Lovestruck in Fortune's Bay: A Fortune's Bay Novella

by Joslyn Westbrook

  Easy.

  Right?

  Wrong.

  And Dylan realized just how wrong it was the second he was back downstairs. Observing Chloe as she walked about the living room, seemingly in awe over the series of black-and-white photos taking space on the walls, he nearly forgot anything having to do with apple pie muffins.

  “These pictures. They look amazing.”

  So do you, he thought. Even if she was only wearing yoga pants and a tank top. “Thanks. Um, let me get you those muffins.” Dylan began a beeline toward the kitchen.

  “Did you purchase these from a local gallery? If so, where is it? I’d love to own a few of these myself.”

  “Nope. And there is no photo gallery here in Fortune’s Bay.” If he stuck with short, concise responses, he’d avoid drawn-out, unnecessary conversation.

  So he hoped.

  “The photographer,” Chloe continued as she stared up at the photos, “he or she has such a great eye for detail. The way the—”

  “He.” Dylan felt the need to correct. “The photographer is a he.”

  “Oh? Do you know him?” She moved out of the living room and into the kitchen, eyes pinned to Dylan, who once again forgot all about the muffins. By now, Mr. Just Send Her On Her Way was too taken by Chloe’s charm and infectious smile. Something about the way she quirked her lips into a half-smirk had him wanting to see that smile every imaginable day of his life.

  “Yeah, you can say I know him. Anyway,”—he raised his index finger, clearly making a miraculous rebound from that memory lapse—“the muffins.”

  Pivoting, he opened the fridge and reached for the two-pack of muffins resting on the top shelf, when Chloe asked, “Is that Italian food I smell?”

  It was growing more apparent her presence was affecting all things cognitive—Dylan forgot the pan of homemade lasagna he shoved in the oven right before his shower.

  “Shit,” he growled, slamming the refrigerator door shut. As if his life depended on it, he skid over to the oven, grabbed a pot holder, and pulled the door open. “My lasagna. I forgot all about it.”

  “Lasagna?” The high-octave tone in her voice made him snicker.

  After retrieving the dish of cheesy stuff out of the oven, he found a place for it on the counter. “Yes, lasagna.”

  Their eyes mingled for a long beat, a center island with a pan of steaming hot pasta between them, its mouthwatering scent no doubt making them both want to dig in.

  Chloe’s gaze moved to the food. “Is it homemade? I haven’t had Italian food in ages. Well, unless you count the pizza rolls I sometimes snack on while I’m writing.”

  With a quick swipe of her tongue she wet her lips.

  She must be starving, right? All signs pointed to yes…

  Practically breaking his door down for muffins.

  Salivating at the sight of lasagna.

  Dude, don’t you dare invite her to stay for dinner. Dylan thought it was great when he had the backup of an inner voice full of reason, warnings, and sensibility.

  “Of course it’s homemade. Would you like to stay for dinner? I can’t eat this all by myself anyway.”

  But he, like a rebel, often did the exact opposite of what that inner voice suggested.

  “I’d love to stay for dinner. To be honest, I haven’t had time to go the grocery store and, while the pantry is stocked with some essentials, I’ve had no energy to cook up a meal.”

  Dylan strolled around the center island and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll make our plates. Care for a glass of wine?”

  That half-smirk he liked was accompanied by a vigorous nod as she hopped onto the stool and placed the papers she was holding on the counter. “I’d love some. Red?”

  Dylan chuckled at her easygoing style. “Yep. Got a new bottle of Cabernet I was planning to open tonight.”

  He plated both of them a serving of his specialty pasta, then poured two glasses of wine, before sliding onto the stool beside Chloe. “Eat. I hope you enjoy it.”

  They ate in silence for a few bites, Dylan stealing glances of the beauty who grew more intriguing by the second. It had been months since he’d shared a meal with a woman. Six long ones, to be exact. Not that he was counting.

  Chloe took another bite, closed her eyes as she chewed, then finally let out a soothing, “Mmmmm. So, so good. The tomato sauce, the flavor combination of the two meats, the cheese, which I think is a blend of ricotta and mascarpone, the herbs—this lasagna is like an Italian rave in my mouth.”

