Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  “Oh, yes! That sounds awesome,” Brie enthusiastically agrees.

  “Johnny Mac’s? I love that place, but they’re so crowded on the weekends. Rain check?” I’m just not ready for large crowds in cramped places.

  Brie’s best barista, Staci, comes outside to our table and interrupts our conversation. “Um, excuse me Kensington, but Amanda just called to let us know she won’t be coming in today. She was scheduled to open the bookstore in an hour. Do you want me to call someone in for you?”

  “No, that’s okay, Staci. I’ll take care of it.” I excuse myself and head back to the office to check the schedule. We have a small staff of high school kids and college students that work short shifts throughout the week. Not many want to open, preferring to sleep in late. After only three or four phone calls, I find someone who’s available to come in and cover Amanda’s shift.

  Brie and Cait are deep in conversation when I return. “Is he here?” I ask, looking around. The tables are almost all occupied and I strain to find him among the crowd.

  “Oh, yeah,” Brie squeals in a whisper.

  “Where, where?” I whisper back, daring to look over my shoulder.

  “Right over there, sitting in the corner, reading the New York Times,” Cait gestures, straining her neck for a better view. “If those friggin’ kids would just get out of the way,” she murmurs, raising her brows until the horde of teenagers move on, giving our group a clearer shot of the man in question.

  I turn in my seat as the path opens up, but all I can see is the back of him. The big guy is, well, big. Tall and broad—linebacker or lumberjack shoulders for sure. He fills out his T-shirt quite nicely. He is exactly Cait’s type and she draws in a quick breath at the sight of him.

  We watch, completely mesmerized, as he finishes reading today’s news. He puts the paper down, folding it into a tidy square, and gathers his trash, which he stuffs into his empty coffee cup.

  He turns and walks towards the trashcan, which just happens to be near our table, and I can finally see his face. The first thing I see is blue. Blue T-shirt, blue eyes. Blue. Beautifully blue. Then I see red as I recognized who belongs to the blue.

  The broad shoulders, the flawless smile, and the perfectly chiseled male features. His thick blonde hair is short on the sides and just unkempt enough on the top to look sexy without any effort. And I don’t know how I missed it the first time we met, but I can plainly see he’s been blessed with a single dimple that appears on his left cheek.

  Our eyes meet.

  His smile dissolves as he tilts his head to the side, playing place-the-face for a moment. Unbelievably, recognition lights up his beautiful eyes.

  “Kenny?” Cole says my name like a question and I have to remind myself to breathe.

  He quickens his pace and walks right over to our table.

  I reluctantly stand up. He takes my hands into his. His strong, slightly callused hand feels really nice. He engulfs my hands with his paws – his hands are every bit as big as a bear’s. His eyes are full of amusement as he smiles down at me.

  Dammit!

  The two beside me have fallen silent, watching our little exchange. Then they catch up and make the connection. “That’s your hump-and-dump?” Cait screeches.

  Upon hearing that, Cole releases me, turns, holds out his hand, and locks eyes with Cait. “That would be me. But if it’s all the same to you, I prefer Cole. It’s nice to meet you.”

  CHAPTER 4

  CAIT TURNS AND SMACKS ME ON MY SHOULDER much harder than I would like. “Kenny, you bitch, why didn’t you tell us that you hooked up with Cole Freaking McGuire?”

  “I thought I did,” I mumble, completely embarrassed.

  “No,” Cait interrupts. “You told us about a hot football player who gives amazing orgasms. This is Cole McGuire.”

  Cole stands there with a smug look on his incredibly handsome face. “Hot football player, huh?”

  “I just assumed you were one of the Sentinels players there for Evan McGuire’s wedding.” I want to melt into my chair and disappear.

  Brie is confused. Turning to Cait she asks, “How do you know him?”

  “Everybody knows Cole McGuire. He plays shortstop for the New Jersey Red Hawks,” she impatiently explains.

