She heard the truck before she understood what it was, the sound both familiar and strange amid the midday rally noise—familiar because it was a truck, strange because of where it was coming from.
But it was her crew’s reaction that made her finally look around.
“Dude!” Danny’s cry was one of pure, unfeigned joy as the rumbling engine stopped. “Please tell me that thing is loaded. That is sweet!”
Chantal looked up to see the artist jogging out to the Midway, and she followed, squinting into the bright sunlight—then stopping cold.
A tall, boxy food truck, painted a brilliant white and decorated with delicate filigree flourishes—along with an enormous LA BOULANGERIE BAKERY insignia across its side—was now parked in the center of the Midway. Standing in front of it, leaning against the cab, was Luc.
“Luc?” she managed, not sure if she should laugh or cry for some reason, but the sight of him here, at her shop and with that truck, suddenly struck her as something deeply important. “You, ah, got a new truck?”
By now there was a crowd forming around the food truck, some of them tourists, but most of them, she thought, locals. Funny how their faces had already become familiar in the few short days she’d been there. She even thought she might have seen Tante Patrice bobbing in the throng, but of course, that couldn’t be possible.
Either way, Luc wasn’t looking at any of them. Instead, he grinned at her, though with in the bright sun, she couldn’t read his eyes. “I’ve had a new truck,” he said, patting the vehicle. “Had it for a while, but never had a really good reason to use it. Now, I think I have.”
She stared at him in confusion, even though her heart suddenly seemed to be too full for her chest. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t.” He took a deep breath, then took a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of her. “There’s something I should say, though, first. From the moment I got here, Chantal, I knew I was living the dream in this town—with its beach and its people.”
“And its sunset,” somebody called out, and there was a smattering of applause and cheers.
Luc kept going. “And then, not so long ago, I realized that sometimes other dreams might come along that are worth chasing too. Worth chasing even if they’re bound and determined to head out onto the open road without me.”
“Luc,” Chantal began, but he held up a hand.
“You’re more special than you realize, Chantal Green,” he said, pitching his voice loud enough that everyone could hear. “You do good work, you do good things. You have a good crew. You’ve done a lot after starting out in not such a great place, and I’ve begun to realize that maybe you need someone on hand to remind you how extraordinary you are.” He shifted a little. “I’ve decided I’d like to be that guy, if it’s all the same to you.”
He said the words as a statement, but Chantal could hear the question in them, and knew she wasn’t the only one who did. The entire crowd seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for her response, and despite her best efforts, this time she couldn’t keep the tears from gathering at the corners of her eyes, or spilling over her cheeks.
Like most guys, the moment Luc saw tears he got that stricken look on his face. “Aw, Chantal, I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t—”
“Yes,” she practically blurted the words, and everyone in the crowd seemed to give a startled gasp. “Yes, Luc, I’d like that—I mean, if you want to be that guy. I…I’d really like that. More than you could possibly...”
The tears were coming in earnest now, and Luc stepped forward, his strong, capable hands coming up to gently wipe her cheeks. Then he leaned down and brought his lips to hers, surrounding her with his warmth, his security, his…
His love? Could that be possible?
As if she’d asked the question aloud, Luc pulled back from her, gazing at her with those warm brown eyes. He dropped his arms to encircle her waist.
“You know, I’ve barely even met you, Chantal Green,” he said with a lopsided smile, his words deepening with his undeniable French accent. “But I love you all the same.”
The crowd suddenly whooped, jolting Chantal. She’d forgotten they were there, somehow. Forgotten anyone was there but Luc.
Beneath the sound of their cheering, she found her own voice again.
“You do?” she asked, unable to fully process what he was saying, unable to think of anything beyond the idea—the impossible, incredible, unfathomable idea…that this good, honest, rock solid man loved her. Loved her and wanted to be with her, wherever her road took her. “You’d be willing to ride with us to the next rally stop?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll chase you ‘til you get tired, and then we’ll come back here to watch the sunset.”
“The sunset,” she said, brokenly. She glanced away, and now she did see Tante Patrice in the center of the crowd, with Jerome beside her, both of them holding hands and beaming from ear to ear.
Once again, Chantal found it a little hard to breathe, and she turned back to Luc. Their hands had also come together now, each now gripping the other tightly. “I…I could maybe do that.”
“Good,” Luc said. Then he grinned. “I know you like to say that trouble has a habit of following you around, but I’m afraid that’s not going to be the case anymore.”
He untangled his hand from hers and hitched his thumb back toward his enormous, white-paneled food truck. “Now it’ll have to get in line behind me.”
Epilogue
Chantal sat on the picnic table, looking out to the ocean. The Atlantic was a far more active sea than the Gulf of Mexico, but beautiful in its way, especially on a windy day like this. The rolling breakers crashed over the shore as seagulls wheeled overhead, and the sound of children laughing carried all the way up to her. At this time of year, it was mostly families dotting this stretch of beach, some of them with dogs cavorting at the edge of the surf, the hour late enough that pets were allowed near the water.
