Once in a Blue Moon

by Amanda Ashby

  “Woof,” the dog replied and lowered the paw, eyes still fixed on him. A scuffling sound came from next door.

  “Hello?” No answer, but there was a green wooden gate cut into the fence, connecting the properties. He raised an eye at the dog. “This the way to Kansas?”

  The dog looked at him like he was crazy. Much the same look Adam gave himself on a daily basis. The handle turned easily, and he pushed it open to reveal a second courtyard.

  It was an explosion of greenery and spring flowers.

  The three walls were covered with ivy and hanging boxes filled with leafy plants, and the flowerbeds were bursting with things he could hardly identify. Purples, pinks, and blues all danced in the light breeze while fat bees darted in and out of exotic flowers.

  Definitely not Kansas. More like Narnia meets the Shire.

  “Anyone home?” he called out as the dog settled itself underneath a magnificent cherry blossom nestled in the corner. Several branches were lying broken on the ground, along with a layer of luminous petals that formed a blanket of pink snow.

  The dog barked, followed by a low hiss. Adam widened his eyes as a slither of purple fabric hung out from one of the branches. A second later, a foot dangled down, and the tree shook.

  “Stop it, Violet. Shhhhhh.”

  “Hi,” he said. If someone wanted to hide in a tree, far be it from him to argue. “So, your dog got through the fence. I thought I’d bring it back.” Still no answer, and he shrugged. “Bye, then.”

  The dog barked again, and the whole tree shook.

  He spun back as a woman half dropped, half fell out of one of the lower branches, landing awkwardly several feet away from him.

  He blinked. That was…unexpected.

  The woman straightened herself up to her full height. She wasn’t tall. About five foot two and wearing a purple sundress that almost matched the dog’s collar. Long auburn hair tumbled down her shoulders, and a fine scattering of freckles ran across her straight nose.

  A jolt of recognition swept through him.

  “Laney Litchfield? Is that you?”

  Crimson stained her cheeks in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time…sixteen years, to be exact.

  It was her.

  “It’s Laney George now,” she replied in a heated voice.

  “You’re married?” His throat tightened as unexpected jealousy snaked through his chest. There were light lines around her eyes, and the dress hugged her waist. She looked smarter. Hotter. And, if her glacial gaze was anything to go by, really pissed.

  “That’s none of your business.” She scooped up the dog, making a little cooing noise before straightening. He stepped toward her, but her eyes flashed in warning, and a mountainous wall of ice seemed to spring up between them.

  Definitely pissed.

  “I take it you know about the book.” He took a step back to give her some space. Her lips were set in an angry line, and her shoulders were stiff with tension. Adam couldn’t really blame her.

  The first couple of years after it was published, he kept expecting her to call or show up at a signing. But there’d been nothing. No chance for him to explain what had happened. That he’d written it to help deal with how much the breakup had wrecked him.

  “The book where you lied about me? Where you told the entire world I was a crazy person? Is that the book you mean?” Despite the anger sparking in her eyes, she kept her voice low and soothing, as if not wanting to upset the dog in her arms.

  It didn’t work, and the dog’s one good ear went forward. I’ve been judged and found wanting. He raked a hand through his hair.

  “You know it wasn’t personal. It was artistic license.”

  “I’m well aware of how much artistic license you took. Flying to Boston to be closer to you? Breaking into your apartment to sniff your sheets? Following you when you were on dates with other women? Apparently, it all happened without me even having to leave the comfort of my sublet or missing a day of work from the job I’d just started. And the sweatshirt. Tell me, Adam. Why would I want your crappy old sweatshirt?”

  Because you missed me?

  He opened his mouth but shut it again. Most of the time, he couldn’t explain the book to himself, let alone anyone else.

  “Laney—”

  “Even worse,” she cut him off. It had obviously been a rhetorical question. “While you came off as a love guru with a magic touch, I had to worry that someone would figure out who the mystery Nina was. That they’d think I was crazy. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?”

  Her grip tightened on the little dog. It wriggled in response. A splotchy flush ran up her neck, and her eyes were bright with anger. Adam flinched. She had a valid point. The fact no one had joined the dots didn’t mean she hadn’t been hurt. He owed her an explanation. And an apology.

  “I get that you’re mad, but I can explain. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  “Why? So you can steal more of my life for your next book?” She shook her head, and petals fluttered off her like confetti. “And by the way, nail polish on dogs is very much a thing. Unlike some people, I check my facts first.”

  Without another word, she spun on her heels and marched through a wooden gate at the back of the courtyard. It clattered shut, and he blinked.

  Now he knew what it would be like to see Laney Litchfield…correction: George…again.

  She was still beautiful. Still fiery. Still not interested in hearing what he had to say. That was why they’d split. The reason he’d vented his anger onto the page. But he was older now. If she wanted to hate him, he couldn’t stop her.

  So why am I annoyed she wouldn’t listen?

  “Adam?” Olive’s voice drifted over, and her silvery head appeared in the gateway. “We were wondering where you were.”

  He took a deep breath and put his author mask back on. “Just returning a runaway dog.”

  “Ah, Violet. Laney absolutely dotes on that dog. Then again, she dotes on everyone.”

