by Jill Jaynes
Noah texted her. He said he’d be there with the last of the copies in a sec. She glanced at the clock for the tenth time. Culhane would be at the airport by now, anxious to get home, get away from this latest—what would his Jake Trumbull character call it? Treachery.
Maggie heard the door open behind her. “Noah, sit down. I need to talk to you.” Her voice broke, ending on a high note. She snuffled.
The chair by the other desk scraped. She swiveled. “I want—Culhane.” Her breath caught. A hundred warring thoughts fought a battle to the death.
He sat in the chair, expressionless, fidgeting with the dog-eared Gazette in his hands. “What do you want, Maggie?”
“I—uh, I want...” The battle for comprehension still raged.
“Let me tell you what I want. You.”
“You—what?”
“I want you, Maggie Henderson.” He smiled.
The ache and break began to mend. He stood and came to her, holding out his hands. Maggie took them and stood on wobbly legs. “But what about the article? My, um, treachery?”
“I had time to read the whole story on the way to the airport. You’re such a great writer, Maggie, I could see you wouldn’t put that crap in the paper as it was.”
Crap? Yes, first draft crap.
“I told the taxi to turn around. Then I met Noah outside the door and he explained—”
“I tried to tell you.”
“I know, but I was so angry. Hurt.” He touched his lips to hers. “I’ve been burned by reporters, the paparazzi so many times.”
“I would never do anything to hurt you.” Maggie wanted another kiss. A real kiss. A toe-curling, brain-frying kiss.
“I know that now. I—”
She couldn’t wait for him. Maggie cut him off with a kiss that deepened, went from sizzling to searing. He wrapped his arms around her and molded her body to his. He smelled of coffee and spice and delicious man-scents. Culhane was solid, warm, and apparently, needy. When they broke apart, both were breathless.
“So—” Maggie took in air. “—it’s not just my muse you lust after?”
He laughed. “Well, I have to admit, my writing’s never been better, Maggie Muse. But it won’t keep me warm at night.” He kissed her again. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”
“My kiss wasn’t answer enough?” Maggie smiled into his razzle-dazzle eyes. “I fell for you and your alter-ego, Nick Carraday. I madly want to see where things might lead. But I’m warning you, Culhane, I’m not looking for some casual summertime romance. Are you staying?”
“Well, I bought some real estate a couple of days ago.” He held her loosely, his fingers playing with the back hem of her t-shirt.
She held her breath. “What was it?”
“I bought the Moonlight B&B and insisted it come with Karma. I’m going to make the whole lighthouse my home.”
“Culhane! That’s great!”
“I decided to take your advice. I’m dialing back the hard-partying, author-on-fire. Not doing it for me anymore. Not—authentic.”
Maggie tried to keep up with what he was saying. Had she really suggested he make all these life-altering decisions?
“I’m going to finish this book, then renegotiate the deadlines on my six-book contract.”
“My gosh. Are you sure?”
“Yep. One other thing, I’ve become a landlord.”
“The B&B?”
“No. Your landlord. I also bought this property. Your rent is now a dollar a month.”
Maggie squealed. “You have got to be kidding.”
“I know you’re going to do great things with the Gazette. Take the paper to the next level.”
The blazing kiss that followed showed him the depth of her gratitude. And it held the sweet promise of much more than a glorious summer fling. Fall and winter and forever beckoned.
--- # # # ---
Barb DeLong, a long-time member of the Orange County Chapter/Romance Writers of America, is a member of RWA’s PRO community. She has been writing one thing or another for as long as she can remember. Her stories have won and finaled in several contests, and she published a contemporary short story in the Romancing the Pages anthology (Orange County Romance Authors / 2012).
Barb is currently working on a humorous paranormal romance series called Charmed by a Witch as well as a short story for an upcoming anthology. She’s excited to share with you the magic of love, laughter, and happily ever after!
You can find her at www.NicobarPress.com.
Once Upon a Love Letter
By Jill Jaynes
The taunting cry of seagulls reached Chloe on the breeze that ruffled her hair. She lifted her face to the warmth of the morning sun, and tasted the salt on that breeze. It was a taste from childhood, from days spent running carefree on the beach like the little boy she watched now on the sand below.
Perched at the top of the cliff known as Rainbow’s End, she gazed down at the beach: the meeting of golden sand and silver-blue water. It was a perfect day, if a little fuzzy around the edges—it was a dream, after all.
At the far end of the beach, a man and a woman walked slowly together, hands linked, toward the boy. The two of them wore loose white shirts, and the woman wore a peasant skirt that fluttered around her calves in the breeze. The sun glinted off her red curls. The boy ran to them and they reached out to catch him, swinging him between them. She could hear their faint laughter, carried on the breeze as the three of them continued now, winding their tiny, far-away steps towards her. She had the sense, watching them, that they had all they needed in the world in each other. They were complete and happy with nothing more than the sand beneath their feet and each other’s hands in their own. It was such a perfect feeling, she ached with jealousy.
Then the woman looked up at her, and as far away as they were from each other, Chloe felt that look to the soles of her feet. She’d never been more seen in her life.
