by Melody Grace
Well, like he said, he knew how to take a hint.
Riley’s blood ran hot just remembering it. The feel of her body, pressing against his. How she’d teased him, her tongue sliding over his, and her teeth grazing his lower lip in a wicked nip. That kiss had been wild, and passionate, and sexy as hell.
And he didn’t even know her name.
She wasn’t a tourist, that was for sure—unless tourists came equipped with a leather briefcase and crisp button-down shirts. No, she must be from around here, but a newcomer, otherwise he would have run into her by now. And he definitely would remember a woman like that.
Still, Riley wasn’t concerned. He took his coffee up onto the deck and admired the morning view. Calm blue ocean, golden sands, and a collection of colorful sailboats, bobbing gently beside his on the morning tide. The listing for his last home boasted of a million-dollar view, but as far as Riley was concerned, his little sailboat had it beat. Plus, zero maintenance, and these days, Riley was all about keeping things stress-free and easy.
The harbormaster, Pete, gave him a wave from the pier, and Riley waved back.
“You’re up early,” Pete called.
“A mistake I won’t repeat,” Riley yelled back. It was almost nine a.m., which was unheard of for him. When you roll into bed at dawn, it usually takes a little while to recover the next day, but luckily, Riley’s job at the local pub left him plenty of time for that. He pulled on a clean shirt, poured another coffee into his Thermos, and hopped off the deck onto the jetty. It was a short walk up from the harbor into Sweetbriar Cove, so he didn’t bother driving, enjoying the quiet leafy lanes and the chirp of morning birdsong.
So this was what the world looked like before noon.
He detoured via the bakery on Blackberry Lane, and was surprised to find a crowd already filling the small shop, eating muffins and croissants, and Summer’s famous sticky morning buns.
“Riley?” The baker herself did an exaggerated double take when she saw him by the counter. “Are you feeling OK?” Summer leaned over the register and pressed her hand to his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever—”
“Hey!” He batted her away, laughing. “Can’t a guy get a morning pastry without it being a big deal?”
“Not when the guy in question never shows his face before noon.” Summer grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Let me guess, you’ve been up all night.”
“Does it look like I slept in these clothes?” Riley protested, only half-joking.
She grinned. “Knowing you, there wasn’t any sleeping involved.”
Riley gave her a smug look. “I’ll have you know, I slept all night through—alone.”
“Are you sure about that fever?” Summer reached her hand up again, and he ducked away.
“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Riley protested again. “You’re talking like I’m a total man-whore.” There was silence. “This is where you say no, of course not,” Riley prompted her, but Summer just smiled.
“What can I get you?” she asked instead.
He took in the spread of delicious-looking treats. “I don’t even know. Usually there’s nothing left by the time I come by.”
“Early bird catches the pastries.” Summer grabbed a paper bag and slipped a couple of sticky buns inside. “Here, I’m experimenting with a cherry glaze. Let me know what you think.”
“Feel free to test your recipes on me anytime.” Riley pulled a few bills from his back pocket to pay. “I’m surprised Grayson hasn’t put on ten pounds since you arrived in town.”
Summer laughed. “I’m working on it!”
Riley exited the bakery, his mouth already watering from the scent of sugar and cinnamon. Maybe there were perks to this whole morning thing, although he didn’t see it becoming a regular routine. He’d had enough dawn alarms to last a lifetime, stumbling out of bed and into his car for the morning commute, then staying so late at his computer it was dark by the time he even came up for air. Eighty-hour workweeks vs. a leisurely stroll to open up the bar. He knew which got his vote.
His phone buzzed as he made his way into town, and he answered with a mouth full of sticky bun. “Mhmum?”
“Good, you’re picking up.”
Riley sighed. “And there I was, having a delightful morning.”
“I wouldn’t need to call if you’d reply to my emails,” his brother pointed out dryly.
