by Amanda Ashby
“Even if I wanted to write another book like Blue Moon, I wouldn’t have a clue how to do it.” He forced the words out. “It was a fluke, Laney. That was proved when the next two books tanked. And unless this new one is a hit, everyone will know the truth. That I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Silence danced between them, broken only by the nearby branches catching in the breeze. He finally looked up, half expecting her eyes to have narrowed in rage. She had every right to be pissed. But her mouth was twisted into a thoughtful line, and her eyes were pale against the bright sky. Almost like she felt sorry for him.
“I didn’t know you felt like that.”
That’s because he never told anyone.
So why did I?
Because I’m sick of pretending. It’s exhausting.
“I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’d prefer if you kept it to yourself.”
“Of course,” she said, her steady gaze still holding his. “And Adam, it’s okay to feel like a fraud. Everyone feels like that from time to time. Especially when you’re creating something out of nothing. It’s not always meant to be easy.”
He stiffened. Creating something out of nothing. How did she know that’s what it felt like? He opened his mouth but shut it again, not sure how to even word the question. Instead, he gave her a grateful nod as they reached a crop of rocks, half hidden under the long grass. She pushed the cart, and it tilted sideways. He shot out a hand to steady it.
Mistake.
Their hands grazed, and simmering electricity ran up his arm.
Her eyes widened, and the space between them crackled. Suddenly, the woods disappeared, the sky dissolved, and it was just the two of them. The rise and fall of her breath created a small valley of glistening skin at the hollow of her throat. His eyes went lower, and his fingers twitched to push back the straps of her sundress.
Longing swept through him, and he leaned toward her. Her eyes caught his, the blood pounding in his temples.
It was broken by the shrill ring of her phone.
The air snapped between them, and color rose in her cheeks. She fumbled through the leather satchel on the cart. Were her hands shaking?
“Hey, India.” She answered the call in a breathy voice, her shoulder turned toward him. “I’m on Beckett Hill getting the steeplebush and foliage. I’m not far off. You go and have fun. See you tomorrow.” When she turned back to him, her mouth was set in a firm line. “I need to get back to the store.”
“Sure,” he said in a light voice, heat still pulsing through him.
Snap out of it.
She thought he was something on the bottom of her work boot. And he was wearing jogging shorts, which didn’t hide much.
Hell. He only slept with women who actually liked him. It was a sensible survival mechanism. So, wanting someone who most clearly didn’t want him was lunacy.
Now he just needed to get his body to listen to his brain.
He dug his nails into the fleshy part of his palm. A tiny stab of pain shot up his arm, and the heat slowly retreated as if being sucked out like a vacuum.
Everything’s fine here, folks. Nothing to see.
“A-are you all right?” she said, her voice concerned.
“Yup.” He gave a quick nod. Leaving would be a good idea right now. He’d promised to stay out of her way. Having sexy thoughts about her wasn’t going to help with anything. “I’d better finish my run.”
“I’ll see you around.” She blinked as if the lights had just been turned off.
“Yeah,” he said and turned in the other direction. This time, he wasn’t stopping until he was too tired to think about what the hell had just happened.
Chapter Eight
“Fact. Things are always better by moonlight. Want to get serious? Then step outside and look to the skies.” Blue Moon
Laney clutched at the violets in her left hand. Simon’s flower. Calm and grounding, just like Simon himself. They hardly had any scent, but she pressed her nose to them anyway, then pushed open the old wooden gate of the St. Clair cemetery.
Tilly was crouched over one of the graves, wearing an old pair of denim overalls. They’d belonged to her late husband, just like all of Tilly’s wardrobe, though she didn’t wear it for sentimental reasons. She’d just discovered men’s clothing was a lot more comfortable than any dress.
The opposite of me.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I shut the store early.” She put down the bucket of flowers she’d been carrying and hugged the funeral director. The pair of them often met there to tidy up the graves that no longer had visitors.
“Good to see you. And you too, Miss Violet,” Tilly said as the dog held up a paw. Tilly shook it. “Yes, you’re lovely, aren’t you?”
Violet barked in agreement, and Laney smiled. Her dog got on with everyone.
Correction. Almost everyone.
Violet had taken an instant dislike to Adam.
Was her dog trying to tell her something?
Laney kneeled at Sarah Walcott’s grave. She’d died in 1878, a widow whose husband had been lost in a storm.
Warm soil crumbled between her fingers as she picked a dandelion by the headstone. She didn’t often bother with gardening gloves, preferring to feel the earth under her nails. She pulled out a little spade from her satchel and dug deeper, turning the soil over and letting the rich scent catch in her nose.
Tilly emptied out a vase of dead flowers on Trevor Nelson’s plot. It would take them an hour, and the last grave would be Simon’s.
Her way of saying hello and goodbye to him at the same time.
“I bumped into Adam again.” Tilly plucked out five of the coneflowers Laney had brought and put them into the vase. “He’s very good-looking, in a panty-dropping kind of way.”
“What?” Laney sputtered and looked up. Was no one in this town immune to his charms?
