Anything For Love

by Melissa Foster

  He had a feeling if anyone could make magic happen, it was her.

  “Do you want to eat dinner first?” she asked.

  Not unless you’re on the menu. “Whatever you’d like.”

  “Let’s eat and talk. I’m starved.”

  He waggled his brows. “I like a woman who’s not afraid to eat.”

  “I found that out firsthand,” she said softly, scarlet staining her cheeks.

  “Hey.” He tipped her chin up so he could see her eyes. “You totally blow me away. You, not just sex. You know that, right? And in the shower, you literally blew me away. Like, obliterated everything that has ever happened in my life before that moment.”

  “Shh. You’re embarrassing me.”

  He kissed her again, keeping her close. “Sexy and adorable is a killer combination.”

  They sat on the blanket, and he opened a wine cooler from the basket and handed it to her, grabbing a beer for himself.

  “I know you have an affinity for food that’s quick and you can eat with your hands,” he said as he removed the lids from each dish and set them on the blanket.

  She giggled.

  “You have the dirtiest mind.” He slipped a hand around her shoulders, drawing her closer, and said, “I like your mind, babe, all of it.”

  “And I like your…mind…too,” she said haughtily. “And your cooking skills. This smells delicious. What’s on the stick? I love anything on a stick.”

  “Don’t get me started,” he teased. “Grilled lemon chicken with peppers and potatoes.”

  She took a bite. “Mm. You missed your calling. You should have been a chef.”

  “You have been locked up here for too long. I’m going to take you out to a real restaurant and show you what fine food tastes like.”

  “Maybe after I finish my book in a month or so. I usually take a week or so off between books.”

  “A whole week, huh? You’re as bad as I am.”

  The sounds of the leaves brushing in the breeze created a symphony as they ate. Just as he reveled in their closeness, reality crashed in. He’d be gone when she was done writing her book.

  “The other day you said you travel a lot,” she said, pulling him from the distressing thought, “but I thought Josh said you worked in Pleasant Hill.”

  “That’s where my contracting business is based, but I take on projects all over the East Coast.”

  “What kind of projects? Like this one?”

  “Not usually. I buy, renovate, and flip properties, and if the opportunity is right, I’ll take on a design-build project. If the inn were mine, I’d renovate every room, make this your dream property. But that’s all about to change. I’m taking a job in Los Angeles as the host of a new reality show, Shack to Chic. I’ll have a new project in a new location every six to twelve weeks.”

  “Seriously? I’m sitting here with a soon-to-be famous actor?”

  “A reality show host is hardly an actor. I’ll just be me doing my job but working for a network.”

  “That’s exciting! It’s hard to imagine you in front of a camera, because you seem so private, but you must want that, right? Or you wouldn’t be taking it.”

  “I am private. It’ll be a change, but I think it’ll be a good one.” Or at least he was trying to convince himself of it. “I won’t have to think about where I’m going next.” Or carry the guilt that comes with escaping.

  “That sounds fun, especially if they give you creative freedom. I would hate to write by committee, and I’d imagine it’s the same with what you do. Luckily, my editor gives me a lot of leeway with my books. If she told me how to write, I’d go bonkers. I can be a little stubborn. Gosh, you must be over the moon.”

  “I wouldn’t say over the moon. It’ll take some getting used to.” He hadn’t worked for anyone other than directly for his clients for so long, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle being an employee, and being in the public’s eye would definitely get on his nerves. But if it could alleviate some of the guilt he carried, it’d be worth it.

  “And what about Bandit? Will you take him?”

  “Absolutely. Once I sign the papers and get settled in, he’ll be with me no matter where I go. I wanted to bring him here, but since he’s moving with me to L.A., my mom asked if she could keep him while I’m gone. He’s as spoiled as a grandchild would be. We tease my mom and say he’s her granddog.”

