me the moment after I told her about the trust, about the conditions. Our relationship deepened after I revealed that to her.

  What if she’s just like Alina?

  The way she gripped that purse when I asked her about it…is that what she sees in me? Someone who will be able to provide designer bags and luxury for her? She seemed to enjoy that meal at a fancy restaurant. What if she really does value a wealthy lifestyle?

  Still, our days continue much like they did before. With my uncle and Alina staying in their own place, and with Eli still using the cabin—although he insists on paying rent now, as if he intends to stay long-term—Simone and I stay in my parents’ house together. It’s starting to feel very much like home—especially with her in it.

  But, but, but…

  I can’t let go of my past. Every time I see Alina, it reminds me of the hurt she caused me. The betrayal. The sting of her choosing my uncle and throwing it in my face.

  Maybe this type of attitude is the reason your app failed to take off the way you wanted, Wes.

  Her words from that night ring in my head. I failed, I failed, I failed. She left me because I failed. Because I couldn’t provide. Because I didn’t have that killer business instinct that seems to run through every other member of my family, parents included.

  Simone doesn’t bring up the inheritance, and I’m grateful for it. I watch the way she works, how doggedly she looks for clients and provides the best possible service she can. Half the town’s businesses have hired her for various online marketing projects or to run their social media pages. Every time someone new hires her, she comes home flushed and excited, beaming with pride.

  It really doesn’t seem like she thinks about my money at all. She’s more focused on her own work, her own achievements.

  In February, with the cabin occupied and the rent money keeping me from having to dip into the last of the gift money my parents left me outside the trust, I end up walking to Grant’s house one morning and asking him if he needs help. He does most of the odd jobs around town, having reinvented himself from a big-time lawyer to a humble carpenter over the past decade or so.

  Watching the way he works, it makes me think that maybe I could enjoy it, too. I don’t need Silicon Valley or a new app worth billions. The work I’ve done on my mother’s old library space has been so rewarding I wonder if Grant has it all figured out. Making things with my hands…it could be exactly what I need.

  I find Grant in his workshop, just off the main house. He has a carpenter’s pencil behind his ear, wearing a stained plaid shirt and ripped jeans. He runs his hand through his thick dark hair and jerks his chin at me. “Wes. What can I do for you?”

  I clear my throat, sliding my hands into my pockets as I take in the space. It smells like sawdust and glue and steel. I’ve never worked with my hands other than chopping wood and taking care of the cabin, the odd painting job. Even remodeling my mother’s library has mostly been cleaning and a new coat of paint. I need to build desks and built-in cabinets, which is way beyond my skill level, but I’m determined to do it myself.

  Looking at Grant to see him watching me, I shrug. “I was wondering if you needed any help. You seem to be busy around town, and…I might be looking for work.”

  His lips tilt into a smile. “You ever do any woodworking?”

  “Beyond chopping logs for a fire? Nah.”

  He chuckles and reaches for a broom leaning against the wall. “Start with the basics, then, just like I did with Cheswick when I first got to Heart’s Cove.” He extends the broom toward me, a gleam in his eyes. “The place needs a sweep.”

  At another point in my life, I might have protested. I might have told him I wanted to learn about woodworking, not cleaning—but I take the broom and start sweeping.

  Grant takes the pencil from his ear and marks a piece of wood. “I saw Dorothy walking through the woods this morning,” he says casually. “Looked like she was coming from your grandfather’s cabin.”

  I whirl, staring at him. “What?”

  He chuckles. “Eli might be here to stay.”

  “Let’s just hope Agnes doesn’t try to run him out of town for daring to talk to Dorothy.”

  Grant laughs, a bright, happy sound I’d never heard until Fiona arrived in town. My own smile widens before I shake my head and turn back to my sweeping. Once the place is clean, Grant gets me to help him cut some timber, shows me how to use the circular saw, gives me tips on safety and accuracy.

  After a few hours, he shakes my hand. “What are you doing tomorrow? I’m building a deck for the Savoys over on Pinetree Drive. Could use the help.”

  I grin. “Sure. I’d like that.”

  We make a plan to meet and negotiate a base pay for me. I wander back along the coast, whistling, feeling lighter than I have in ages. When I spy the corner of my grandfather’s cabin, I can’t quite keep the smile off my face.

  Hell, if Eli can find love in his sixties, why can’t I do the same by the time I’m forty-five? Why am I convincing myself that this thing between Simone and me would never work? Why am I throwing out the idea of marriage, of my inheritance, just out of pride and stubbornness? My birthday is over a year away. Whatever’s happening with Simone and me…we’ve got time to figure it out.

  When I get home and shower the sawdust off my body, Simone still isn’t home. When I text her, she responds with an emoji of a coffee cup. Then, a few seconds later, an emoji of an eggplant and a tongue sticking out, followed by a question mark.

  I laugh. Yes, please.

  My keys jingle as I toss them up in the air and catch them, heading to the truck to go pick her up. The sooner we can get this, ahem, eggplant party started, the better. I park across from the café and saunter inside, finding her in her usual seat. When she sees me enter, she closes her laptop and slides it into that blue bag she wears everywhere. Smiling as I approach, Simone stands and hooks her arms around my neck, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she touches her nose to mine.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  Her cheeks turn pink, and I can’t resist pressing my lips to hers. I kiss her slowly, gently, enjoying every second, every little noise and every tremble in her body.

  “How was your day?” she asks, leaning back to look in my eyes. “You look…happy.”

  “Got a job working for Grant.”

  Her brows jump up. “Yeah?”

  “Figured it was time for me to get
off my ass.”

  “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you mention it…”

  I pinch her ass and relish her yelp, then jerk my head toward the truck. “Let’s go home.” My eyes drop to her pretty pink mouth, and by the flash in her eyes, I know she’s thinking what I’m thinking—that it won’t take long for our clothes to disappear when we get through the door.

  I could marry this woman.

  The thought hits me so hard it knocks the breath out of me. I twist a strand of her flame-colored hair around my finger and tuck it behind her ear, emotion clogging my throat.

  Would it be so bad to end up together for…well, forever? Would it be that terrible to stay in Heart’s Cove, to keep that house, to live here with all these people that have known me since I was a kid?

  When I left Heart’s Cove, I wanted to make something of myself. I wanted to be the businessman with the billion-dollar net worth. I wanted the sleek office in Silicon Valley. I wanted the glory.

  But now…

  I mean, look at Grant! He started a whole new business where he has a fraction of the notoriety and supposed clout of being a big-name lawyer, but he’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. He took a chance in opening his life up to Fiona, and so far they seem to be thriving.

  Why not me?

  Simone completes me in a way I didn’t know was possible. She doesn’t judge. Doesn’t ask anything of me. She pushes my buttons, sure, but she only ever nudges me toward becoming a better person. It’s like when she asked me to come to Christmas dinner. Things between us were awkward, but she still knew I’d be spending the holiday alone—and as it was, that night ended up being the best night I’ve had in decades. Not just because we had sex, but because…because we were together.

  The café door opens, carrying cold, sea-scented air through the café. Simone freezes, her eyes glued over my shoulder. Frowning, I follow her gaze and see a man enter. About my age, slightly shorter, with pale hair and a clean-shaven face.

  He looks at the café counter, the art on the walls, the eclectic chairs, assessing. Then he sees Simone. Recognition flashes in his face—then his gaze slides to me. Wariness enters his expression along with a hint of territorial anger. Then a casual mask slams down on his features, and he stretches his lips in a roguish smile.