  Not quite true. He pushed down the low hum of frustration that she wouldn’t hear him out. Didn’t matter anyway. He had enough problems of his own to deal with. Besides, he’d fly out to L.A. tomorrow, and the chances of him ever coming back were slim to not-the-hell-going-to-happen.

  Chapter Two

  “Want my advice? It’s not meant to be difficult. If the relationship isn’t working, it’s not a road bump; it’s a warning sign. Get out of there before things get worse.” Blue Moon

  “Ouch.” The thorn pierced her skin, and bright red blood blossomed onto her finger, the sharp, coppery scent catching in her nose. Laney winced. Getting stabbed was an occupational hazard. Especially when she wasn’t concentrating.

  “Problem?” India quirked an eyebrow, though she didn’t lift her gaze from the phone in her hand.

  You mean apart from the fact I hid up a tree to avoid my ex-boyfriend?

  Definitely a low point.

  “No, I’m fine.” Well, she would be, as long as she kept to her new plan.

  Avoid him until he left.

  A quick call to her sister-in-law, Jessica, had confirmed Adam was booked on an afternoon flight back to L.A. Which meant she only had to lie low for five more hours, then she’d be in the clear.

  “Really? Because you’re about to put a peach rose into the middle of that bouquet, despite the fact Mrs. C hates roses on account of that second cousin of hers. And your shoes don’t match.” India finally raised her eyes from the screen. Laney pressed a tissue to her finger, then peered down at her white sandals. One had a gold buckle, and the other had tiny roses embroidered along the leather.

  Crap.

  “It’s been a long week,” she said, not sure who she was trying to convince. Violet let out a bark from her spot in the front window, where she alternated between napping and playing sentry.

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nbsp; The door chime tinkled to announce a customer.

  “I’ve got it.” India flipped her long caramel hair over her shoulders and disappeared out front while Laney finished the bouquet. Violet wandered through from her spot by the window. The lavender in her floral crown perfectly matched the polish from last night’s pedicure.

  India reappeared five minutes later and immediately picked up a familiar book.

  Laney sighed. The other thing her assistant had been doing all morning was reading out passages from Blue Moon.

  “Listen to this.” India flicked the page. “‘She’s there again. Across the street. Staring at me. Always staring.’” India shuddered and turned to Laney. “The lengths Nina went to hold onto something that was clearly doomed. Adam deserved better.”

  “Except it’s not about Adam. It’s about a stupid fictional character who thinks he’s a love guru.” Laney gritted her teeth. Just breathe. Five more hours and people would stop talking about him and the book.

  “Even if the characters weren’t real, the emotional nuances had to have been. Plus, have you seen the guy? He might be almost forty, but he’s freaking gorgeous. Explains why Nina went crazy.”

  Laney folded her arms to hide her shaking hands.

  Fine. So he was hot. As in, start-the-cardiac-machine-because-my-heartbeat’s-erratic hot. But she’d learned the hard way that hot things tended to burn, and what they’d shared had been lust, not love.

  Love didn’t create flames and scars. Simon had shown her what love really meant. Gentle, secure, calm.

  It was one of the many, many reasons why she didn’t want to have anything to do with Adam. Because the book had left her in no doubt of how he’d felt about their relationship, not just the breakup.

  To him, she was Nina. The deluded woman who pretended to be good but who had a wild side. And sure, Laney hadn’t stalked him, but some of the things had been true. Skinny-dipping in a lake, wearing no panties out to dinner, and dozens of other things. Personal things. He’d taken their private life and mocked it to the world. Rubbed her bad decisions in her face. Rejected her.

  Nina wasn’t the girl for me.

  It’s why she’d never told anyone about their relationship.

  And why she had no intention of signing up for a sequel. Because Adam Fitzpatrick couldn’t be trusted.

  “I guess he’s okay. Anyway, I thought you were dating Drew.”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty when I see it.” India picked up one of the pale pink flowers that had come from her parents’ own farm. “Just because this peony is perfection with the way the hidden petals create a perfect symmetry, it doesn’t mean I don’t adore these damask roses.” She held it to her nose, long hair hanging over her face as she inhaled the scent. “Speaking of beautiful things, Drew and I were wondering if you’d like to go on a double date with us. He has this friend…”

  Laney let out a groan.

  Six months ago, she’d decided to start dating again. After all, she was a florist. She believed in love and romance.

  It had all been a bit of a disaster. She’d tried flirting with Jacob Carmichael, the town Romeo. But all she’d managed to do was make a laughingstock of herself when he’d fallen head over heels for someone else. Then there’d been the blind dates.

  They’d been even worse. And after she’d spent half a meal making small talk with her date’s mother, who’d come along to play chaperone to her middle-aged son, Laney had come to an earth-shattering realization. Simon had been the one great love of her life, and she was lucky to have found him. Not lucky to lose him, but at least she’d been happy for a little while. That kind of thing didn’t come around again.

  It had also been a reminder that she needed to look after herself. She would be in control of her future, thank you very much. No more dating. Just her, Violet, and the business. That was all she needed. She’d started looking at flower farms the very next day.