The alarm buzzed her awake. She sat up in the narrow bed and rubbed her hands up and down her arms for a minute, reminding herself of where she was.
Twin bed. Small room. Suitcase in the closet.
Dad’s house.
Home again in Moonlight Cove.
Images of the dream wavered and dissipated in the morning sun filtering through the curtains of her childhood bedroom window. The alarm had been a welcome interruption from the dream that had haunted her every night for two weeks since she’d come back here. Every night, the family on the beach was closer to her at the end of the dream than the night before, the woman’s features more clear. It was starting to creep her out a little.
She didn’t have a lot of these kinds of “visitation” dreams. Most of the dead people she saw came to her in broad daylight when she was fully awake and could deal with it.
And actually, none of that bothered her all that much. She’d never asked for a front row seat to the trials and tribulations of the dead—it was simply something she’d been born with. Like perfect pitch, or a photographic memory. No, she had long ago come to terms with her ability.
Her problem was dealing with everyone else’s inability to do the same.
She’d promised herself, with this new beginning, that she’d stop worrying about what everyone else thought. People would either accept her—all of her—or not. But she was done hiding who she really was.
She threw back the covers.
Time to get up and go to work.
* * *
Chloe pulled her shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail, then ducked through the back entrance of the Honey Bee. She hurriedly tied the strings of her hunter green apron behind her as she joined her boss behind the counter.
“Sorry I’m late, Row.” She was only three minutes late, but seven o’clock in the morning was prime “grab coffee on the way to work” time and the line was almost out the door. “Had some trouble with my dad’s oven this morning.”
“As long as it’s just the oven and not your dad,”
said Row. The owner of the Honey Bee pinned her with a searching look. “How’s he doing today? I know these old guys can be a challenge to keep in line. He’d better be following doctor’s orders.”
Chloe smiled at the tall, willowy woman who looked like she’d be more at home on the art gallery scene with her spiked dark hair and fashionably distressed jeans than in a coffee house in a small town on California’s Central Coast.
“He’s just fine,” she said. “He says ‘hi’, by the way.”
Row smiled, causing the tiny diamond in her nose stud to wink. “Tell him ‘hi’ back. I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you here helping him. Open-heart surgery’s no joke, that’s for sure.” She leaned closer to Chloe and continued in an undertone. “Don’t worry about your schedule—you do what you need to do and we’ll work around it. Keep showing up with those amazing scones of yours whenever you come, and I’m good.”
Chloe blinked back the mist of tears that clouded her eyes. “Thanks,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, mindful of the curious glances from the customers closest to the front of the line. “Got your scones right here,” she said, nodding at the container she’d set on the end of the counter.
“Excellent. Go ahead and set those out in the case.” Row turned to the gray-haired woman who waited on the other side of the counter. “Here’s your change, Joanne. You have a great day.”
Joanne looked pointedly at Chloe’s container. “Did you say those are scones?” At Row’s nod, she dug into her wallet. “I’ll take two, please.”
“You got it.” Row turned to Chloe, who bagged two scones. “See? I told you. I can’t keep enough of these on the shelf. You need to double what you’re bringing me.”
“She needs to do more than that,” Joanne said. She turned a sharp gaze on Chloe. “You should think about opening a bakery. We could use one around here.” She glanced at Row. “No offense.”
“None taken,” said Row. She arched an eyebrow at Chloe in pointed emphasis. “Sounds like an excellent idea to me.”
“Thanks,” Chloe said. The words warmed her heart. “Never know, maybe I will.” She hadn’t even spoken the dream aloud, but that was exactly what she hoped to do.
She quickly arranged the remaining scones she’d brought onto a tray and set it in the display case. Someday she’d be filling her own display case right here in Moonlight Cove. Maybe in that vacant store for lease just two doors down from the Honey Bee, offered the inner voice she was learning to listen to a lot more these days. Dream big or go home.
Row stepped away from the counter. “I’ll let you take over the line now. I’ve got some stuff back in the kitchen to see to.”
“Sure thing.” Chloe turned to the next person in line, her customer service smile in place. “Hi there. What can I get you?”
“Chloe Reiser? I don’t believe it. Talk about ghosts of the past.”
Chloe blinked up at the guy standing before her. Her glance slid up over the black leather jacket that accentuated his slim waist and broad shoulders, then settled on his face: green eyes, ruffled auburn hair, killer smile complete with dimple. He’d been a heart-throb basketball star in high school, and her secret (okay, maybe not so secret) crush for her whole junior year. He’d apparently grown into the full powers of his charm. “Thomas Stone?”
The smile got bigger, the dimple deeper. “In person. How long have you been back in town? Boy, shows how much can change when you take a two week vacation. Have you moved back or are you just visiting?”
“Definitely here to stay,” she answered. She couldn’t wipe off the goofy smile plastered across her face if she’d wanted to. “I can’t believe you remember me.”
“The girl who helped me pass physics class senior year of high school? How could I forget? I owe my basketball scholarship to you.”
A man behind Thomas stepped to the side, flagging her. “Hey guys, nothing personal, but can you catch up later? I’m running late here.”
Thomas was instantly apologetic. “Oh, hey, sorry about that.” He stepped aside. “Here, Barry, go ahead of me. I can wait.”
