by Jamie Beck
“Unless you have X-ray vision, you might want to open it,” he suggested.
She tore into it to retrieve two tickets to a Maroon 5 concert in LA in six weeks.
“It’s not exactly meeting Adam Levine,” he began, “but it’s as close as I could get to that particular bucket-list item. I still have six weeks, and I’m leaning on a pal who might be able to get backstage passes.”
“Really?” She grinned.
“I can’t promise that part.” Then he turned serious, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “I can promise that I’ll never quit on us again. Of all the bad ideas I’ve had and lies I’ve told, telling you I could walk away was the biggest of them all. Now we have no secrets or half-truths between us. Every day from now on, I promise to share everything with you.”
She dropped the envelope on the desk and kissed him again, letting the rush of heat race back into her heart after a week of being in a deep freeze.
“I’m sorry,” he said between kisses. “I’m sorry I let you down.”
“No more apologies.” She kissed him again while straining to unbutton his shirt. An ill-timed knock at the door interrupted their reunion.
“Go away!” Alec barked at the closed door at the same time she called out, “Come in.”
Chris peeked into the office, eyes widening with surprise at finding Alec. “We’ve got a problem with the halibut.”
Colby looked at him and smiled with a shrug.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Alec replied.
“You’re back, then?” Chris asked.
“I am,” Alec said. “But thank you for keeping things going in my absence. It won’t go unappreciated.”
“Sure thing.” Chris nodded and left them alone.
Alec squeezed her to his chest. “Thank you for not giving up on me. I was worried I’d taken too long to wise up.”
“I love you, Alec. And some wise women have convinced me that it’s never too late for love.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have many people to thank for helping me bring this book to all of you, not the least of which are my family and friends for their continued love, encouragement, and support.
Thanks, also, to my agent, Jill Marsal, as well as to my patient editors, Chris Werner and Krista Stroever, and the entire Montlake family for believing in me and working so hard on my behalf.
A special thanks to Susie and John Day, who hosted me in their city and offered an insider’s peek at life in that gorgeous area of the country.
My Beta Babes (Christie, Katherine, Suzanne, and Tami) are the best, having provided invaluable input on various drafts of this manuscript. Also, thank you to Erika Kelly, Megan Ryder, Laura Moore, and Lisa Creane for your thoughtful feedback and insight into what wasn’t working with the early drafts.
And I can’t leave out the wonderful members of my CTRWA chapter. Year after year, all of the CTRWA members provide endless hours of support, feedback, and guidance. I love and thank them for that.
Finally, and most important, thank you, readers, for making my work worthwhile. Considering all your options, I’m honored by your choice to spend your time with me.
ABOUT THE RECIPES
The delicious dishes Alec prepared in this story are attributed to the following restaurants and chefs with gratitude:
White Gazpacho Soup (Dovetail, NYC)
Salmon Confit with a Brown Butter Hollandaise, with Young Asparagus and Beetroot, and Daylilies (TWG Tea, Singapore)
Pink Lemonade Lavender Thyme Sorbet, with Mint and Violet Garnish (Boulder Locavore blog)
Kingfish–Osetra Caviar Tartare with Smoked Crème Fraîche Emulsion (Le Bernardin, NYC)
Poached Marron on Crab Pillow with Truffle Emulsion, and Warm Artichoke Panaché with Vegetable Risotto and Lemon Emulsion (Le Bernardin, NYC)
Pan-Roasted Lobster with Stuffed Zucchini Flower and Tangy Persian Lime Sauce (Le Bernardin, NYC)
Grilled Pistachio and Chocolate Mille-Feuille (Rockpool Bar & Grill, Melbourne)
Broccoli Cheetos with Red Pepper Flakes (variation on a dish by chef Matt Farrell)
Chili-Lime Mango (The Chew, ABC Studios)
White Chocolate Mango Cheesecakes (Bertha Cherie Santoso, Gourmet Baking blog)
Scallop Carpaccio with Hand-Cut Ginger-Chive Pesto (Food & Wine magazine)
Wild Hibiscus Prosecco Cocktail (Paula Jones, Bell’allimento blog)
Tea-Brined and Doubled-Fried Hot Chicken (chef Joseph Lenn, Blackberry Farm, Walland, Tennessee)
AN EXCERPT FROM ALL WE KNEW (BOOK TWO OF THE CABOTS)
Editors’ note: This is an early excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
—William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Certain moments in a man’s life are engraved on his memory in twenty-four-karat gold leaf. Hunter Cabot recalled several, including his first kiss (Tina Baker) and his father’s proud hug when he’d graduated from college summa cum laude. But the shiniest memory of all involved the jolt he’d felt the instant he’d laid eyes on his wife, Sara, right here in Memorial Glade on Berkeley’s campus.
