Kisses Between the Lines: An Echo Ridge Anthology (Echo Ridge Romance Book 2)

by Lucy McConnell

  Her laugh tinkled through the line. “Cancel them. This could be the moment. The one you look back on and realize that your life suddenly became everything you wanted it to be.”

  Kirke debated Bay’s words. Jennifer might accept him, but Bay pushed him to be more. He wanted more out of his life. There were screenplay writers and authors who did more than live in a small cottage and ride their bike. They traveled the world and sought inspiration through exposure to history, culture, and language. That’s what he wanted— freedom. Kirke rubbed his hand up and down his cheek. “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Wonderful. Now, I’m going to hang up so Roberto can finish my shoulders.”

  That was a mental image I could do without. “Bye,” he said to a click.

  Kirke paced next to his car. Bay was right. This could be the greatest moment of his life. His fear was just his body reacting to change. Change wasn’t always bad. In this case, change was a good thing.

  With a bit of chagrin, Kirke mentally cancelled his conversation with Jennifer. He couldn’t do it over the phone. That was tacky. What he needed to say had to be said in person. Jennifer, you’ve been the biggest and best part of my life for the last few years. I’m so sorry, but I have to go.

  He tapped his phone to his forehead. Come on, man! You use words for a living! Pacing, he rewrote his lines.

  JENNIFER PUT ON HER NEW shirt— again— in anticipation of her date with Kirke at the auction. She checked her reflection. Andrea was already at work at the Chickadee Salon, so she settled for big waves, which were easy enough to do on her own. “I may not be Bay Barington, but I’m not too shabby.”

  Her phone rang and she got to it by the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Jennifer?” Kirke’s breathing came quick, like he’d finished a punishing trail. She could picture him all sweaty, wearing a huge grin and his body armor. He looked so rough-and-tumble in that armor. She wished she was there.

  “Are you just getting off the mountain?” She checked her alarm clock. “We’re going to be late for the auction.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I can’t make it.”

  Her hands stilled over her purse. “What? Why not?”

  “Bay’s agent is in town and he wants to meet me. There’s talk about writing a screenplay. If it goes well, this could be my break.”

  Jennifer narrowed her eyes. She’d met Kirke’s current agent, Doug, several times and really liked him. He was a solid guy, good at his job, and had Kirke’s best interest at heart. And she felt loyal to him. “What about Doug? He could sell a screenplay. It would probably help him out too, with the baby on the way.”

  “I’m not changing agents, just feeling things out.”

  The timing was a bit too perfect. “The guy just happens to be in town?”

  “I guess.”

  Jennifer clenched her free hand. “That’s …” Fishy, suspicious, dodgy. “… a great opportunity.”

  “It is. At least, I hope it will be.” Kirke’s voice took on a serious tone. One that said he suspected something wasn’t on the up and up, too.

  Between the pressure to continually produce at a high level and this guy coming to town, Kirke didn’t have time to find a book for Marian. He might feel fine dodging out on her— which didn’t sit right at all with Jennifer— but there was no way she was going to let him let Marian down. “Don’t worry. I have this covered.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep, no mercy.” On anyone. One day a spot on the board would open up, and Jennifer was going after it. She loved the library just as much as anyone on that board, and she would prove it by fulfilling this assignment in Kirke’s place.

  “Jennifer, I just want you to know …” He paused.

  Jennifer gripped the phone, half hopeful and half terrified of what was coming next.

  “I’m really grateful for you.”

  Her fingers slackened. His words were complimentary, but his tone was all goodbye darling. “Thanks. Me too.” They said goodbye and hung up. Jennifer sat there staring at her phone and wondering what that was all about.

  The auction was packed. Women in glittering jewelry and men using canes nodded to one another in polite fashion. The town was a small one, but this auction was known statewide. Some of the most influential families in the nation sent representatives to bid on items for their country mansions and Manhattan apartments.

  Jennifer picked up on a few rivalries in the room. They would say hello and then curse once they thought no one was looking. It was kind of funny. She wished Kirke could be here. He’d get a major kick out of the undercurrent of distrust and intrigue, not to mention a deluge of ideas for the setting of a play.