“I’m detoxing,” Riley said. “No screens. This girl I dated said the rays were damaging our free radicals, or something like that.”
“You’re avoiding me,” Max said. “Correction, you’re avoiding everyone. Mom says you aren’t calling her back, and I have a stack of mail piling up for you here. Why did you set it to forward to my office?”
“Because I knew you’d take good care of it for me. Come on, Max, you know that stuff’s all junk now. It’s over, I’m done.”
“Not until you sign the final settlement, it isn’t.”
Riley sighed. Even out here on an empty country lane, the real world had a way of muscling in. “I’ll sign when I’m ready.”
“They’re not happy, you know,” Max warned him. “The lawyers are calling every week. They don’t understand why this isn’t wrapped up already—and neither do I. We came to an agreement almost a year ago now.”
“So a few more months won’t hurt. Let them wait,” Riley said. “Patience is a virtue.”
Max didn’t sound happy. “You ever think you’d be better off just putting it all behind you and moving on?” he asked.
“I have moved on,” Riley said firmly. “Doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for them. Tell Mom I’ll call her on the weekend.”
He hung up, feeling a grim satisfaction. Tate was getting antsy? Good. Maybe it was petty, but Riley thought he deserved it after the damn mess he’d been through. Losing his best friend, business partner, and the project he’d worked seven years on was bad enough, but having the whole thing drag through half a dozen lawsuits was even worse. They’d finally reached an agreement Riley could just about live with, but that didn’t mean he was just going to roll over and thank the guy for screwing him over like that. He had more important things to do.
Like the woman from the bar . . .
Riley’s mood lifted, just at the thought of her. He’d see her again. The Cape was full of small towns, and his was smaller than most. Someone in Sweetbriar Cove would know about his mysterious blonde, and when he found her, well, they could pick up right where they’d left off.
Preferably with fewer clothes. And more ice cream.
Riley smiled to himself and polished off the last pastry. She was out there, somewhere. And he had nothing but time.
BROOKE WAS RUNNING LATE.
It was only five minutes, but with her schedule, that five minutes could prove disastrous: setting off a domino effect that would throw the whole morning out of sync. She’d been awake most of the night, tossing and turning, and had only drifted off a few minutes before her alarm rang, leaving her sleepy and disoriented. She would have given anything for another couple of hours of sleep, but there was no time to spare, and she raced to get to work. Her cell phone rang just as she was pulling up at the hotel, and she stabbed the call button, trapping the handset between her ear and her shoulder as she scrambled out of the car.
“Can’t talk!” she yelped, struggling to tuck her blouse in and make sure her underwear wasn’t showing.
“Sorry, just checking in on your date last night,” Eliza’s voice came. “Did it turn around at all?”
“Nope.” Brooke flew through the back doors and down the polished hallway towards her office. “I’m taking a break from men for the foreseeable future.”
“Now, don’t be rash,” Eliza laughed. “There are plenty more fish in the sea.”
“Or crabs,” Brooke quipped, remembering Doug’s lifelong passion.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Brooke paused, noticing a vase of wilting hydrangeas on the table. She’d have to talk to so
meone about that. “Thanks for trying, but I think I’m safer staying out of the dating pool.”
And away from hot men in dark alleyways.
“Sorry to hear it. Are we still on for drinks this weekend?” Eliza asked. “It’s karaoke at this bar I know, it should be fun.”
“I’m in,” Brooke said. “Just as long as I don’t have to sing!”
She hung up, stashing her phone in her purse and grabbing the massive vase with both hands so she could hoist it out of sight. Better a polished table than a vase of dead flowers; she prided herself on attention to detail, and she knew it was the little things that mattered in a boutique hotel like this. They may not have the flashy budgets of the larger, luxurious resorts, but their guests went away raving about the small, elegant touches—and rebooked for next year.
She shoved her office door open with her shoulder and backed into the room, only to find her boss waiting inside. “Ash!” she exclaimed, surprised to see him there, every inch the meticulous businessman in a smart shirt and jacket. “I didn’t know you were in town.”
