by C. L. Roman
If you read this and you don’t feel the same, it’s okay. I still want to be your friend. I still want you to tell me everything, to share your life with me and be part of mine, too. That won’t go away.
Sierra, I love you. I’ve said that to you before, but you’ve always taken it as friendship love—which it is, partly. But more than that, I’m in love with you—the crazy, lose-my-breath, can’t-live-without-you, dream-about-you-every-night kind of love. I’ve felt this way for a long time, and if you want to know how long, I’ll be happy to tell you when you’re finished reading this.
I don’t know if you feel the same way. I’ve been a coward because I can’t stand the idea of losing anything between us. But I’m finally ready to man up and tell the truth.
What does being in love with you mean? It means I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to see you every day, and I want to kiss you, hold you, love you . . . I want to wake up with you in my bed and I want to go to sleep with you in my arms. I want to live with you and share your life.
And eventually, I want to marry you and call you mine forever—and I want to be yours.
If you’re reading this with a sense of dread, wishing I’d never said anything, you don’t have to do anything. Just close this card and tell me thank you. We won’t talk about it again. And like I said, I promise nothing has to change.
But if you feel anything close to what I do—if you could possibly be in love with me, too—close this card and kiss me, Sierra. Kiss me like you mean it, like I’m the only man you want to kiss for the rest of your days.
Then we’ll get started on that life together.
Love,
Blake
I watched her face as she read. I saw her eyes fill up with tears, and I saw her lip begin to tremble. Even though I was more certain now than I’d ever been, still my heart sped up as I awaited her response.
Closing the card, she raised her eyes to mine, the most beautiful smile in the world stretching over her lips. She lifted her arms to wrap around my neck, pressed her body to mine and kissed me.
I’d kissed this woman before. Hell, I’d made love to her three times just a few nights ago, and I’d kissed her all over her luscious body in the process. But this—this was different. This wasn’t just desire or need. This was the two of us, sober and sane, fully aware of what we were beginning, both of us finally, at last, on the same page, open and honest.
This was love, and this was forever.
When we came up for air, I pressed Sierra’s head against my shoulder, holding her tight and unwilling to let her go yet.
“I take it that was a yes, right?”
Her body shook against me as she laughed. “Oh, yes. I think you’ve more than made your point. But Blake, how did you do all this? Where did you get my jewelry box and the flowers and the mistletoe?”
I laughed, too. “I had lots of help. First of all, this was entirely Cal’s idea. He told me that you needed to see our history through my eyes, so you understood how long I’d been loving you. And then once we decided how exactly I wanted to do it, I called home and sweet-talked your mom into helping me out. She went into action right away, boxed it all up and shipped it out here to me.” I shrugged. “That’s why I had to wait until today. I was just hoping and praying that you didn’t go home before everything came together.”
“And Abby was in on this, too?” Sierra put one hand on her hip. “That sneak.”
“Babe, the whole town was basically in on this. Jude and a bunch of women who are both her friends and Abby’s, too.”
“I can’t believe it.” She sighed and snuggled closer to me. “What if I hadn’t thought to come to see Abby? What if I’d gone somewhere else? We might not have ended up together.”
“I think we’re meant to be, sweetheart, but I agree that Crystal Cove is a special place.” I paused a beat and took a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, it’s going to be special to us for a long time, for many reasons.”
Sierra cocked her head and frowned a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Threading my fingers through hers, I gave her hand a tug. “Come with me. You’ll see.”
This was the real gamble, I thought as we made our way down the back staircase and through the kitchen. Just before I opened the door to the backyard, I hesitated and laid my hands on Sierra’s shoulders.
“Listen, before we go out there, just remember how much I love you. And know that I only want to make you happy for the rest of our lives.”
She laid her hand on my cheek. “Of course, I believe that. But you’re scaring the crap out of me. What’s waiting out there, Blake?”
I grinned. “Let’s go see.”
Full darkness had fallen, but the backyard of the Daniel Hawthorne House was aglow with hundreds of twinkling fairy lights that had been strung from the trees and fence. At the far end of the yard stood a small archway that was also covered with lights.
And on either side of the narrow makeshift aisle that led to that archway stood most of the people who were important to us.
My parents and my sister were on the right, along with two of my college buddies. My grandfather leaned on his famous hickory cane, smiling broadly at us. Next to him, Alex and Cal were beaming. There were quite a few other men, too, whom I assumed were a mix of their friends from the Cove, part of the group who had helped to make all of my wild plans possible.
The Lockharts were on the other side: Sierra’s parents and her brothers were joined by her cousin Abby, who held a small dark-haired toddler in her arms and leaned into the embrace of a tall man who had to be her husband. Jude Holt was there, too, as were other women I didn’t know—part of the ladies’ night group, I thought.