  She settled into a high-backed chair, her paddle in her lap. Steepling her fingers, she imagined herself bidding on lot twenty-two as if she were a lady in an Elizabethan gown and white gloves. What a thrilling image it made. And why not? What did these people have that she didn’t have?

  Okay, money.

  Money was something she could earn if she wanted to. She looked at the faces of those around her. None of them lifted their cheeks or crinkled their eyes with smiles. Most were determined, and a few were bored. Theirs wasn’t an existence to envy; though the money would make some things much easier, it wouldn’t bring her friends like Andrea or Brooklyn and Kaitlyn. Nor would it bring her love.

  The auctioneer began; his tone rising and falling like a kite caught in the winds of adventure, and Jennifer was swept away along with the rest of the attendees. He swooped them up in intensity, calling numbers faster and faster, as the bidding became heated. The crowd would lift with him, their eyebrows reaching for their widows’ peaks and their bottoms coming out of the chairs until the gavel struck the podium, and they all tumbled back onto their padded seats.

  Keeping to herself, Jennifer used a lull to study her program. When lot twenty-two came up, she schooled her features. No sense acting too interested.

  “This original copy of C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is in excellent condition, and …” Pause for dramatic effect. “… is signed by the author.”

  Heads went together as patrons whispered their shock. The autograph hadn’t been mentioned in the ad, and Jennifer suspected the price just went up. She pressed her shoulders against the chair.

  “Let’s start the bidding at twelve thousand dollars.”

  Jennifer dropped her paddle, the plastic handle clattering to the hardwood floor and drawing scornful looks form those around her. Twelve thousand! Forget mercy, I need a respirator. Squishing her eyes shut, Jennifer saw her chance at making the library board skim away like a naughty sprite. Hopeless and helplessly embarrassed, Jennifer scrambled for the exit as the bidding escalated to seventeen thousand dollars and showed no sign of slowing.

  Slamming her car door shut, she laid her head on the steering wheel. Marian asked the impossible, Kirke was off with some television bombshell, she was never going to make the library board— and she’d been naive enough to believe a new shirt would help. Nothing. Nothing could make life worse.

  JENNIFER HAD GONE TO BED with a storm cloud of emotions and woken up with a damp pillow and a headache. Andrea liked to sleep in on Sunday mornings, so Jennifer crept to the front door and snatched the Gazette off the stoop. She’d mull over the town news and nurse her first cup of hot chocolate for the season before going off to her parents’ for breakfast. After that, she’d meditate, go to church, and eat some of Carlos’s famous white bean chili at the potluck.

  The front page of the paper was dedicated to the Harvest Hurrah, including pictures from last year’s children’s day and the craft show. Some of her favorite vendors were on the schedule. She turned the page, and Kirke’s handsome face grinned up at her. She stared at the caption, not allowing it to sink in.

  Local Playwright Moving to Hollywood

  “What?” she shrieked, running into Andrea’s room and landing on her bed. “Andrea, wake up!”

  Andrea r
olled over with a groan. “Time iz it?”

  “I don’t know.” Jennifer pulled the blanket back, revealing an unruly mop of pink and major mascara issues. “Listen to this. ‘Local playwright Kirke Staples has announced his intentions to leave the theater and write screenplays.’”

  “Wait, wha— ?” Andrea sat up and pulled the paper onto her lap to read the next paragraph. “‘I’m tired of sleepy towns. I need to be where life happens twenty-four seven.’” She looked up, her raccoon eyes incredulous. “Did he really say that?”

  “I don’t know.” Jennifer picked up where Andrea left off. “‘Staples continued to say that he’s found a new agent and will be listing his small cottage home this week.’”

  Andrea shoved the paper aside. “Did he tell you any of this?”

  “No— not a word. I thought he loved it here. He’s always on Ruby Mountain, he can’t get enough of Fay’s cooking, and he just remodeled his guest bath.”

  “Plus, he’s on the library board.”

  “Right!” Jennifer leaned heavily on the headboard, the betrayal pressing into her chest. “The thing is, he should have told me.”