  Silence was a breeding ground for havoc in a guilty man’s brain, but as they ate in comfortable silence, Beau realized that since he’d met Charlotte, silence was no longer an enemy. Thoughts of her filled those moments, and that brought a new type of guilt, but it didn’t last long. It was as if his brain didn’t want him to forget the guilt he deserved, but his heart was now running the show, drowning out the other more often than not.

  “Most of your family is in Pleasant Hill, right?” Charlotte asked. “That’s a long way from California.”

  “That’s right.” He’d gotten the opportunity because of his brother Nick’s friendship with Maddox Silver, who was business partners with Nick’s friend Jace. Maddox was well connected in the entertainment industry, and he’d hooked Beau up with the producers of the show. When he’d first told Beau about the opportunity, the distance from his hometown had been the driving factor for him to pursue it.

  Charlotte set down the skewer she’d been nibbling on and picked up her wine cooler. “Can you tell me about them? About your family?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Everything,” she said a little dreamily.

  “I’ve got a big family. That could take a long time.”

  “I don’t mind. I miss my family,” she said solemnly. “It’ll be nice to hear about yours.”

  He wanted to fill up the loneliness he saw in her eyes. He moved the plates aside and said, “Come here.” He put his arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “What was it like to grow up with so many siblings?”

  “It was loud all the time, and there was never any privacy.”

  “Did you share a bedroom?” she asked. “I always wanted to share a room with a sister.”

  “I shared one with Nick, who’s a year younger than me. He was a pain in the ass when we were growing up, ornery as hell. But he’s a good guy, still a pain, but he means well. He’s a freestyle horse trainer. You’ll like him; he’s never without his cowboy hat.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “Maybe you shouldn’t like him too much.”

  She leaned into him, as if to say, Don’t be silly.

  “Jax and Jillian—Jilly—are twins, and opposites in most ways. Jax is totally chill, the type of guy that thinks before he speaks, while Jilly’s a burgundy-haired tornado whirling through life. They’re the most emotional of all my siblings, and they’re both talented designers. Jax designs wedding dresses, and Jilly designs all sorts of clothing.”

  “She’s the one you talked to on the phone. The one who made you smile?”

  “You noticed?” Why did that make him feel so good?

  “Hard not to,” she said sweetly. “I like your smile.”

  He held her gaze, enjoying the way it heated up. “I like yours too, and yes, that was Jilly. She usually makes me smile. Like you.”

  “That’s four of you. How about the other two?”

  “Graham is the youngest. He’s an engineer, like my father, but that’s become a pastime for him. He’s more of an investor these days. He travels a lot for work and pleasure. He’s an adrenaline junkie, like Ty, but he’s careful. He’s hard to describe because he has two very distinct sides—the side that would walk a tightrope and the side that has to know everything is in order before he’ll move forward. He and I have similar personalities—if you take away the adrenaline junkie part—but it wasn’t always that way.”

  “Was he wild when he was younger?”

  “No. I was. Zev is younger than N
ick, older than Jax and Jilly. He and I used to raise hell. Graham has always had his head on straight.”

  “You mean there was a time when you weren’t Mr. Clenched Jaw?”

  He felt his walls going up again as they tiptoed around the fire of his past. “Believe it or not, yes.”

  “Well, isn’t that interesting?” A glimmer of mischief sparked in her eyes. “I want to hear all about it.”

  “How about we get to the Dreaming 101 course?” He started to push to his feet, needing space before his walls locked into place, but she grabbed his hand, keeping his arm around her.

  “Don’t go. Maybe you’re right and we should switch gears.”

  She released his hand, and the desire to be near her overpowered his need for space. He knew Charlotte wasn’t the type of woman who could share her heart without wanting his in return. He didn’t know if he was capable of giving her what she deserved, but he sure as hell wanted to try.

  He took her hand and said, “Thanks for being patient with me. I’d like to get there, Charlotte, but it’s been so long, my gut instinct is to close the iron gates when the subject of my past comes up.”