Sierra’s aunt Jenny, who seemed to have a particularly triumphant glint in her eye, was only a few feet from us. As Sierra and I paused on the step, Jenny held up her own arm, pointing to her wrist and then to Sierra.
“I told you! The famous bracelet never fails!”
Sierra threw back her head and laughed in delight, turning to me and slipping one arm around my waist. “What is this? Why is everyone here?”
I pointed to the archway, where a woman with short gray hair and a flowing tropical print dress now waited.
“Because I thought that if we’re going to stay married, we need to do this the right way—saying our vows in front of our families and friends, when we’re both sober and know what we’re doing.”
“But how did you get everyone here?”
I spread my hands. “I told them what we were doing. And do you know what each and every one said when I called? They all said—it’s about time.”
“And they’re right.” She combed her fingers through my hair and stood on her toes to kiss me, one deep and delicious sealing of her lips to mine. “Blake, I love you so much. I’m so glad you came after me. I’m glad you came to the Cove.”
I kissed her forehead. “I only had the guts to do it because of what you said right before we went into the chapel in Vegas.”
Sierra’s brows drew together. “What did I say?”
“Don’t you remember?” I smiled. “I wish you did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me already. I want to know.”
I held her closer to me. “I asked you if you were sure you wanted to get married, since you’d spent the previous couple of hours swearing you didn’t.”
“And what did I reply?” She blinked up at me curiously.
“You said . . . I didn’t want to marry a stranger. But I do want to marry the only man I’ve ever loved.”
Her entire face suffused with happiness, Sierra caught both of my hands in hers. “I was right. And I still feel the same way. I want to spend my life with my best friend . . . the only man I’ve ever loved. The only man I’ll ever love.”
I kissed her lips, simply because I wanted to and I could.
“Then let’s not keep the people waiting, sweetheart.”
And together we stepped joyfully
toward the rest of our lives together.
A Note From Tawdra
Crystal Cove is one of my favorite fictional places in the world. My very first adult contemporary romance is set there--I'd written four young adult paranormal books, and I wasn't sure I was interested in switching genres. But thanks to the success and popularity of The Posse--and my discovery that con rom IS my happy place--now it's my chosen main genre.
Crystal Cove itself is based on a real beach town in Florida. I've spent endless happy hours there, and I've been fortunate to get to know many of the residents. I've stayed many nights in the bed and breakfast upon which the Hawthorne House is based. And let me tell you that the burgers at the Rip Tide--uh, Breakers--are worth the drive!
I hope you enjoyed your brief sojourn in the Cove--for more fun and sexy beach love, check out The Posse, The Plan and The Path--as well as the upcoming books in this series.
—TK
About the Author
Tawdra Kandle is the USA Today best-selling author of over sixty-five books. She writes romance under several sub-genres and pen names, and all of her stories feature strong, sassy women, sexy men, hot love scenes and just enough conflict to make it interesting. She lives in central Florida with her husband of over thirty years, two sweet pups, too many cats, and whomever of their four children happen to be around at the moment. And yeah, she rocks purple hair.
You can find out more about Tawdra’s books on her website.
If you enjoy books, snark, chatting and a strong, close-knit community (and tons of fun, too), join Tawdra’s Naughty Temptresses. You can also sign up for her newsletter or follow Tawdra on her website and social media:
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Fate’s Melodie
By
J.C. Layne
Seth Healy is a songwriter and he’s stuck. When he buys a new instrument for inspiration, he gets a lot more than he expects.
—JCL
Copyright © 2019 by J.C. Layne
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Chapter One
Current Day: Nashville, TN
Seth Healy leans back in a control room chair of Studio B of Tempest Studios in Nashville, Tennessee. As he closes his eyes to listen to the playback of what has just been recorded, a smile stretches across his face. That’s his song coming through the speakers. The husky, sensuous female voice delivers every word delectably, just as Seth intended.
“Sounds amazing!” Jack Carlton says.
Seth opens his eyes and looks at Jack. “It sounds great!”
Jack is the producer on this particular song. Moriah Anderson is making a new album, using multiple producers on various songs. The label wants a mixture of influence and styles on her second album and they think this is the way to do it.
Her first album was quite successful, especially on country radio. This album is intended to be more of a crossover project. The label is pushing her in various genres…big time.
She’s got a great voice, no doubt. It’s really refreshing when a big label gets it right with an artist.
Seth continues to listen to the song’s playback. It really does sound good.
Of course, Jack is a master at his craft. He specializes in ballads, and he’s nailed this one.
As the song ends, Jack laughs, “You wrote a great song, my man!”
Seth grins, “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”
Jack swivels in his chair to face Seth, “This young lady has talent in spades. She might just make you rich.”
Seth laughs, “She’s certainly got a set of pipes on her, that’s for sure!”