She heard Luc before she saw him, crunching along the sand, but when she looked up it was as if she was seeing him for the first time all over again. His warm, maple syrup eyes, his easy smile, his tanned, rugged face—now more tanned after two solid weeks in the bright Daytona Beach sunshine.
He held up a bag, and she frowned at the aroma. “That’s not French food I smell.”
“Guilty as charged,” he laughed, the hint of his French accent still in his words as he set down his spoils. “There are way too many food trucks to choose from for me to eat my own food anymore. You’ve got your choice of barbecue, Asian noodles, and something deep fried that I couldn’t quite figure out, but decided to try anyway.”
He took his place beside her on the table, and she settled against him, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for that express purpose. It’d only been three weeks since she’d met this man, yet Chantal found herself thinking of all sorts of crazy things because of him. Things she’d never imagined she would.
“You like it here?” Luc murmured over her head, and she smiled, staring out at the ocean.
“It’s not as pretty as another picnic table spot I’ve seen recently, but it’s nice. Someplace to visit, I think. Not to stay.”
He seemed to consider that for a while, holding her close as they listened to the sound of laughter and the ocean. Then he shifted, pulling his phone out and thumbing it on with one hand.
“I heard from Tante Patrice today,” he said. As usual when he spoke of his great aunt, his words took on more deeply the continental accent she secretly loved.
Chantal turned, worry skiffing along the edge of her bright mood. “Is she okay? Are they doing all right without you?”
He snorted in response. “More than all right. She and Jerome are determined to groom Mike for the role of manager, never mind that he’s planning to go away for college next year. They’re convinced they can sway him into finding a local university so he can work
for them in the summer.”
Chantal laughed as Luc paused, then angled the phone toward her. “They wanted me to show you this, though. They’ve…well, they’ve done some remodeling at the house too. Wanted me to be sure and let you know.”
“At their house? But it was perfect…” Chantal frowned as she looked down at the screen. It was filled with a picture of Tante Patrice and Jerome, both of them beaming in front of their little picket fence that bordered their beautiful garden bursting with flowers. Only something…
“What is that on the fence?” she asked, taking the phone from Luc and expanding the screen. There were new features all the way around the fence line, little metal flourishes that made no sense, positioned the way they were.
“Go to the next pic.”
Obligingly, she swiped—then froze.
“Oh, my God,” Chantal whispered, her throat going tight. The fence in the second picture had completely transformed into a series of miniature doorways, each of them opening wide onto the garden. “Those are gates, Luc. They put all those gates into their fence.”
As she stared, Luc’s arms went around her again, holding her close. “They wanted to be sure you always felt at home there, whenever you came back to town,” he said, chuckling. “They like the look so much they’re going to make each of the gates unique. But they couldn’t wait that long to show you.”
“It’s…” the words died in Chantal’s throat, however, her emotions too much to bear. These—these people whom she barely knew—had become so important to her in such a short time. They’d opened their arms to her, their hearts…and now even their fences, just to make her feel wanted.
And she did feel wanted. More than she ever had in her life.
Wanted…and something so much more. Something she felt too, in a way she hadn’t thought would ever be possible.
“I love you, Luc Martin, you know that?” she asked, barely able to get the words out past her constricted throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”
In response, Luc shifted until he faced her, his beautiful, warm eyes intent. “I’m awfully glad to hear that,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. “Because it’s almost time for the sunset. And you know what that means.”
As the sun began to dip toward the far horizon behind them, beyond the dunes and trees, he lowered his mouth to hers. “I love you too, Chantal,” he whispered softly. Their lips touched. “And with every passing sunset, I’m thinking I’ll love you more.”
They turned, then, to face the setting sun, and Chantal sighed. “You know, I never thought I’d have anything to thank Jack Cooper for, other than landing my teenaged butt in jail,” she murmured, as Luc drifted another kiss against her hair. “Yet here he’s gone and changed everything for me.”
Luc chuckled. “Kind of makes you wonder who’s next on his redemption tour list, doesn’t it?”
She glanced up at him with a playful grin. “Think we should warn them?”
“Sunset!” someone shouted, and a cheer went up along the beach. Chantal settled back into Luc’s arms.
“Nah,” they both said at the same time.
A Note From Jenn
Writing this novella series was so much fun, and I was delighted to join the authors who made it fantastically worthwhile: Erin McCarthy, Jennifer Bernard, Elizabeth Bemis and Lizzie Shane. Each of their stories shows how Forgetting Jack Cooper is the best thing their heroines can do for themselves, I hope you enjoy them all!
Though this book wasn’t a Modern Royals story, most Jennifer Chance tales are. You can read all about the royals of Garronia and the men and women they fall in love with, in my Gowns & Crowns series, now available exclusively on Amazon. I also have the Rule Breakers series, from Random House/Loveswept, available from all major online book retailers.
But first, don’t hesitate to discover who else needs to Forget Jack Cooper, in Forgetting Jack Cooper: The First Love Edition, by Jennifer Bernard!