“I had some business in the city, so I thought I’d drop by and see how things were going.” Ash Callahan looked at the flowers questioningly, and Brooke hurried to set them down and check her schedule for the day.
“Of course, I have a staff meeting now, but we could sit down at noon? I’ve been looking over the occupancy rates, and I already have some proposals I’d love to discuss.”
Ash gave an approving nod. “That sounds fine. I’ll see you then.”
TO BROOKE’S RELIEF, the rest of her day ran smoothly. She breezed through her meetings—with the help of three cups of coffee—and even had time to pull her notes together so that by the time she joined Ash on the terrace, she had a neat file for him laying out her efficiency savings and future goals.
“Weddings have always been a consistent business for the hotel,” she explained, taking him through the plans. “I propose we really grow that opportunity. I’ve already reached out to local vendors about partnerships, so we can offer a full-service package to brides.”
“A kind of one-stop shop for their wedding?” Ash looked interested.
“Exactly. These days, most of them are juggling florists, catering, décor, and hiring an expensive wedding planner on top of that,” Brooke said, feeling nervous. She shouldn’t be worried; in the few months since she’d taken the reins, she’d already overseen several successful events, and had a summer schedule booked solid. Still, Brooke wanted to impress him. “By providing a package that connects them directly with the best vendors, we save them time and stress. And those local relationships mean we can jump to the head of the line for bookings. In summer season, you can’t find a free linen rental in a hundred-mile radius,” she added with a rueful grin.
Ash flipped through the rest of her folder, then smiled. “I have to say, I’m impressed. This could be the niche the hotel has been looking for.” He looked around at the terrace, full of guests enjoying their lunch, and the magnificent sea views. “Just between us, I’ve been thinking about selling this property.”
Brooke’s stomach dropped.
“My wife, Noelle, is pregnant,” he continued, “and so much of my business is further south in Beachwood Bay, I want to spend more time close to home. But it seems like you have some great ideas here. Plus, you won’t be needing me around for any of it,” he added. “Which is just fine in my book.”
Brooke let out a breath of relief. “Well, congratulations,” she said. “And thank you for your vote of confidence. I know this place is small compared to some of your other resorts,” she continued, “but I think there’s a great opportunity. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get married here?”
Ash grinned. “Noelle and I did it barefoot on the beach,” he said, with clear affection. “Just family, a few friends; we couldn’t have asked for anything more.”
“Don’t say that too loud,” Brooke joked, glancing around. “We want them ordering five hundred white roses and a flock of doves.”
“We offer that?” Ash asked.
“Just as soon as I find an aviary with some quiet, well-trained birds.” Brooke grinned.
“If anyone can, it’s you,” Ash laughed. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you do with the place. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
Brooke smiled, already imagining the booked events calendar and parade of social media posts—all tagged with the Sandy Lane location. With some work and careful planning, she could make the hotel the wedding destination of choice on the Cape, and prove to Ash that it was worth hanging onto the property for a while longer.
And if all her grand plans kept her working overtime, distracted from the heartache and shame she was still trying to outrun? Even better.
Some people would call it denial; Brooke preferred to call it being productive. Archer had already thrown her career plans off track back in the city, and she was determined not to let that ever happen again. And maybe, just maybe, her work could tip the karmic scales a little closer to even again. She’d been the reason for a marriage falling apart, so it only seemed fitting that she help as many other unions get off on the right foot, and provide the wedding of their dreams.
From now on, she would have a one-track mind: weddings and work, yes. Men, no!
4
Brooke spent the rest of the week finalizing her plans for New England wedding domination, but she remembered to drag herself away from her laptop in time to meet Eliza for their drink on Friday night.
Her new apartment was set above her landlord’s garage, in the back of the property. She locked up and descended the rickety staircase, meeting Eliza just inside the gate. “This place is so cute!” Eliza sounded surprised. “The front yard is so overgrown, you would never guess there’s a whole property back here.”