He’d been comparing Microeconomic Analysis notes with two classmates in the shadow of Doe—the university’s massive granite neoclassical-style library—when Sara exited the building and skipped down its stairs. Unlike most harried students, her miles-wide smile had radiated something other than stress. That smile and her bouncing honey-colored hair, which were both warmer than the California sun, had shone like a lodestar.
Mesmerized, he’d sprung off the ground, grabbed his backpack, and, without so much as a goodbye to his friends, chased her down before she could slip away. Luckily, his intensity hadn’t scared her off, and she agreed to dinner that night. They’d been together ever since, marrying by the age of twenty-five and living that happily-ever-after dream most people only see in the movies.
Or at least he’d thought so, until recently.
Now he stood at the edge of the glade, having returned for alumni homecoming activities, hoping the faint aroma of eucalyptus and pine would trigger Sara’s memories of what they’d once been and the promise of what still could be.
“Hey, Hunter. I was glad to see your name on the attendee roll.” Greg Maxwell approached and sat on one of the new teak benches Hunter had recently underwritten.
“I know. It’s been too long since we’ve been to one of these weekends.” Hunter traced the plaque that bore Sara’s and his names affixed to the back of the bench.
Smiling, he glanced around at the other seven benches now flanking the glade. He’d routinely donated thousands of dollars to his alma mater, but this year he’d wanted to do something specific. Something that gave Sara and him a permanent toehold on this particular ground. Not that she knew it yet. He planned to surprise her today, but Greg’s unexpected presence meant he’d have to wait until later.
“Where’s Sara?”
Hunter nodded toward the library. “Pit stop.”
Sara had been complaining about headaches and bloating thanks to the daily course of shots and medications she was taking to coax her ovaries into producing more eggs.
“She still looks great.” Greg crossed one loafer-clad foot over his knee and casually stretched an arm across the back of the seat. “You got lucky with that one.”
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it, buddy.” Hunter chuckled, although he knew he’d been damn lucky. Lucky no one else had been smart enough to scoop her up before he’d swooped in. Then again, from the start he’d known they were soul mates. No one and nothing could have come between them back then. Even with the recent tension, his faith in their destiny had not been shaken.
Coeds were crisscrossing the campus all around Greg and him now, weighed down by backpacks and academic pressure. Hunter wished he could tell them life got easier, but he’d never lied to anyone for any reason.
“Were we ever this young?” Greg shook his head, his inky black hair now graying at the
temples.
“Speak for yourself.” Hunter patted his own trim waist in jest. “I’m still young. Just wiser and wealthier.”
Avid cycling kept him fit, and his sandy-brown hair had yet to gray. But some days he felt every second of his thirty-four years, especially lately.
“That’s true. I’m no longer invisible to women these days, either. Too bad you can’t join me in playing the field.” Greg glanced over Hunter’s shoulder, raised his chin with a smile, and stood. “Here comes your wife.”
Hunter turned in time to catch Sara descending the library steps. Unlike the first time he’d seen her there, her signature smile remained hidden behind a shallow grin. Her thick hair had been pulled into some kind of twist that didn’t glint beneath the sun.
A cool autumn breeze tickled the back of his neck as she crossed the walkway and came to his side.
