The Only One (Sweetbriar Cove Book 3)

by Melody Grace

“Working,” Brooke protested. “Some of us don’t get to do it in a hammock.”

  “All day and night, and weekends too?” Eliza shot back.

  “OK, OK,” Brooke admitted with a sigh. “So maybe I’m a workaholic. But I’m changing that. See, look at me: out with you instead of running revenue projections.”

  “On a Friday night, wild.” Eliza grinned.

  Brooke laughed. “So, Sweetbriar, why does that name sound familiar?”

  “They have an annual Christmas festival, it’s a big tourist draw,” Eliza explained. “And in summer there are all kinds of street fairs and outdoor movie screenings. Last year, they did a harvest hay-bale maze right in the middle of the town square.”

  “No,” Brooke laughed. “You’re making that up.”

  “Cross my heart.” Eliza beamed. “I got lost twice.”

  They turned off the highway and down a winding road before reaching the Sweetbriar town square. Brooke had to admit it looked idyllic: set around an open green park with cute stores, cafes, and even a picture-perfect gazebo overlooking the bay. “This would be a great spot for wedding photos,” she mused, already adding it to her mental list of package options.

  Eliza grinned. “Do you ever stop working?”

  “Sorry,” Brooke sighed. “I promise, no more work—or wedding—talk for the rest of the night.”

  They parked and made their way across the square to the pub on the corner. It was an old, charming building with exposed beams, an open fireplace, and walls crammed with nautical souvenirs, and it was busy with Friday night locals. “You guys definitely have a thing for ships,” Brooke said, looking around. “You can’t move for anchors and oars on the Cape.”

  “We’re big on history,” Eliza agreed. “Ooh, look, there’s a free table.” She darted across the room and slid into a seat, almost before the other party had even stood up. A group of women were caught off guard, drinks in hand, halfway to the table. “Sorry!” Eliza beamed at them with an innocent look. “Were you waiting on this one?” They slunk away as Brooke joined her.

  “You snooze, you lose,” Eliza crowed under her breath. She caught Brooke’s surprise. “Sorry, it’s a journalist thing. Too many years spent loitering in coffee shops, fighting over a free outlet.”

  Brooke smiled. “I’ll get the drinks, you guard our territory.”

  “White wine for me, thanks,” Eliza said. “And fries. There should always be fries.”

  Brooke headed to the bar. She could see a karaoke machine set up on the other side of the room, but she was guessing they would all need a few drinks before anyone was brave enough to give it a try.

  “Well, look who it is.”

  She turned and promptly lost her breath.

  It was him, Riley, the guy from the other night, leaning casually against the bar just a few inches away.

  What was he doing here, of all places? Her pulse leapt, but she fought to keep her cool. This was why it was safer to stay home, working, on a Friday night: she didn’t stumble over the one guy she thought she wouldn’t see again.

  “Oh. Hi.” Brooke managed to speak.

  “I was just thinking about the other night, and then here you are,” he said, looking pleased. “The universe delivered you right to me.”

  He smiled at her, and damn it, but he was just as gorgeous as she’d remembered; blonde hair falling over those stormy blue eyes, his jaw dusted with tawny stubble.

  “What can I get you?” he asked, and she had to remind herself of why she’d turned and fled from their amazing kiss.

  Dating kryptonite. Swearing off men. Past mistakes.

  OK then.

  “Thanks, but I don’t need you to buy me a drink,” Brooke said, trying to sound polite.

  “I wasn’t offering.” Riley smirked. “I was taking your order. This is my bar.”

  Brooke flushed. “Oh. Good for you. It’s very . . . nautical.”

  He chuckled. “It came with the decoration, I didn’t have the heart to take it all down. Half the people in town have a relative up on the walls, so I didn’t think it would make the best first impression to go trashing their ancestors.”

  He grinned, and Brooke felt lightheaded. How could this man ever make a bad impression?

  “You know, I never got your name,” Riley said, rounding to the other side of the bar. “Granted, we were busy with . . . other things.” He shot her a wickedly suggestive look that had Brooke flushing all over again.