About Jennifer Chance
Jennifer Chance is the award-winning author of the contemporary romance Rule Breakers and Gowns & Crowns series. A lover of books, romance, and happily-ever-afters, she lives and writes in Ohio. She’s also urban fantasy author Jenn Stark, whose Immortal Vegas series is now available; and YA author Jennifer McGowan, whose Elizabethan spy series Maids of Honor is also available. She really, truly, loves to write.
When she’s not at work on her newest book, you can find her online at jenniferchance.com/ , on Facebook at facebook.com/authorJenniferChance and on Twitter at @Jenn_Chance.
Forgetting Jack Cooper:
The Big Idea Edition
by Elizabeth Bemis
“Hey, Mom. Ralph said you were looking for me?”
The cool blonde behind the granite desk glanced up, assessing me with her equally cool eyes, every hair perfectly in place. Her berry colored lipstick looked as if it had been just applied by a professional makeup artist, as did the rest of her cosmetics. Heather Miller’s mascara would never dare clump. And of course, there wasn’t a single sign of her most recent, extremely expensive “procedure” with the esteemed Dr. Stanley Greenup, plastic surgeon to the stars. Which would make that procedure a success, since one shouldn’t ever be able to tell that a woman has had “work” done.
She sighed when she saw me. There was no amount of work that could fix what I had going on, which suited me just fine.
I bumped my glasses up my nose, then tucked a lock of my curly hair behind my ear. Never mind that it sproinged back after a hot second. That tuck counted as an official attempt at grooming, as far as I was concerned.
My mother’s gaze rested on the offending curl for a long moment, then returned to the rest of my ensemble. “What are you wearing?” she asked.
I glanced down, frowning. Ok. I’ll admit the skirt wasn’t flattering. No one was going to take me for having the figure of a super-model, but I was perfectly within an acceptable weight, even by Hollywood standards. Still, the ruffling at the top of the black skirt, which looked insanely cute on the plastic mannequin sporting this very look when I walked into Macy’s last week, left me looking a little… chubby. I was probably too short-waisted for the blouse, or maybe I’d bought both items a size too big. I wasn’t really into form fitting clothes.
“Ruth. Really.”
“We can’t all be former Hollywood sex symbols,” I replied, more unkindly than I meant to.
It was a low blow. She hated the reminder most people still saw her as a blonde bubble-head, her signature acting role having been that of a vampy sexpot in a night-time soap opera during the eighties. Since then, she’d worked hard to become an Academy Award winning producer and studio owner and to leave her former persona behind. Unfortunately for her, the public’s memory was surprisingly long. Also, unfortunately for her, twenty-seven years of disappointing her tended to make me pricklier than I should let it.
Remorse slid through me, as usual a second too late for me to take the higher road. Then Mom cleared her throat.
“I just wanted to make sure you were ready for the meeting with Jack Cooper,” she said, her voice taking on a tone I’d learned to loathe. “This is an important film. We need to make sure we get as much publicity for this movie in advance as we can.”
So much for remorse. I left the high road in my rearview mirror and stomped on the gas.
Mom was always doing this to me. She’d been a typical stage mom during my childhood, trotting me through acting lessons, singing lessons, guitar and piano lessons, ballet, tap and contemporary dance. I think she believed that if she just cultivated the right talent, I’d become a natural performer. She finally gave up when, at age eleven, I sat down in the middle of the stage during a recital and refused to dance. Or, for that matter, do anything other than cry.
Unfortunately, while I won the battle of not becoming Heather Miller two-point-oh, from that point on, Mom kind of looked on me with disappointment and maybe a little bit of pity, the same way she was doing right now.
A sudden but familiar worry flashed: that the only reason I had this job was that she didn’t think I could make it in the real world without it.
Which was crazy. I was good at my job. I wasn’t confident about a lot in my life, but I was an excellent Director of Public Relations for the studio.
“Don’t worry,” I said, my words now more professionally clipped than a prize-winning poodle. “I’m completely aware of the importance of this film. When you promoted me last year, I really thought maybe you’d finally started to see that I knew what I was doing.”
“Ruthie,” she said, reaching a long elegant hand toward me.
This was how it always went. The cut and then the Band-Aid, but it wasn’t enough anymore—it hadn’t been enough for a while. I should leave the studio and go do something else and yet…I didn’t. I kept thinking that maybe after the next movie Mom would suddenly acknowledge my worth. To the studio, and to her. I sighed. Maybe this would be the project where I’d either find her approval, or where I’d just grow a backbone and be done with it.
I shrugged. “We’re meeting Jack Cooper in the big conference room in thirty minutes. See you there.”
I turned on my heel, then nearly tripped over my own feet, ruining my exit. I didn’t turn around to see if she’d noticed.
I already know she had.
She always noticed when I screwed up.
I marched toward the conference room, taking a moment to duck into my office for my laptop and found that Ralph Blitstein, mom’s third ex-husband, business partner, and the closest thing I’d ever had to a father, had made himself at home behind my desk.
Forgetting Jack Cooper: The Outlaw Edition Page 7