Jack nods, “Yeah,” as he slides the volume button off, “you’ve got another song on this album, don’t you?”
Seth nods, “Yeah, that one is up-tempo, sort of a pop tune.”
Jack nods as he fiddles with more of the buttons on the sound board, “Keith is doing that one, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I think so. They’re recording next week.”
Jack nods mindlessly, still focusing on his work, “That one will be good, too. Keith’s good.”
Seth stands and stretches, “Yep, he sure is.” He looks into the studio proper to see a few musicians sitting in chairs discussing something as their guitars rest across their laps.
Seth says, “Well, Jack, I’d better get out of your hair. Looks like you’ve got a band coming in.”
Jack mumbles without looking up, “Yeah, bunch of damn divas…”
Seth laughs, “Oh yeah?”
Jack sighs loudly, “Yeah, fucking teenagers. Think they know everything.”
Seth repeats, “Well, I’ll get out of your hair. Thanks again for letting me hear the song, man. I appreciate it!”
Jack stands and extends his hand, “My pleasure, Seth. You’ve got a good one there. Seriously.”
Seth shakes his hand, “Thanks, Jack. I’ll see you soon.”
Jack nods, “Sounds good.”
“Don’t kill any teenagers, okay?” Seth whispers.
Jack is back to work on the board, “I make no promises.”
Seth leaves the control room, laughing.
Once outside in the crisp fall afternoon, Seth slips his sunglasses on and strolls down the sidewalk toward where his car is parked. Breathing in a deep breath of clean, fresh air, a shiver runs through his body. The cool air is refreshing, vastly in contrast to the stuffy control room of the studio.
Stopping at a corner, Seth looks down the side street, deciding if he should go visit one of his favorite music stores.
Shifting his weight from side to side, he internally weighs going home and going to the store. Problem is…there’s this vintage Gibson acoustic guitar in the store window that Seth has had his eye on for some time now. Next problem is…it’s expensive, like really expensive. Biggest problem is…he’s somehow completely drawn to that damn guitar.
Any time he’s downtown, or even close to downtown, this force pulls him to the Nashville Rox Music Store and that guitar. At least twenty times, he’s stopped by, sat down and played the guitar. Man, it’s sweet!
Seth sighs in frustration at his weakness for this damn guitar and starts to head toward the store when “Devil in Disguise” by Elvis Presley starts to play in his pocket. Seth jumps a bit, laughing at himself as he fishes the phone out of his jacket pocket to see the name, Bryce Chandler.
Seth grins as he answers, “Beavis! What’s up?”
A deep chuckle from the other end of the line makes Seth’s grin widen. The voice replies, “What a nice greeting, Butthead!”
Seth and Bryce had gotten the nicknames of Beavis and Butthead from another session musician after both of them fell into impersonations of the cartoon characters while recording one of Seth’s songs a couple of years ago.
When you’ve been recording for fifteen straight hours and had one too many beers, any sort of crazy shit can come from the night in the studio. Since that night, the two have had an ongoing joke of calling each other Beavis and Butthead. This has been going on the better part of two years now.
In fact, Seth doesn’t remember the last time he called Bryce by his actual name.
Bryce continues, “So, Butthead, you up for a beer at the Beer Sellar?”
Seth r
eplies, “Yeah, man! Sounds good. I’m about three blocks away.”
“Cool, see you in ten.”
Seth replaces his cell phone in his jacket pocket and turns himself around and away from the call of the Gibson. That’s probably a good thing, saved him a lot of money.
He picks up his pace. The call from Bryce is a nice surprise. The two lived next door to each other in the apartment building when Bryce first moved to town. Back then, he was an aspiring musician with dreams of stardom.
That’s pretty much the description of every musician who comes to Nashville, but Bryce seemed to have what it took to get noticed. He stood out from the pack.
The first time that Seth met Bryce, he was coming in from grocery shopping. Bryce was sitting outside on the stoop of their building in torn blue jeans and a paint-stained t-shirt, idly looking around. At first, Seth thought perhaps he was casing the building. Seth asked, “Hey, man, you okay?”
Bryce replied, “Hey! Yeah, I’m okay, just stupid.”
Seth’s brows raised in question as he continued, “I just moved in and came out to my car to get my guitar and left my apartment keys upstairs. I can’t get into the building.”
Seth hadn’t noticed the guitar case sitting beside the man’s leg tucked back beside the stoop.
He laughed, “Ah, I know all about that! I think I locked myself out three or four times before I learned my lesson.”
Fumbling with his keys and bags of groceries, Seth managed to get the key in the lock of the outside door, but was struggling to get the door open.
Bryce rushed to him, “Here, let me help you.”
He took two of the paper bags from Seth’s arms, allowing him to pull the door open.
Seth replied, “Thanks, man.”