“I’m not saying my panties dropped,” Tilly chattered on. “But I like him. He helped set up chairs for the memorial service I did out by the water.”
“That was kind of him.” Laney rocked back on her heels, not really surprised. Adam seemed happy to oblige everyone in St. Clair. Even me.
She shut her eyes. It was one thing to fight the attraction that was still there, but it was harder to fight the reminders that he wasn’t actually the monster she’d made him out to be.
Her chance encounter with him at Beckett Hill the other day had only emphasized the problem. He’d seemed so genuinely interested in her business. And then he’d talked about Blue Moon. That he felt like a fraud. There had been genuine pain there, and she got the feeling he didn’t share that story with many people.
And somehow it happened. They’d become trapped in a time warp. One where she’d longed for him to push back the straps of her sundress. To kiss her burning skin. To give her something that had been missing in her life.
It had been so real. Like a solid, pulsing thing instead of just her fevered imagination. And it had almost made her forget their history.
“All set for Oliver Miles’s ceremony on Tuesday?” Tilly dragged her weed mat to the next grave.
“I haven’t forgotten.” She purposely didn’t take on too many weddings because she liked to be available for any funerals that needed her. Brides had months and sometimes years to plan what they wanted. But no matter how quickly or slowly death came, it was always a surprise, and there was never enough time.
By three o’clock, they’d finally finished.
She’d spent extra-long at Simon’s grave. There had been a small bunch of bluebells. Jessica had obviously been there during the week.
Her fingers trailed the top of the headstone. The marble was warm from the heat of the day, and, as always, she pretended it was his hand in hers.
Warm, strong, alive.
; Not cold, stiff, and gone.
Violet rubbed her head against Laney’s leg, as if knowing what was happening. She gave the dog a grateful smile. “Thanks, darling,” she murmured as they walked back to the car.
…
“More coffee?”
“Always.” Adam pushed his cup forward, and Patsy poured out the rich, dark liquid from the jug.
“How’s the book going? It’s hard to tell if you’re writing or randomly typing the same word over and over again,” she said. She had short hair, deep chocolate eyes, and the ability to cut through nonsense.
“Done that more than once,” he admitted, thinking of the months when he’d been stuck in his apartment just moving his fingers over the keyboard, somehow hoping ideas would magically appear. Usually it resulted in a string of words that weren’t PG. “But this time, it’s actually a story. I’ve been wondering what the secret is. Must be your coffee.”
“I’m just the one who pours it. Not up to me how you taste it,” she said with a wink and sashayed away. Adam rubbed his chin. Did he just get coffee and Yoda-like advice at the same time?
He took a deep sip, and the fatigue lifted. He’d stayed up half the night writing again. He only had five chapters to go. His editor had called, raving about the sample and updating him on the release date. The designers had started on the cover, and sales and marketing were going nuts.
Relief flooded him. After his last two books had tanked, he knew that most people had written him off. Me included. So to find himself back in this position again wasn’t something he took lightly.
“Here you go. The big day is in two weeks.” Jacob Carmichael loomed over him and thumped a flyer down on the table.
“Big day?”
“Yup. You’re looking at the new owner of Tom’s Gym.”
“That’s great,” Adam said, not sure who the old owner was. Tom, maybe?
“Sure is. I’m getting married next year, so I figured it’s time to start getting serious about things,” he said as a group of guys walked into the diner. Jacob slapped him on the back. “I’d better go, but don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” He pocketed the flyer and took a hit of coffee.
“Hey, Doctor Josh. Hope I’m not interrupting,” a guy with brown spiked hair and pale hazel eyes said. Carl? Without the tears and the manic sobbing, he looked different. Better. “Mind if I join you?”
“Sure.” He shut the laptop and nodded to the seat across from him. “How’re you feeling?”
“Stupid. I just wanted to say thanks for the other night. I made an ass of myself.”
“Love makes us do weird things. Though it’s probably not me you need to apologize to.”
“Already done. I called Laney yesterday. She was really sweet.”
Agreed.
Was that why I told her the truth about the damn book?
He took another gulp of coffee and tried to school his face into not looking like he was losing his grip.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Proposing.” Carl took a small box out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table.
“You’re a nice guy, but we hardly know each other.” Adam slid it back. Carl blinked.
“Oh. Right. That was a joke.”
“Apparently, not a very good one.” He took another sip of coffee. It wasn’t always a good idea to talk to people when he’d been writing. Strange things came out of his mouth. “Have you spoken to Giselle yet?”
Carl’s face turned bright pink, and he nodded. “Yeah. She lives in Clamshell Bay, but her folks are here in St. Clair, and they heard about the blind date. Giselle wasn’t happy. But turns out that’s what made her realize she still loves me. The makeup sex was amazing. I mean, I’m talking really, really great.”
“Good for you.” Adam forced himself to give Carl a thumbs-up, if only to ensure he didn’t go into more detail. It wasn’t the first time someone had shared their love life with his unwanted alter ego, but it never got easier. Or less awkward.