  Andrea leaned back so their shoulders were touching. “He should have.”

  “I thought we were at least friends.”

  “The best of friends.”

  “So why didn’t he tell me?” She swiped at her cheek to brush away the tears before they landed on her pajamas.

  “I don’t know.”

  Jennifer thought back to her pity party in the car yesterday. “I thought my life stunk yesterday. I was so wrong. Yesterday was roses and perfume compared to today.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Jennifer checked the clock. “I’ve got to get over to my parents’. Can I meet you at church?”

  “I told my mom I’d pick her up. You’re welcome to sit with us.”

  Jennifer shook her head. Andrea and her mom didn’t spend a lot of time together, but their Sunday dates were considered family time. “I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

  Andrea headed for the shower, and Jennifer took the paper back to the kitchen table to finish. The rest of the article speculated about a budding romance between Kirke and a certain reality television star who had frequently been seen around town. She took a sip of hot chocolate and grimaced— it had gone cold.

  “Hi, Mom.” Jennifer placed a light kiss on her mother’s cheek so as not to smudge her powder. The heavy cosmetics used to make her sneeze. Layla Solomon was stunning in her tight black running pants, workout shirt, and zip-up hoodie. Her hair hung almost as long as Jennifer’s, and she moved with the grace of a gazelle.

  “Hello, Jennifer.” Mom gave her a light squeeze. “How’s school?”

  “Good.” Jennifer took off her jacket and laid it over the arm of the couch. Her one class on digital curation was easy enough to handle. Especially with all her free time lately. “Where’s Dad?” He usually wandered away from his recliner long enough to eat breakfast with them.

  “He’s otherwise engaged this morning.” Layla’s tone was purposefully vague and flippant. A combination Jennifer knew all too well.

  “He’s with her. Isn’t he?” Years of watching her mother rise at dawn and dress impeccably in an effort to show her father what he was stepping out on had taught her to recognize the signs. All those times when Jennifer was told to be quiet, to not upset her dad, to smile pretty so dad would want to stay stirred up hot anger and bitter resentment. They didn’t have to live like that. Her mom didn’t have to come in second in her own marriage. There were other guys out there, ones who would treat her better. “Why don’t you leave him?”

  “Don’t be silly. I could never leave your father. Sit down, the food is going to spoil.”

  Indignation flared. How dare Dad treat her mother this way? And then the sense of betrayal from her mom swept in. How dare she stay? “Why not?” Jennifer demanded as she yanked out a chair.

  Placing her palm on the table, Layla’s eyes bore into Jennifer. “I love him.”

  Jennifer gripped the table’s edge. “Mom.” She gritted her teeth in an attempt to keep her voice low. “You shouldn’t have to beg him to love you back.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Jennifer realized her hypocrisy. Wasn’t that exactly what she had done to Kirke? The bright lipstick, the fancy hairdos, the clothes … Did that mean she loved him? Her heart clenched. She did! She loved him for seeking her advice on his plays, for admiring her literary knowledge, for treating her like she was something special, for being her best friend. And in her naiveté, she’d subconsciously followed her mother’s destructive pattern.

  “Darling, life isn’t like those books you read.”

  Jennifer took in her mother’s calm features and realized she wasn’t going to convince her to go. For whatever reason, maybe a warped sense of loyalty or a perverted desire to punish herself, Layla Solomon would be laid to rest next to her cheating, no-good husband, having fulfilled her end of the wedding vows till death do they part. There would be no prince charming to slay the dragon, no Mr. Darcy to pay the debts, and no Colonel Brandon to reclaim her honor and love because her mother didn’t seek after such a thing. She refused to turn the page to find a new chapter in her life.

  “No, life’s not like it is in books,” agreed Jennifer.

  As they drank orange juice and ate parfaits, Jennifer vowed to never again beg a man to love her. If Kirke truly was in love with Bay, then she wouldn’t be the other woman. If he wanted to leave Echo Ridge forever, she wouldn’t plead with him to stay. Even though it would cost her dearly to lose hope for a future with Kirke and to say goodbye to her best friend, if she truly wanted to be a heroine in her own story, she had to be willing to turn the page.