  “It’s Brooke,” she blurted quickly. “Brooke Delancey.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Brooke Delancey.” Riley held out his hand.

  Brooke hesitated, but it would have been rude to ignore it, so she reached across and shook it firmly.

  “Excellent handshake you’ve got there,” Riley teased. “Very professional.”

  Brooke didn’t know what to say. She dealt with high-stress, unexpected incidents all the time at work, but she didn’t know where to start when it came to making friendly conversation with the guy she’d been wantonly kissing in a dark alleyway.

  The guy who was looking at her like he wanted to do it all over again.

  Brooke gulped. “Two white wines, please. And some fries.”

  Riley looked amused. “Coming right up. Another blind date?”

  “No!” Brooke exclaimed quickly. “I’m with a friend.”

  “Glad to hear it. Maybe we could meet up later?” he asked smoothly. “I get off around midnight.”

  Brooke swallowed. “Sorry,” she said carefully. “But what happened the other night, it wasn’t . . . I mean, I’m not . . . I’m taking a break from all of that.”

  “That?”

  “Dating. Men. Drama.”

  “I can promise you, I’m about as easy as they come,” Riley promised, and Brooke couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I’m sure you are, but I mean it. I’m swearing off men.”

  “Are you now?” Riley quirked an eyebrow at her. “Nothing I did, I hope.”

  She snorted. “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

  “Most things are.” He grinned, too irresistible for his own good. “You staying for karaoke?” She nodded. “Good. You’ll change your mind once you see me do Sinatra. It brings grown men to tears.”

  “That’s not always a good thing,” she pointed out, but Riley was unruffled.

  “Ye of little faith. Just you wait.” He winked and then sauntered away, over to serve another customer.

  Brooke should have been relieved to see him go. After all, she didn’t want him flirting, promising a repeat of the other night.

  Did she?

  AN HOUR, two glasses of wine, and a bucketful of fries later, Brooke wasn’t so sure. Riley’s performance of “The Best is Yet to Come” wasn’t exactly tuneful, but what he lacked in musicality, he more than made up for with charisma.

  “Baby you’re gonna fly.” He sent Brooke a wink from across the room. She glanced away, but not quickly enough.

  Eliza gave her a look. “Hello. Who’s that guy?”

  “Just . . . someone.” Brooke took another sip of wine. “We met the other night.”

  “When you were on your date?” Eliza arched an eyebrow. “Multi-tasking, huh?”

  “It’s not like that,” Brooke protested, then she stopped. “Who am I kidding? It’s exactly like that,” she admitted. “I don’t know what came over me. One minute I’m heading home, and the next . . . we’re making out in the alleyway,” she said, in a whisper.

  Eliza choked on her wine.

  “As my editor would say, way to bury the lede!” She grinned. “I guess we know who’s taking you home tonight.”

  Brooke shook her head quickly. “No! You don’t understand. I shouldn’t be doing anything with anyone right now. I can’t trust my instincts. Especially not with a guy like that.” She watched as Riley flirted up a storm with some coeds in the front row. They wore cut-off jeans with tiny cropped tank tops, looking young and toned and annoyingly hot.

  She d
ragged her gaze away. Riley could flirt with whoever he wanted—as long as it wasn’t her. “I’m going to get another drink!” She bounced up. “Want anything?”

  “I’m good. But please, take these fries away,” Eliza begged, even as she grabbed another handful. “I swore, I was going to try that whole detox thing for the summer.”

  Brooke laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  She took the basket out of harm’s way, heading to the bar to get some water. Not that she was getting heated with Riley so close. Not at all.

  “Well?”

  There he was again, too close for comfort. Riley leaned against the bar and gave her a rascal grin, “Admit it, you’re ready to throw your panties onstage.”

  “You don’t take a hint, do you?”

  Brooke hadn’t meant her words to come out so harshly, but as soon as they left her mouth, Riley’s smile slipped.