  Dylan couldn’t help but chuckle. “An Italian rave in your mouth? You sound like you’ve been watching The Food Network.”

  “I do, all of the time. Other than HGTV, it’s the only thing my brain can tolerate as background noise while I write. But really”—she paused, taking a sip of wine—“this meal is just what I needed. Do you always cook this good?”

  Dylan lifted his glass, answering before he took a sip. “For me, sometimes preparing a meal is therapeutic. So I cook when it’s been a stressful day or when there’s a lot on my mind.”

  Dylan had been cooking every single night for the past six months. Lasagna. Enchiladas. Burgers. Pizza. He even dabbled in Thai and Chinese cuisine. Cooking had become a hobby he adopted to keep himself grounded.

  “Oh, I totally get it. The beach is my therapy. Which is why an ocean backdrop is imperative while I write. The sound of the waves crashing in the background, salt water permeating the air, the breeze. Therapy for at least four of my senses.”

  “Then this setting is meant for you. The duplex, I mean.”

  Chloe smiled, reaching for her glass. “Have you lived here long?”

  “I purchased this place when I moved here from Boston.”

  A set of raised eyebrows showcased curiosity. “Like, recently?”

  Dylan wondered if she always asked so many questions. “Six months ago. Then after I bought it, I began renovating and managing it right away.”

  “‘What about the coffee shop? Do you work there part-time? I saw you—”

  “My sister and I are partners. We took it over from our aunt and uncle three years ago. I was more of a silent partner until I moved down here full-time.”

  “Oh. Your sister? Is she the one who was working with you this morning?” Chloe took in her last bite of lasagna.

  “Yep, Samantha, my smart-ass twin.” Dylan poured them both more wine and Chloe immediately lifted her glass for another sip.

  “Twin?”

  “Fraternal. Care for more food?” He dished himself another serving.

  “I’m stuffed. But”—she hesitated for a second—“may I take a little home? I get mad midnight-snack cravings, especially when I’m facing a deadline.”

  “Sure. I’ll pack you some to go along with those apple pie muffins you nearly broke my door down for.”

  They both laughed, and Dylan became more intrigued by Chloe’s full-blown smile. Damn, she was hard not to look at. His brain gave up ordering his eyes to look away, since it was a losing battle. Clearing the dishes off the counter would be a smart distraction, so he began to do just that.

  “It was your music.” Chloe helped clear the dishes.

  “My music?”

  “It was too loud. I didn’t realize it was you who lived here. I thought I’d come over, ask whoever to lower the music. When it was you who answered the door, I lost my train of thought.”

  “What made you lose your train of thought?” He placed the dishes she gathered into the sink.

  “Abs.” Her face turned all shades of pink.

  “Abs?”

  “Your abs were all I could focus on. That’s why I asked for abble pie muffins, like a moron. Believe me, it’ll take me years to recover from that blunder.”

  Dylan laughed, enjoying her candidness by the minute. “So you didn’t really come here seeking abble pie or apple muffins?”

  She giggled, grabbing the rest of the dishes off the counter. “No. But I’ll still take some. You know, since
you really do have them and all.”

  “You got it. Sorry about the music; I’m not used to having a next-door neighbor. You’re the first person I’ve rented the place to.”

  It was another business adventure he dug his hands into. After buying this place and having it renovated by his good friend Reese Harvey, he decided to rent out the empty duplex.

  After all the dishes were cleared, Dylan packed up some lasagna, along with the two-pack of apple pie muffins. “These are for you to take back with you, whenever you’re ready.” He was eager to get to know more about her and hoped to God she wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

  “Oh, well thank you. I guess I’ll be heading—”

  “You’re more than welcome to stay longer. I can open another bottle of wine, brew some coffee or tea?”

  “Destiny’s Brew coffee?” Her eyes were all agleam.

  “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home in the living room. I’ll bring out coffee and all the fixings.”

  Anything…to keep the beautiful Chloe Davenport in his company longer.