  “In the flesh,” Cole smiles.

  Fuck a duck! This is not supposed to be happening. Cole was my one and only one-night stand. Ever. I was certain I would never see him again. Hell, we met on the other side of the world in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

  He was the only bright light in the vacation from hell. The week that changed my life – and not for the better.

  Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor.

  “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us, your friend and I have a little catching up to do,” he politely tells them.

  Without waiting for my consent, he grabs my hand and leads me to a corner as far away from Cait and Brie as possible. Images of him dragging me towards the dance floor come flashing back into my mind, as clearly as if it happened only yesterday. I don’t know much about Cole, but I can see that he is a man who is used to getting what he wants.

  Before sitting down, he glares down at me with his piercing blue eyes. “I’d prefer we have this discussion in private, but I guess this will have to do.”

  I look around at the tables full of teenagers and regular coffee shop patrons and I decide that perhaps he’s right. This might not be a conversation I want the whole world (or at least my little part of it) to hear. “We could go back to the office.”

  “Lead the way.” Still holding tightly to my hand, he waits for me to take the lead.

  As we zigzag our way through the crowded tables, I peek a sideways glance at Brie and Caitlin as I lead Cole through the bookstore. Their jaws drop as they watch my little back and forth parade. All I know is I need to get my brain on something other than the mass of testosterone walking next to me. His ludicrously delicious aftershave is driving me nuts.

  Our small office is tucked away in the back corner. It’s about the size of an extra large walk-in closet or pantry, but it suits our needs perfectly. Against one wall is a computer desk with catalogs and paperwork strewn across the desk. On the opposite wall is one of the coffee shop tables and three chairs. Just enough room for us to sit around and gab or to make a quick, private phone call.

  It’s never felt too small or caused me to feel claustrophobic. At least not until now. As Cole and I each take a seat at the table, it feels as if the walls are closing in on us.

  His eyes travel up and down me, assessing and inspecting. I feel strangely vulnerable. His gaze is hot, burning into me, and we’re lost for a moment staring at each other.

  Some men are boob guys or ass guys. It works the same for women. I’m a bicep girl, myself. There’s something about a man’s biceps that’s just . . . hot.

  Cole’s arms are strong and powerful and I imagine he can do absolutely anything; from fending off an attacker, to building a house, or effortlessly lifting a woman up off her feet.

  My body recognizes his. It wants me to touch him. I feel the tingling rush of electricity go through my body. My mind quickly tries to reason with my body that we don’t really know him, and it’s best if we keep it that way.

  Finally, Cole breaks the almost unbearable silence. “It’s great to see you. To be honest, I thought I was never going to see you again. This really is a great surprise.”

  “Small world.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve lost a lot of weight. Have you been sick?”

  “No, not really.” Why do I feel like I’m about to get the third degree?

  He looks around the office and asks, “So whose office is this? Is someone going to burst in here and kick us out?”

  “Oh, no. It’s my office. My friends and I own this little shop,” I explain. “We bought this place together. It used to be a run down putt-putt golf course.”

  “Seriously? You own it? Wow!
That’s impressive. How did you manage it? You can’t be more than ... I don’t know ... twenty ... four years old?”

  “Twenty-five,” I correct him. “Did you drag me all the way back here so we can discuss my business acumen?” I challenge him.

  “You want me to get right to it, then?”

  “I do. You’re the one who pulled me back here,” I remind him.

  “True. But you’re the one who ran out on me. I have to be honest with you – no one has ever done that to me before. I didn’t like it.”

  “No one?” I repeat. “Never?”

  I start putting together the pieces of who this man is. Women don’t run out on him. He is probably used to being the one to slip out in the middle of the night or early in the morning. I bet he even has a well-rehearsed speech he gives his pick-ups. His own version of . . . don’t call me – I’ll call you . . . or maybe . . . leave me your number – I’ll be in touch.