  Her gaze softened. “I’ve been there. Remember? Let’s get you dreaming again. That might help. Did you ever have big dreams of having things or going places? Accomplishing something outrageous?”

  He knew what she was getting at, and he tried not to sound as uncomfortable as he felt. “Sure. A long time ago.”

  “Then we just need to open those gates that have gotten stuck closed.” She reached for a bag from beneath the dreamscape. She sat cross-legged, facing him with the bag in her lap and excitement in her eyes.

  He envied the way she wore her emotions on her sleeve and her ability to overcome so much and still have room in her heart for others.

  “When I was seven years old and here for the summer, I kept having bad dreams,” she said. “I don’t remember why or what they were about, but my grandmother and my father said they could fix it. They gathered up sheets and blankets, pillows, and the stakes that led you in here with the fairies and sparkly butterflies and flowers. I remember watching them put it all together. Of course, theirs didn’t look like a crazy person had done it.”

  “Yours doesn’t either,” he reassured her. “It’s incredible.”

  “It’s not, but thank you. I wish I’d paid more attention to how they did it. Theirs was the most magical thing I’d ever seen.”

  “I’ve never met anyone who believed in fairy tales or talked about things being magical the way you do.”

  “Because I grew up with grandparents who treated life like a fairy tale and parents who loved each other so much, everything about their love seemed magical.”

  “I understand where your fascination came from and why you cling to it so vehemently, and I hope that never changes. You’re a very special, rare bird, Charlotte Sterling.” He leaned forward and kissed her. “Thank you for letting me into your world. I think I needed this. I needed you.”

  “I told you that you needed crazy in your life.”

  Boy, did he ever. “So, tell me, do you believe in any one fairy tale in particular, or in everything magical or dreamy?”

  “All fairy tales are dream worthy. Rapunzel dreamed of getting out of the tower, Cinderella dreamed of a better life, and Peter Pan, well, that one’s all about dreams. And tonight is about your dreams. It was fun setting this up for you, even if I didn’t do it perfectly.” She gazed up at the web of lights and linens. “My father was an only child, and my grandparents made his entire life a fairy tale. The night I couldn’t sleep, they sat me down on this very blanket and gave me one of these.”

  She withdrew a jar from the bag and handed it to him. Then she reached in again and gave him a blue notepad and a pen. She’d glued black lace around the middle of the jar, and she’d written Bad Thoughts in black marker on the glass.

  “Bad thoughts?”

  “I know it seems silly at our ages, but the idea is that you take the sad or angry thoughts that stop up your goodness, write them down, and put them in the jar.”

  She pulled another jar from the bag and handed it to him. This one was decorated with blue lace and silver glitter, and she’d written To Dos in blue ink. It was easy to imagine her as a hopeful little girl, believing everyone was good, because her family worked so hard to make it true for her. His parents had also worked hard to make sure he and his siblings were happy and safe, but not on a fairy-tale level. They were grounded in reality, teaching responsibility and making sure their six children knew that family always came first. More guilt piled on his shoulders with the thought of his parents doing so much for him, and here he was, about to move as far away as he could get.

  Charlotte was watching him expectantly, and he shoved that guilt aside, unwilling to let it ruin their incredible evening.

  “To dos?” he asked.

  “Yes. The other thing that blocks us from dreaming is all the work we’re thinking about while we’re trying to sleep. It’s amazing we can ever fall asleep with how busy our minds are.”

  “Especially yours,” he said. “You’ve got all those heroes vying for your attention.”

  “Exactly.” She pulled another jar from the bag. This one was labeled Hopes and Dreams with pink marker and was decorated with white glitter and pink lace. “I probably shouldn’t have made yours pink, since you’re a guy, but it’s what we always did.”

  What had she put in her Hopes and Dreams jar when she was little? “I think I get the idea,” he said. “What happens after I do this?”