  India coughed, obviously waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea. Drew’s twenty-four. How old is this friend?”

  “Does it matter?” India said with a dismissive wave of her hands, which suggested it did in fact matter. “A younger guy’s just what you need. Perfect for a fling. He’s a lifeguard at the pool, and he’s ripped.”

  Oh. Her itch perked up. Laney pushed it back down.

  “Can I take a rain check?”

  “On a fling?” India raised her hand, and her silver bracelets tinkled. “That’s not the way it works. At least think about it. His name’s Cameron. He said you’re hot. Which is true. I mean, you don’t look a day over twenty-five, and I know you got carded at Terry’s Alehouse last month.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she lied. Her answer seemed to satisfy India, who clapped her hands in approval. Laney swallowed and looked at the time on her phone. Four hours and thirty-eight minutes, and then her life would get back on track.

  …

  Miley Cyrus rang in his ear. Adam groaned and rolled over to glare at his phone. “Tell her to stop calling,” he said to the room. The room didn’t bother to answer back. He rubbed his eyes.

  That was another problem with Eloise. She had his phone password and had selected her own ringtone, knowing he’d be too lazy to change it. He ignored the call and stifled a yawn. Sunlight streamed through the window, and he shaded his eyes. Coffee. He needed coffee.

  Dragging himself out of bed, he went in search of his jeans. Once he was caffeinated, he’d take a shower and check out. He yawned. Still no jeans. Then he peered down.

  He was wearing them. What the…

  Did I drink too much?

  No. There’d only been a couple of beers at the bookstore, and then he’d seen Laney.

  Irritation crawled along his skin.

  After she’d shut him down, he’d gone back into Paige’s store and laughed at all the jokes relating to his book like he’d never heard them before. He also managed to find out Laney had been a widow for five years and now owned a flower store. The fact she’d been married and lost her husband had competed with the building annoyance that she hadn’t let him explain what had happened.

  It had been the same when they’d broken up. She’d shut down on him. Not wanting to take a chance.

  I wasn’t worth the risk.

  By the time he left the bookstore and driven back to the inn, the resentment at being unable to say what he wanted to had been pounding like a beat in his temples, and once he’d unlocked the door of his room, he’d…hell. The fog cleared from his mind, and he blinked.

  I wrote.

  He stalked over to his laptop. Words. There were actual words. He dropped into the seat, scanning the screen while his finger moved the mouse.

  Okay, they weren’t great words. But there were five pages of them. Five pages that had…energy. Most importantly, they were five more pages than he’d produced in the last month.

  He stood and paced the room. After a year of hoping for some kind of breakthrough, was this it?

  And it hadn’t involved any ritual sacrifice.

  Nope. The only requirement was running into the one person who hated his guts, in some one-horse town in the middle of nowhere.

  Laughter rose in his chest as he crossed over to the coffee machine on the counter. He made himself a cup and settled down to go over what he’d written. A couple of ideas pressed against his temples, and he jotted down some notes before catching sight of the time. He needed to get going. He drained the cold coffee and shut down his computer.

  Twenty minutes later, he’d showered, packed, and was climbing into his car. There was still two hours until his flight left, but he planned to get there early.

  His phone buzzed. No Miley. This time it was Britney Spears.

  In other words, his brother.

  “Eloise, give Ryan back his phone.�
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  “It’s me,” his brother said in reply. “I take it she’s been calling you.”

  “Only fifty times in a row.”

  “Here’s a thought for you—why not just answer?” he said in a mild voice. Older than him by three years, Ryan had the magic touch that attracted just about everything to him. As kids, they’d both been obsessed with football, but for Adam, his ability wasn’t quite as big as his fantasies.

  Not so with Ryan, who’d spent a decade playing for the Florida Rebels, earning a fortune and living the kind of life that usually only belonged on a magazine cover.

  And he won the girl as well.

  Adam didn’t begrudge him. Not anymore.

  “I’ll see you both tomorrow. She can yell at me all she wants in person.”

  “Better you than me,” Ryan said. “You sound tired. Big night?”

  “I stayed up writing.”

  Ryan let out a soft whistle. “For real?”

  “Yup. And this morning I didn’t delete it.”

  “Must be something in the water at…actually, I don’t know where you are.”

  “Oregon. Tiny town with lots of trees,” Adam said. And one very angry ex-girlfriend. “So, did you want something, or just checking up?”

  “Oh.” The mild tone disappeared. From the other end of the phone, Ryan sucked in his breath. That was new. “Nah. Nothing that won’t wait until I see your ugly mug tomorrow.”

  “Pots and kettles, Picasso.”

  “Tell it to the good folk of Hot Hunk website. Just got voted number one for the fifth year running,” Ryan countered with a laugh.

  “I’d be happy to provide them an un-photoshopped picture. Probably why Eloise called. Dealing with the horror she’d woken up next to,” Adam promptly replied. His brother, never the first to back down, was silent. Also new. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  “Nope. Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow, little brother. Stay out of trouble.”

  “I couldn’t get into trouble in this town if I tried.” He finished the call and started the engine. Time to get out of there. St. Clair was five minutes away and would take him toward the highway.