Thanks to her landlord’s green thumb, the small courtyard was crammed with old glazed pots and plants: bright golden marigolds and nasturtiums in one corner, lavender spilling from the other. Small magnolia trees vied for sunlight against a wall of blooming roses, and honeysuckle and hydrangeas billowed up the trellis all the way to her balcony.
“I’d invite you up,” Brooke apologized, “but I haven’t unpacked yet, it’s just boxes everywhere. I keep hoping I’ll wake up one morning and it’ll all be magically put in its place,” she admitted.
Eliza laughed. “Where are some cartoon forest animals when you need them?”
They headed out front to Eliza’s car, a vintage Mustang. Her friend slid behind the wheel and checked her lipstick in the mirror.
“You said it was casual, right?” Brooke asked. She’d thrown on some jeans and a navy tank top, but Eliza was wearing a cute red sundress, her brunette hair pulled up in a fancy twist, and looked ready for a cocktail party, not a night at the local bar.
“Oh, don’t worry, I came from work,” Eliza explained. “I was interviewing a new fashion designer, so I didn’t want to show up looking like a complete slob. Like usual,” she grinned.
Eliza was a freelance journalist, based up in Boston, but her family had a house on the Cape, so she traded her subway pass and studio apartment for beaches and a hammock every summer—at least that’s what she told Brooke the day they’d met, contorting themselves into pretzel shapes in the back of a beginner’s yoga class. Brooke had been there to try to relax and Eliza was researching a story, but they barely made it through the opening vinyasa before calling it quits and retiring to the nearest ice cream shop for a double scoop of chocolate chunk and some good old-fashioned girl-talk. Now, Eliza was her closest friend in town, and Brooke was glad to have someone to drag her away from work—and Netflix.
“So Doug was a bust, huh?” Eliza asked, pulling out of the drive.
“To put it mildly. Turns out, he’s more interested in crustaceans than women. I can’t believe your sister dated him,” Brooke said.
“For six months!”
“No!” Brooke laughed. “Does she have a fetish for seafo
od or something?”
Eliza rolled her eyes affectionately. “Jane’s too nice for her own good. She was probably too polite to ever break up with him.”
“Still, it was probably for the best,” Brooke said. “It’s too soon to be dating, I guess it turns out I’m not ready.”
Eliza gave her a sympathetic look. “Aww, I’m sorry. Breakups are the worst. You think you’re fine and then BAM, you see a guy who looks like him on the street or hear a song on the radio, and it’s like they stomped on your heart all over again. I had this one boyfriend in college,” she added. “It went down in flames, totally wrecked me. I thought I saw him everywhere—in the library, by the dorms—I had to brace myself just to leave my room. Months later, I find out he wasn’t even in the country. He went on a study abroad program! All that stress was for nothing. You did the right thing, moving away,” she added. “At least here you know you won’t run into him on the way to the gym with no makeup on.”
“There’s a simple fix for that, you know,” Brooke quipped lightly. “Don’t ever go to the gym!”
Eliza snorted with laughter, but Brooke felt a small pang of guilt. She hadn’t told Eliza all the messy details about what happened with Archer. Maybe it was selfish, but she didn’t want to see the judgment when she admitted she’d been the Other Woman, breaking a family apart.
“So where is this bar, anyway?” she asked, looking curiously out the window. They were driving down the main highway, Old King’s Road, with the shore along one side and lush green woods on the other. It was still light out, the sun sinking over the water, and she could taste the salt in the air.
“Sweetbriar Cove,” Eliza replied. “It’s just a few miles away. You must have been.”
“No, I don’t think so. I haven’t really done any exploring,” Brooke admitted. “I just head straight to the hotel, and then pick up groceries in Provincetown.”
“You’ve been here months!” Eliza exclaimed. “What have you been doing with your time?”