  “Hey, I’m sorry.” He frowned. “If you’re serious about backing off, I will, I promise. But you’ve given me some pretty mixed messages,” he pointed out.

  “I know, I’m sorry.” Brooke winced. “I’m just in a weird place right now. I’m still getting over a bad breakup,” she found herself admitting. “And I guess I’m just . . . off balance. I didn’t mean to lead you on,” she said. “I mean, you seem nice—”

  “Ouch.” Riley clutched his chest. “Just what every guy longs to hear. Nice.”

  “You know what I mean.” Brooke found herself smiling again. She was relieved Riley was taking it so well, but she guessed a guy like him didn’t need to pine over the occasional rejection. “But I am serious. What happened the other night was . . .”

  Hot. Delicious. Impossibly sexy.

  “ . . . a mistake,” she said.

  “A damn good one,” Riley grinned. “Which I’m happy to repeat, any time you like.”

  Brooke shook her head. “Not going to happen. Really, I’m doing you a favor. I should carry a warning sign. Keep away, hazardous ground.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Riley gave her a quizzical look. “You don’t seem too bad to me.”

  “That’s because you don’t know me.” Brooke shrugged, embarrassed now. She’d said too much, and now Riley probably thought she was a basket case. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your adoring fans.” She nodded to the coeds, who were busy taking selfies. “See you around, maybe.”

  She left before she made even more of a fool of herself. Blurting her romantic history to a complete stranger? This was why she needed to stay away from temptation. Everything that happened with Archer had short-circuited her self-control, and she needed to pull it back together before she went making the same mistakes all over again.

  Eliza was happy to call it a night, so she drove Brooke back to her place. “What are you up to Sunday?” Eliza asked, as Brooke climbed out. “Want to pretend to get some health shakes, but go get waffles instead?”

  Brooke laughed. “Sounds good. I might have some work, but I’ll give you a call.”

  “Work, or a hot bartender?” Eliza winked, then drove away before Brooke could protest.

  Definitely work.

  She opened the gate, maneuvered up the rickety stairs over the garage, and unlocked her apartment door. Inside, she let out a guilty sigh. The space sat almost exactly as she’d found it: small and empty, with the bare floorboards gleaming under the bare light bulb. She hadn’t been exaggerating before when she’d told Eliza it wasn’t ready for company. There was a card table in one corner with a folding chair, an old crushed blue velvet couch she’d found at a garage sale, and a mattress and box spring in the next room, but her life still sat packed in boxes, stacked in corners and spilling clothing and toiletries into piles on the floor.

  Brooke thought about the spotless penthouse she’d left behind and winced. She’d spent hours poring over paint samples and fabric swatches, so excited to be building a home with Archer that every little detail had taken on big significance. These were the coffee mugs they’d be drinking out of every morning, that was the throw blanket they would snuggle beneath together watching a movie late at night. She spent her evenings browsing Pinterest and her weekends shopping, but in the end, it had been for nothing.

  Brooke sighed. She could have used some of that new furniture right about now—but no, she corrected herself. She wouldn’t have been able to look at it without thinking of Archer, and he still occupied way too much of her brain. Better to start fresh, with a massive dent in her savings account, than bring all that stuff with her to pollute her new life.

  New possibilities. The freedom of a blank slate. If she said it often enough, maybe she would believe it would come true.

  Brooke dumped her purse on the counter and set the tea kettle on to boil. It was late, but she was still wide awake, so she went to the windows and flung them wide, leaning out over the small courtyard. Even though it was dark out, the moon was bright, and the lamps dotting the space cast a warm glow through the dark.

  Brooke took in a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of the night-flowering jasmine. It was the scent that had seduced her, from the start. When she’d come to view the apartment, Brooke had been exhausted from days on the road—and the other listings she’d already seen: bland, boxy studios off the highway that had made her want to break down in tears all over again. Then she’d stepped through the peeling, blue-painted gate and found a corner of paradise. A secret garden, just for her. In the middle of her heartbreak, she’d needed a ray of sunlight, and waking up that first morning to a glorious riot of color—the blue ocean glinting in the distance outside her windows—she finally felt like something close to herself again.