  “Not even once,” he claims. “Do you mind if I ask why you couldn’t even wait until I got out of the shower? I would have walked you back to your hotel room and saved you the embarrassing Walk of Shame.”

  “You don’t know where my room was. Maybe I stayed in the same hotel,” I reason.

  “Sorry, but I heard all about it when you practically raced past my friends and family, scrambling across the property and heading straight for the hotel next door.”

  I look at him incredulously. How could they possible know for sure that was me? “I’m sure there were lots of...”

  He interrupts me before I can finish. “They recognized you from the night before. They all saw us on the dance floor. I couldn’t deny it was you sneaking out of my room. I have to tell you, Evan sure did get a lot of enjoyment reminding me of it every chance he got. He never saw somebody moving so quickly to get away from a man before in his life. They even gave you a nickname.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “They call you Houdini, you know – the master of disappearing.” He pauses, and then asks the question that’s been bothering him all this time. “Do you mind if I ask you why?” he questions.

  Looking down at the table, unable to face him, I mumble, “It was a mistake”.

  “Sneaking out on me like that? You agree that was a mistake?”

  “No,” I admit. “Talking to you. Dancing with you. And going to your room – the room of a complete stranger. It was all a mistake. One I have no intention of repeating.”

  Truth be told, I wish I had never gone to Hawaii in the first place. This man is nothing more than a reminder of a series of bad choices. But those thoughts are none of his business.

  He sits back in his chair, seemingly unfazed by my remarks. “I don’t believe in mistakes.”

  “Really? What do you believe in?” I ask.

  He hesitates to answer, making me wait. Finally, leaning in closely, in almost a whisper, he answers, “Missed opportunities.”

  “Listen, Cole. I don’t know what you think is going to happen here, but I’m not looking to start anything right now.” I think it’s probably best if I lay my cards right out on the table so he knows exactly where I stand.

  Undeterred, he turns up the charm. “It’s too late. Whatever this is between us started six months ago. You can’t deny there’s something there. What are you so afraid of?”

  “Afraid?” I ask him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Either you’re lying to me or you’re lying to yourself. I’ve never seen anyone so afraid in my life.”

  “How can you say that?” I challenge him incredulously. “You don’t even know me.”

  Before Cole can answer, the door swings open in Cait unabashedly enters. “Okay, you two have been in here long enough. Kenny, are you okay?” She walks in with Brie close on her heels.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. We really didn’t get a chance for proper introductions.” He gets up and approaches Cait first. “Cole McGuire, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Caitlin James. And this is Brie Hayes. You already know Kensington Harper. We’re the owners of this happy little establishment.”

  “Kensington.” Cole repeats my name and I like the way it sounds leaving his lips. “That makes sense.”

  “I’m sorry to break up this little party, but I have to get back home, shower, and head out. I have a game tonight.” He turns and walks towards me. He puts his hands on the wall just above my head, his eyes searing down into me and whispers in my ear, “How can I touch you? I mean . . . get in touch with you?”

  I close my eyes and appreciate the brief closeness. My heartbeat quickens and for one moment, I consider throwing my arms around his neck and kissing the shit out of him. But my good sense gets the better of me. I clear my throat and answer, “You know where I work. Stop by any time.”

  “I just may do that.” He walks out without a second glance.

  Cait and Brie immediately shut the door and join me at the small table, their curiosity and delight bubbling over. “Holy fucking shit,” Cait cackles. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure,” I admit.

  “What do you think he wanted?” Brie asks.

  Running my hand through my hair, I ponder her simple question before answering. What did he want? “I think he wanted an explanation,” I tell her.

  “For what?” she asks.

  “For sneaking out on him.”

  Cait snaps at me. “I’ve been wanting an explanation on that one for a long time, too. And now that I’ve seen him close up, I don’t know what the bloody hell you were thinking. How could you walk out on that man without even getting his phone number? Are you out of your mind?”

  “He obviously wants to see you again. What are you going to do?” Brie asks.