And he did. He waited for ten minutes while Chloe helped the rest of the customers in line. She learned a lot in those ten minutes. Moonlight Cove was a small town and most of the patrons knew each other. All of them seemed to know and like Thomas Stone, apparent high school history teacher extraordinaire and Varsity Girls basketball coach.
She looked over at him every now and then, catching him watching her as he kept up an easy banter with everyone who greeted him.
He knew everyone’s name, and all of their kids. Typical of Moonlight Cove residents—it was one of the things she’d missed most about living here. Yup, he seemed to have grown up well. The girls he coached must all have mad crushes on him.
Every time she caught his eye, her heart did a silly little happy dance in her chest. The teenage crush she’d once had didn’t seem to know that it should have died a long time ago. She’d better get a grip on her feelings. He seemed like the kind of person who was friendly to everyone. She shouldn’t misinterpret his actions as too personal. Surely he had a wife or girlfriend.
Finally, there was no one else in line. Thomas stepped up and leaned an elbow on the counter. “So, Chloe Reiser. I never expected to see you back here in Moonlight Cove.” He smiled, gazing into her eyes. “Actually, I’m supposed to meet someone in about ten minutes, so I’ll keep it short and to the point while you get me a large coffee and one of your magical scones. If there’s any left.”
“Oh, of course.” Chloe smiled and reached under the counter for the small white bag containing the scone she’d saved for him before they’d all sold out. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself, Thomas. I guess I should make that ‘Mr. Stone.’ Teaching high school and coaching basketball.” She grabbed a paper cup and turned to the coffee urn. “Who would’ve thought?”
He laughed, a deep warm sound. “Yeah. I went over to the dark side. Remember how all the teachers seemed so old to us when we were in high school? And now, here I am.” He shook his head. “I’ve traded in my letterman’s jacket for a numbered spot in the staff parking lot. Best decision I ever made.”
He pulled out his wallet and slid a credit card onto the counter. “I look at my students now, how they’re so sure they know everything and realize I was exactly the same way at that age. But hey, we all outgrow stuff we thought when we were kids—like asking a Ouija board for answers—right?” He grinned.
“Wow, the Ouija board thing. Haven’t thought about that in years.” She shook her head. Damn, small towns had long memories. One stupid incident in high school at a slumber party and she was branded for life. So much for a clean start.
She set the coffee on the counter and took the proffered card with a silent sigh. “Here you are.”
She guessed the seeing-dead-people thing would likely be a problem with Thomas. For him, she reminded herself. Not me. It was a shift in attitude she was working to cultivate.
She punched Thomas’s transaction into the register. “That’ll be four-fifty.”
He didn’t move. Just watched her as a smile played about his lips.
Her cheeks warmed as seconds ticked by. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a whole lot of speculation in that gaze. Very personal speculation. Her heart skipped a beat, ignoring her reservations. “Anything else I can get you?”
“It’s really good to see you, Chloe. I always wondered how you’d turn out. Where have you been all this time?”
“Phoenix with my mom,” she said, a little breathless at being the focus of all that charm. “After her and my dad got divorced. He stayed here, but I left with her. But I’ve always wanted to come back to Moonlight Cove, so here I am. I’m staying with my dad for now, helping him recover from bypass surgery, but hopefully I’ll get my own place soon.” She knew she was sort of babbling, but couldn’t seem to help herself. “How’s your dad, by the way?”
The sparkle in Thomas’s eyes dimmed briefly.
“He passed away about six months ago, actually. It was kind of sudden.”
Chloe blinked. Really? She could have sworn that the figure she’d noticed standing near the window at the front door of the shop was Thomas’s father. She rubbed her arms against the sudden chill in the room, and realized that the figure wasn’t as solid as it had seemed at first glance.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” She was really sorry to hear it. Especially when Harry Stone turned around and looked her right in the eye before she could avert her gaze. If the dead didn’t realize she could see them, they usually left her alone. His eyes widened.
You can see me, he mouthed.
Damn. She was outed.
Thomas put a hand over hers, pulling her gaze back to his. “Yeah, well, that’s water under the bridge now. I’m much more concerned about the here and now.” He leaned closer, crooking a finger at her to lean in as well.
She met him halfway across the counter. God, he smelled good.
“Actually, I was wondering about your here and now. Like what you’re doing tomorrow for lunch. Do you work Saturdays?”
Well, that seemed to answer the girlfriend/wife question. Unless he was a big cheater, which didn’t seem likely.
“I’m working in the morning, but I should be free after eleven if my dad doesn’t need anything.”
“Good,” he said. “Me too. What do you say to a picnic up on Rainbow’s End? Give us a chance to catch up.”
“Sounds like fun,” Chloe said in what she hoped was a calm, adult voice while her internal teenage girl squealed. Thomas Stone just asked me out!
“Great.” He looked a little relieved, like he’d been worried she might say no. “Why don’t you give me your number?” He handed his phone to Chloe. “I’ll call you later to set up the details.”
“Sure,” said Chloe, her inner teenage girl doing cheerleader somersaults while she punched her number into Thomas’s phone.