  Chapter 5

  It wasn’t every day Chloe found herself feeling at ease inside a mere stranger’s home. Well, in her defense, she never found herself inside the home of anyone she didn’t know. She wasn’t the type to take risks. Playing it safe was her lifelong mantra.

  Yet, Dylan Hawke seemed like he was someone she could talk to, trust, as if she’d known him longer than only a few hours.

  Plus, he had FABs—aka fabulous abs.

  Sitting on the couch in his living room, face in palm, she giggled at the memory of her asking for abble pie. Another true-life moment that would no doubt make for a hilarious scene in her novel. Most of her real-life instances ended up in her books, contributing to eighty-five percent of the laugh-out-loud bits.

  Not that her life was anything to laugh at.

  Okay, perhaps the love part of her life was, considering it was pretty dismal. Sure, her one and only relationship was the epitome of long-term, lasting five years, which also happened to be the average lifespan of a porcupine. And like a porcupine’s quills, Chloe’s relationship with Walter—better known as The Ex—was quite prickly. When the two decided to split over a year ago, she wondered why she’d stayed with him so long. Yes, he was her first real…everything, but the two were so mismatched, other than the few intimate times shared, they had nothing at all in common.

  “I hope you like hazelnut creamer. It’s all I have right now.” Dylan’s voice intercepted Chloe’s thoughts as she sat with her face still buried in her palm.

  “Hazelnut is fine, thank you.” Face unburied, she watched as he placed two white mugs onto the oblong coffee table, pouring scant amounts of creamer into each coffee-filled cup. Accustomed to drinking at least five cups a day, she preferred her coffee color more on the lighter side, offsetting some of the caffeine. “May I have just a smidgen more creamer, please?”

  He smiled, nodded, and poured just a little more into her cup, before he slouched into the oversized recliner positioned beside the couch. His place seemed larger than the one she was renting. But both were graced with a hip-like ambiance, as if they were personally designed by one of those HGTV renovators.

  Sipping in silence, Chloe stole a glance of her FAB neighbor whose handsome face wore an expression making him appear approachable, yet cautious. She did her best at keeping her approach on the cautious side when she asked, “What made you move to Fortune’s Bay full-time? You mentioned moving here about six months ago.”

  That was more like a deep dive than a cautious approach, Chloe.

  Dylan swallowed a sip of coffee as he passed her a hardened glare. “Is this how you come up with a storyline for your novels? Interview people about their lives, then pick and choose the best pathetically romantic conflict to write about?”

  Ouch, that was harsh. However, she could understand his point.

  “I apologize. I tend to ask a lot of questions. It’s just something I do at times.” She always felt the need to defend her inquisitive nature, even though those inquiries were indeed what got her creative juices flowing. It was her method, after all. Slip into a town, get to know the residents. Ask questions about their lives. Craft an unforgettable love story.

  Producing a wry grin, the man seated feet away from her said, “Relax. I’m only kidding…something I do at times.”

  She appreciated his sarcastic nature—a breath of fresh air from the stuffy male she spent far too many seconds, minutes, days…years with. Life with Walter, she figured, was almost like serving a prison sentence for a crime she didn’t commit.

  Nursing her cup of coffee, Chloe found it difficult to hold back the smile dancing on her lips. “Well then, are you going to answer my question or not?”

  A single raised eyebrow seemed to adequately define his playful side. “Only if you promise to keep what I share inside these four walls. I don’t want anything I tell you to end up in…you know…a romance novel.”

  It was hard to tell if he was being coy, but Chloe thought it was safe to assume so. “Now you specifically told me this morning—and I quote—‘the beautiful thing about promises—some are meant to be broken.’”