  KIRKE STORMED THROUGH the Ruby Resort lobby and pounded the elevator button with his right hand; his left crushed the newspaper, causing it to squeak in protest. “Come on!” he demanded as he pressed the button again. There was a happy little ding and the doors slid open. He jumped inside and hit the top floor, tapping his foot as the doors slowly closed in and the elevator jolted to a start.

  When they opened again, Kirke came face to face with Tyrell. His bulging shoulders and crossed arms read as clearly as a “do not disturb” sign. Kirke had come this far, and he wasn’t about to back down. “I need to talk to Bay— please,” he added, hoping a little politeness would earn him points.

  It didn’t. “She’s busy.”

  “Doing what?” Another massage? A pedicure?

  “That’s none of your business.”

  The door to the suite opened and Bay asked, “Tyrell, what’s going on?”

  “Unannounced visitor,” growled Tyrell.

  “Bay!” Kirke tried to dodge around Tyrell and ended up smashed into the wall. “Bay,” he croaked against the arm at his throat. Kirke struggled against Tyrell’s hold. “You’re bigger than you look, ya know that?”

  Tyrell glared.

  “Let him in.” Bay disappeared into the room but left the door open.

  Tyrell lowered his arm, and Kirke didn’t have to stand on his tiptoes to breathe. He patted the still-glaring man on the shoulder. “No hard feelings.”

  “I’m right outside this door,” growled Bay’s favorite pet.

  Kirke nodded. “Got it. You’re right there.” He pointed to the floor. “And I’m in here.” He slipped into the room. “It was good to see you again,” he said before shutting the door on Tyrell’s ugly mug. He thought about flipping the deadbolt, but that probably wouldn’t stop the guy who was more determined than Hades’s hound with the three heads.

  Feeling like he’d escaped a beatdown on the playground, Kirke took a fortifying breath. The newspaper crinkled in his hand, reminding him of the reason he had busted into the forbidden palace in the first place. “Have you seen this?” He shook the paper at Bay who had taken up position on the love seat.

  She wrapped a snow leopard print Minky Couture blanket over her shoulders to ward off the chi
ll that the weatherman said meant trouble was headed their way. Trouble was right. If Bay didn’t get this fixed, everything Kirke had worked so hard for over the last few years would be torn to bits.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, darling? I’ve already had requests for interviews based on that little gem.” She lifted a dainty coffee cup off the table and stirred the contents.

  Kirke looked over his shoulder before saying, “None of it’s true.”

  She lifted an eyebrow but continued to stir. “Of course it is.”

  Kirke wanted to shake her by the shoulders and make her see the world without her Hollywood filters. “They’ve quoted me saying that I’m stifled in Echo Ridge. I never said that!” He threw the paper on the coffee table. “I’m calling first thing tomorrow and demanding a retraction. Their anonymous source lied.”

  “You may not have said those exact words.” She blew lightly on the coffee. “But your desire to shake off this town is evident in your eagerness to leave.”

  He glared. “I’m not the one who’s eager. You’ve been pushing me into this since you got here.”

  Bay’s eyebrows pulled together.

  “You’re the unnamed source for the article,” Kirke blurted. “You’re burning bridges here so I have to leave.”

  Bay tipped her head back and laughed. “Darling, are you listening to yourself? You’ve thought up a whole plotline and cast me as the villain.” Gliding to her feet, Bay let the blanket fall from her shoulders, revealing her tiny tank top and the shape she was famous for. “Sweetheart, you’re a star.”

  Kirke’s mouth went dry as she slid her arms around his middle and kissed his neck. “I’m not a bad guy, but I don’t always have to be the good girl.”

  Kirke jumped out of her reach and bolted to the door. “I, um, I need to get back to work.” He yanked on the door, twice, and couldn’t get it open.

  Bay advanced, giggling. “You go be a good little writer, and we’ll talk again soon.” Pressing her squishy lips against his cheek, she lifted the handle and the door opened.