He captured her hand in his and kissed her knuckles—an intimate gesture he enjoyed. She had such soft hands, and he liked seeing his ring on her finger. “Feeling better?”
“Sure.” She nodded, but he suspected she was faking it for Greg’s sake. She leaned forward and pecked Greg on the cheek. “Hey, you. Long time.”
“To look at you, I’d guess no time had passed whatsoever,” he replied.
Hunter knew Sara wished she were still that girl, or at least that her reproductive organs were ten years younger. Still, she laughed at the compliment. “Since when did you become a flirt?”
“Better late than never. It’s good to practice on married women. They seem to appreciate the flattery more than others.” Greg gestured toward the pathway that led to the student union, where the alumni party was taking place. “I suspect most husbands take their good fortune for granted after the honeymoon.”
“Savvy hypothesis,” Sara teased, but didn’t refute him.
“I take it back, Greg. I did get lucky. Luckiest guy on campus, actually.” Hunter draped his arm over Sara’s shoulder as they walked along the paved pathway. He liked the feel of her against his side, her floral perfume hovering around them.
Familiar. Warm. His.
They entered Pauley Ballroom in the student union. Soaring ceilings and floor-to-ceiling glass walls framed the space now crowded with alumni of all ages—a diverse group of people from around the globe. Hunter had been a star in high school, but amid the collective brain trust in this room, he was average. Normally he eschewed that lame designation, but he also didn’t fight battles he couldn’t win.
“I need a drink. Can I get you a glass of wine?” Greg asked Sara.
“No, thanks,” she said.
“Not drinking?” Greg cocked his head, then his eyes widened and his gaze dropped to her midsection. “Any particular reason?”
“Just my headache.” Sara’s nonchalance fooled Greg, but Hunter felt her tense beside him.
“Sorry.” Greg looked at Hunter. “Beer?”
“You go ahead. We’re going to make the rounds for a bit.” Hunter nodded goodbye to his friend and then turned to his wife. “Sorry.”
“We’re in our thirties and have been married almost nine years.” She smoothed the front of her skirt, conveniently avoiding his gaze. “It’s bound to come up. That’s why I wasn’t psyched to come.”
So far his plan to rekindle that spark that had thrown them together hadn’t been working out as he’d hoped. Rather than concede defeat, he shifted the conversation. “Did you notice the benches outside Doe?”
“I did. A nice addition, actually.”
“I’m glad you approve, because we donated them.” He stared at her, hoping for her wide smile to emerge. The expansive, joyful smile that always filled him with heat and happiness.
“We did?” She chuckled with exasperation. “I don’t recall discussing it or writing a check. Maybe I’ve got Alzheimer’s on top of everything else.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her temple, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. “You know why I did it?”
She shook her head against his chest. He eased his hold and looked directly into those intelligent sky-blue eyes that he’d never grow tired of waking up to each day. “Because of all the good things that came from my four years at this school, you are the very best.”
“But what’s that have to do with benches . . .” Her brow furrowed. Then her face relaxed, and, for the first time all day, a real smile stretched across her face. “You pounced on me in that glade.”
“Pounced is an exaggeration,” he scoffed.
She cocked a brow.
“Okay. I pounced.” He tipped up her chin with two fingers and lightly kissed her. “I’m not ashamed or sorry, either.”
“Hunter.” She hugged him, sighing deeply. “Just when I’m feeling uncertain of everything, you say something that reminds me of why I love you.”
He held her tight, his own muscles relaxing upon hearing that affirmation. Things might have been rocky lately, but she still loved him. He could work with that.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Lorah Haskins
Jamie Beck is a former attorney with a passion for inventing realistic and heartwarming stories about love and redemption, including her bestselling St. James and Sterling Canyon series. The Romance Writers of America Honor Roll author has seen her work translated into multiple languages. In addition to writing novels, she enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking and hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family. Learn more about her at www.jamiebeck.com, where fans may also sign up for updates on new releases and giveaways, and interact with her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JamieBeckBooks.