Carl beamed. “So, now I want to propose again. But this time it has to be perfect. I figured you could give me some tips. I mean, the chapter in the book when you proposed—the Grand Canyon, the hot air balloon—hell, I would have said yes to you.”
“Yeah. Totally epic.” Adam studied the table. It was a common conclusion that the proposal chapter in Blue Moon had been ripped from his own life. While he and Eloise had been married in New York, just like in the book, the proposal had included a lot more vodka and fewer grand gestures.
But she’d said yes.
Of course, then she’d said no and married his brother, but that was for a Freudian book, not something he wrote.
Not to mention the irony of giving dating advice when his own love life resembled the Sahara Desert.
“What should I do?” Carl’s eyes were shining as he took out his phone and brought up a Venn diagram. “I’ve got some ideas, but—”
“We don’t need that.” Adam shook his head, and Carl put down the phone. “If you two are just getting back on track, why not give it some time?”
“Nope.” The mild-mannered schoolteacher sounded assertive. Assured. “I love her, doc. I want to spend every day with her. Build a life together. I’m tired of waiting for things to be perfect and right. When we’re apart, everything is just…empty.”
I’m such a fraud.
Who was he to give advice? Clearly, Carl knew more about love than he ever would. Even his brother knew more. And Ryan was the guy who’d once eaten a plastic fork to impress a girl.
“Take Giselle to your favorite place, somewhere special to you both, and tell her what you told me. It’s much more heartfelt than a hot air balloon.”
“Really?” Carl looked skeptical.
“Really,” Adam assured him. “But promise me one thing.”
“Sure, what’s that?”
“No diagrams. No props. Just tell her about the life you want to live with her.”
“Thanks, Doctor Josh.” Carl slipped the ring box back in his pocket and stood up. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“You do that.” Adam drained his coffee, unwanted energy racing through him. Time for another run.
…
“You just missed her. She’s gone into town for bananas,” Brett said on Saturday afternoon.
“Bananas?” Laney raised an eyebrow. “Are they the new olives?”
“More like a companion.” His face wrinkled in disgust, but his eyes were glowing. She’d always had a special bond with Jessica’s husband. Maybe because they’d both been married to twins who sometimes got lost in their own secret world.
“Soon we’ll be meeting this olive-and-banana-loving little human she’s making.” Laney gave his fingers a squeeze. “Don’t let me stop you from working. I’ll do some weeding.”
“You’re as bad as my wife, always on the go. You could sit down and put your feet up,” Brett said.
“I will when I get home,” she promised and walked out of the reception area to the myosotis bush she’d planted a few years ago, before Simon’s diagnosis. Tiny blue flowers peeked at her as a shout of voices rang out as she rounded the corner.
Violet raced ahead to investigate. It was probably just kids playing on the stretch of green lawn that ran along the back of the building.
“Come on, Violet, there’s nothing to see here—”
Her jaw dropped, and she came to a halt.
A dozen or so kids were running around, chasing a giant of a man holding onto a football. Ryan. He was stripped down to a pair of shorts, and his chest rippled with muscles. He gracefully dodged the kids and threw the ball in the other direction. The kids immediately swung around like a school of fish and charged after it.
Toward Adam.
Delicious waves of warmth flooded her
belly.
When she’d seen him in the woods, he’d been wearing jogging shorts and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. And then his hand had touched hers and she’d been swept away. Trapped in a magnetic pull that had left her breathless. She’d spent the rest of the day reminding herself why it was a bad idea.
Today there was no shirt.
Oh, boy.
His shoulders were broader than she’d remembered, with a chiseled chest, and his flat stomach was—
Veto.
She turned away. Her itch would just have to make do with watching repeats of Thor. She focused on Ryan, who came rushing back toward the kids as Adam threw the ball. Small voices hollered as the horde tackled him to the ground.
“Whoops.” Adam jogged over to his brother, who was buried underneath a pile of arms and legs. “Sorry about that pass.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Ryan’s discombobulated voice rose up from somewhere under the swarming children. Then a hand appeared. “Get me out of this mess or I’ll show everyone photos of the time you tried to—”
“No need to play dirty,” Adam protested and grabbed the hand. “Okay, kids. Remember Ryan’s an old man now. We have to be gentle with him.”
The kids laughed and clung to Ryan’s giant arm as he emerged from the pile just long enough to drag Adam down with him. More childish screams of delight erupted, and the two men were buried.
“My life with the Fitzpatrick brothers.” A stunningly beautiful woman walked toward her.
Eloise.
At five ten with curves that went on for days, she could have been a Cold War spy sent to infiltrate men and find their deepest, darkest secrets. Ebony hair framed her porcelain skin and full red lips.
“They are great with kids.”
“Probably because they haven’t grown up. The biggest pair of man boys I’ve ever met.” Eloise gave a delicate flick of her hair.
“Oh.” Laney blinked.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the way I am,” the other woman assured her with an arch of her perfect eyebrows. “Eventually you might even find it charming.”