  Now, Brooke turned and looked around at the small, empty rooms, and tried to feel determined.

  She could do this. Her heart still ached to think of everything she’d left back in Chicago, all her foolish hopes and wasted dreams, but she could do this. It was a second chance to build a life. Something true this time around.

  She took a deep breath and reached for the first box.

  She had some unpacking to do.

  5

  Brooke Delancey…

  Riley couldn’t get her out of his mind. All weekend, he tried to focus on his usual routine of relaxation and fun, but no matter what he did, his thoughts somehow seemed to drift back to her. Leaning by the bar in those figure-hugging jeans, with a smart retort on her gorgeous lips and that look of sad hesitation in her eyes.

  She shouldn’t have been wearing one of those things, and for once, Riley wasn’t voting for her clothes.

  It was a damn shame, that’s what it was. For a woman like her to swear off men? Talk about the crime of the century. She seemed to think that one bad breakup was game over, not the start of a whole new quarter, and Riley would have loved to prove her wrong. But he’d been raised to listen when a lady said no, so Riley tried to block out the thought of bringing a smile to those sweet lips of hers—and a few moans too, for good measure. After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of other options for some no-strings fun. Every night in the bar brought a fresh crop of possibilities, and judging by the number of digits scribbled on napkins, there were plenty of volunteers for the job.

  Like the girl currently blowing up his phone, one of those sexy coeds from Friday night. Riley felt the buzz in his pocket, and checked to see the text.

  What u up2 l8er?

  He winced. “Since when did people stop using full sentences?” he asked, stepping into his friend Mackenzie’s studio. She had a gallery just off the town square, selling pottery and sculptures, and could usually be found in the studio in back, covered in dust and paint. Sure enough, today she was up to her elbows in wet clay, with her wild red curls caught back in a bright blue bandana.

  “Since 2010,” she said, looking up from the potter’s wheel. “That’s what you get for dating freshmen.”

  “She graduated last year,” Riley protested.

  “And you’re, what, pushing thirty?” Mac laughed
. “What do you even talk about with these girls?”

  “Who says we’re doing any talking?” Riley grinned.

  Mac rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to fall for a real woman. A grown adult with a personality and decent grammar, and I’m going to be here to watch you fall flat on your face.”

  “So supportive,” Riley teased. “You really want the best for me.”

  “It’s what friends are for.” Mac pumped the potter’s wheel again, effortlessly smoothing the lump of clay as a bowl took shape beneath her fingers. Riley watched, fascinated. He was always impressed by her skills.

  “What is it this time, whales and lobsters?” he asked, picking up one of the fired bowls that was waiting for a decorative glaze.

  “Try Old Glory,” Mac said. “I’m going red, white, and blue for the new line.”

  “Smart.”

  “Plus if I have to hand-paint another sea creature, I’m going to kill someone,” Mac said cheerfully. “A girl can only stick an octopus on so many coffee mugs before those tentacles start choking some tiny sailors.”

  Riley laughed. “Now, I’d buy that.”

  Mac paused, getting a gleam in her eye. “You know, that’s not a bad idea, actually. I could do a whole series of nautical disasters. Sinking ships and sirens luring men to their doom and massive flesh-eating squid. Thanks!”

  “Anytime.” Riley idled in the studio, picking up and putting down her unfinished work. “You know everyone on the Cape, right?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Pretty much.” Mac finished off the bowl and set it in line to fire in the kiln. “I’ve spent most of my life here. Why?”

  “Just wondering. I met someone the other night, but I don’t know how to find them again.”

  “Them?” Mac arched an eyebrow. “Or her?”

  “It’s not like that.” Riley shook his head. “She just moved here, and I figured I could be a good neighbor. Make her feel welcome and all.”

  “Mmmhmmm.” Mac smirked. “Naked and welcome.”

  Riley gave her a look. “Her name is Brooke, Brooke Delancey.”

  Mac paused, furrowing her brow. “Blonde, yea high, scarily professional?”