  “Just because we had one hot night together doesn’t mean I should start dating him. I don’t even know if he’s single.” And if he’s taken, he should be ashamed of himself for the way he looked at me.

  “We don’t know that he’s not,” Cait reminds me. “God, you’re cynical when it comes to men.”

  I correct her. “I’m cynical when it comes to people in general, not just men.”

  Cait feigns insult.

  “Present company excluded,” I correct myself.

  Cait and Brie don’t push the matter any further. Frankly, Cait’s lack of assertiveness has me worried. I hope she’s not hatching a plan.

  I leave work early, which is very out of character for me. I just need to breathe and be alone before heading over to Philip’s house again tonight. It’s his weekly date night with Megan, and I get to babysit the munchkin.

  I pull up to my seashore colonial and a sense of peace washes over me. Just looking at it brings me joy. Some like to feel the sand between their toes. But not me. I prefer to feel the soft cushion of grass beneath my feet. And this house, this home, has lush green grass and plenty of shady trees, despite being a stone’s throw from the ocean.

  The green and white awnings were installed a few weeks ago, and a few pieces of outdoor furniture have finally arrived, including a front porch swing and pairs of wooden rocking chairs. It’s the perfect seaside home – from the outside at least.

  Inside, the house is nearly empty. I left practically everything behind when I fled Manhattan, grabbing only a few essentials and enough personal belongings to fill four or five boxes.

  I had a beautiful apartment in the Lower East side, which I sold to the first interested buyers without negotiating. They got a fully furnished and decorated apartment for a steal. And I got to walk away and start over.

  The crew has finally finished scraping the last vestiges of the previous homeowners from the walls of my new home – every room was wallpapered to death. Layers and layers of it. Some rooms, like the upstairs bedrooms, had vintage floral wallpaper – a tapestry of flowers, bows, and ribbons.

  The bathroom looked like someone threw up flowers all over the wall with a pure country calico floral print in hue
s of ivory, rose, and Wedgewood blue.

  But nothing compares to the Kelly green repeating pattern of trees and branches that covered every wall in the dining room. It was claustrophobic and it made me nauseous every time I entered the room.

  Now the walls are perfectly clean, painted in various shades of linen, and the floors are all stained and varnished, showing off the beautiful hard wood floors throughout the house.

  I check the mail slot to see if anything arrived for me, and for a fleeting moment, I am disappointed that I didn’t receive any fan mail today. But then I have to remind myself, I’m not that person anymore. Breakaway Publishing has an entire marketing team and I’m certain they have some young, fresh-face ingénue assigned to answering my fan mail and updating my blog. Gail is still taking care of me in the only way Philip and I will allow.

  It’s a difficult thing to reconcile. One day, I’m at the height of my popularity, receiving dozens or even hundreds of letters a day. And then the next, nothing. Not a single note, letter, or e-mail. Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by walking away.

  I climb the stairs and head straight for my bedroom where I find the five boxes I’ve packed with my personal belongings. I left most of my things in the apartment, including all my furniture and decorations. I thought it might help to purge myself of those memories in order to start over.

  Searching through the boxes, I find the one I am looking for. The one box I’d kept since middle school with all my notes and book ideas. Writing always relaxed me— it took me out of myself for a little while and allowed me to live in a different reality.

  I haul the box over to my bed and curl up to look through the contents. Some of the older ideas make me smile. Stories of princesses, castles, and far away places. That was the Meg Cabot phase of my life. And it lasted for quite a long while, I’m embarrassed to admit.

  I return the book to its box and choose another. When I lift it up, a photograph falls from between the pages and suddenly I’m reminded of another painful phase of my life. It’s a picture of Trent at our college graduation dressed in his cap and robe. Both of us were so full of promise; our whole lives ahead of us. A slight prickle of pain emerges, but it quickly dissolves into bitterness. It’s a familiar feeling that I’ve grown accustomed to, and I hate it. I just don’t know how to get past it.