  He cackled, nodded, and tapped the tips of his fingers on his cup. “You’re sassy. I kinda like that.” Shifting forward in his seat, Dylan laid the cup on the coffee table, settled back in the recliner, and raked his fingers through his beach-colored hair. “Back in my hometown of Boston, I caught my fiancée and my business partner together. Her blouse unbuttoned. His hands cupping her butt. The two, very much in the throes of a passionate lip-locking session. I stood there, my whole body feeling like a cement block, as I watched them for a minute too long. I’ll never forget hearing her mumble the words you drive me crazy, baby—the same words she would say to me. Once the two broke free, realizing I’d caught them, I walked up to my slack-mouthed business partner, punched him in the jaw, then looked my cheating ex up and down, while she fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, a pitiful look of guilt written all over her lipstick smudged face. Thoughts of how the hell could she do this to me, swarmed my brain. I tried hard to hold back the anger as I stood, balled-up fists at my sides. There were no words for her. None. Only a glare locked on her like a laser aimed at a good shot. I stared at her, in that way, for ten seconds before I decided to walk out.”

  Chloe slowly swallowed the built-up shock in her throat as she listened to Dylan, watched him live the heinous moment in his head all over again. Poor guy.

  Eyes squeezed shut, Dylan continued, “I called my lawyer, had that prick of a business partner buy me out, sold my condo, then moved here.”

  Unsure of what to say, Chloe simplified it with a low, “I’m so sorry, Dylan.”

  He shrugged, reached for his coffee, sipped, swallowed. “It is what it is. But the whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth for any and all so-called relationships. We, Cynthia and I, were together for three years. Newly engaged—months away from our big destination wedding in Hawaii. And Dick—ironic how that’s really his name, considering he turned out to be one—well, we’d been business partners at the studio for nearly ten years.”

  The comment about Dick, his business partner, mustered up an internal snicker in Chloe. “The studio? Like, a music studio?”

  There it was creeping up again. That inquisitive nature in her stirring up a need to know more.

  Some viewed it as pure nosiness.

  “Uh, no.” He rounded his shoulders. “Not music. Photos. Posed Photography Studio.”

  Photos.

  Of course.

  Like an epiphany-inducing thump to the head, it all made sense to Chloe: the black-and-white ten-by-thirteen prints adorning the walls; him alluding to knowing the photographer.

  “These photos.” Her gaze, now heady, drifted to the prints on the wall behind the couch. Couples in love. Families playing on the beach. A woman with a pensive stare out a window. “You’re the talented photographer who captured the exqui
site images?”

  Dylan shot up from the chair, walked over to the window, closed the blinds. It was dark outside now, time flying much faster than Chloe expected. “Was. I was the photographer. That’s not my thing anymore.” He gathered their empty cups and the creamer, headed for the kitchen. “I’m now a coffee-shop owner. And a proud owner of this renovated duplex.”

  Chloe followed, stealing a final peek at the photos that seemed to strike a chord; though she couldn’t understand why. However, by the looks of those pictures, he was a gifted photographer.

  “I should probably get going now. Thank you for dinner, wine, the coffee, and the conversation.”

  He stood behind the kitchen counter, slid her a somewhat guarded side-eye before speaking. “I enjoyed your company. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any.”

  It had been a long time for Chloe, as well, and even though she wanted to hang around longer, she knew better than to overstay a welcome. “Right. Well, I’ll be off now.” She pivoted, took ten steps to the door, and opened it, prepared to go on her way.

  “Wait. Your apple pie muffins and leftover lasagna.”

  Spinning around, Chloe faced Dylan, who was holding up two containers full of food, a half-smile adding a delicate touch to his charming features. Him standing so close, almost made her forget to exhale. Mahogany-colored eyes, framed by thick lashes, stared down at her. Alluring and gentle. “Yes, how could I forget these?” She didn’t blink, only stared back as he passed over the food, her fingers grazing his hands during the exchange.

  Was that a chill she felt?

  “You’d better head inside your place. It’s getting cool out there.”

  The chill she felt was the breeze coming through the open door. Silly Chloe.

  “Oh, right. The ocean breeze is much colder at night.” Breaking free from his gaze, she muttered, “Thanks again for these,” then held the containers close to her chest as she backed out of his place, all the way to her door.

  Dylan stood at his doorway, one hand nestled in his pocket, the other propped on the doorframe. “Have a great night, Chloe Davenport.”