  “Then we lie down and hold hands, close our eyes, and…” Her brows knitted, and she looked so sweet, so earnest, he felt himself opening up to her even more. “I’m not sure, because I haven’t had anyone to do this with as an adult. When I was younger, we would talk about our dreams until they felt so real we couldn’t help but dream about them when we went to sleep.”

  She was too precious. She truly believed in this, and it made him want to believe, too. He set the jars aside and moved next to her, gathering her in his arms. “I think you were sent here just for me. You make me want to see things, good things, possibilities, the way you do.”

  “It’s silly, I know,” she said apologetically. “You don’t have to pretend.”

  “Nothing about this is silly. It’s thoughtful and imaginative. It’s amazing, Charlotte. You’re inspiring. And you’re right. I don’t have to pretend. For the first time in a decade, I don’t want to pretend. I love the jars, and at some point I’m sure I’ll use them. But I don’t need them for this. I just needed you.” He took her hand in his, fighting the constriction in his chest, and said, “If you’re sure you want to hear it, I’d like to tell you about how I lost someone who was very special to me.”

  “YES,” CHARLOTTE SAID without hesitation. “I want to know whatever you’re willing to share, and I promise not to ask too many questions or—”

  He silenced her with a kiss, but not before she’d seen trepidation in his eyes.

  “You can ask questions, and you might need to,” he said. “It’s going to be hard for me to talk about, but I think it might be hard for you to hear, too. If it’s too much, just let me know.”

  “Okay, I will. A decade?” She could feel how big a step this was for him. She was nervous, too, because she knew how hard it had been to take those walks with her grandfather, to talk about her parents, to remember everything until it was etched in her bones.

  He lowered his voice and said, “Almost a decade, and I haven’t talked about it since it happened.” He finished his beer and set the empty bottle in the basket. Then he pressed his hands to his thighs, his expression serious. “Actually, I didn’t talk about it when it happened, either.”

  “Oh, Beau…” She put her hand on his, aching from the pain in his voice. “Before you came here, I didn’t believe there was a man on earth I’d want to share my memories with. And all that stuff I told you on our walk, and the walk itself? No one els
e knows any of it. It’s all too personal, and I know all of this—the jars, the dreamscape—is a little childish, but it was the only way I could think to try to help you. Thank you for trusting me.”

  “Charlotte, you are unlike anyone I have ever met. Your mind must run a million miles per hour, and you say exactly what you feel without hesitation. You handle blow-up dolls without embarrassment, but when I kiss you, you blush.”

  She felt her cheeks burn.

  “I am attracted to everything about you, and whether things are from your childhood or adulthood makes no difference. They’re part of you, and that makes them special, not silly.”

  He pulled her closer, kissing her again. His lips were warm, his whiskers were rough, and she was happy and sad at once.

  He brushed his thumb over her cheek and said, “Are you sure you want to hear what happened?”

  “Yes. Kiss me again, and then tell me.”

  He slid his hand to the nape of her neck, taking her in a languid, intimate kiss, and then he kissed her again and again. His mouth was heavenly, and she couldn’t suppress a moan from slipping out.

  Keeping her close, he said, “If you keep making those noises, I’m going to keep kissing you.”

  “I want more kisses, but I don’t think we’ll stop there, and I want to understand your heart before I risk mine.”

  “If I were standing right now, your honesty would drop me to my knees.”

  “The fact that you’re talking so openly would drop me to mine,” she admitted.

  He smiled, but it was tethered and told of his discomfort. “You have a strange effect on me, shortcake. I think we should go with it.” He inhaled deeply, and then he said, “Her name was Tory Raznick. She was Zev’s age, and in our neighborhood all the kids hung out together, so she was always around. She lived around the corner from my parents’ house. You know how there’s always one house with an endless stream of cookies and hamburgers and parents who all the other kids feel comfortable with? That was my house, my parents. I can’t pinpoint when, or why, but one day she went from being my best friend’s younger sister to the most beautiful girl in Pleasant Hill. At least to me. She was killed almost ten years ago.”