No One Like You

by Heather McGovern

  Risking the tiniest leap—more like big step—he closed his hand gently around hers.

  Brooke didn’t pull away.

  “Remember how much we danced at Dev’s wedding?”

  She studied her hand within his, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. “Yes. How could I forget? My legs were sore the next day.”

  “I wanted to kiss you that night.”

  “I know.”

  “But you took off.”

  A sigh lifted her shoulders. “I know. I…I wished I’d handled that better.”

  They stood in the dim stillness of the parking lot, the music of tree frogs filling the air. The scent of her shampoo or lotion or something reached him. Fresh strawberries picked on a sunny day. It was all he could do not to lean in closer, touch his lips to her temple, and breathe in deep.

  After what seemed an eternity, Brooke looked up, her gaze unreadable. Regret or hope? Longing or guilt? She could feel all of the above, and he would never be sure unless she told him.

  The sound of her voice startled the silence. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve dated.”

  “I’m happy to mentor. You don’t forget how.”

  “Like riding a bike?”

  “Even better.”

  With another breath, her shoulders relaxed. “I’ll think about it.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  A glint of amusement touched her voice. “I didn’t say yes.”

  “I know.” He opened his hand, letting her go.

  But she hadn’t said no, either.

  Chapter 6

  “What about streamers?” Her youngest sister, Laurel, sat curled up in the window seat of Brooke’s office, chin planted in the palm of her hand, a faraway look in her eyes.

  From her spot in one of the straight-backed office chairs, Reagan groaned.

  Laurel’s pout was immediate. “I haven’t had coffee yet and I’m supposed to come up with brilliant party ideas. Streamers are all I’ve got.”

  “Why do we need brilliant ideas right this second anyway?” Reagan crossed her legs with all the composure of royalty. A far cry from her night at the Tavern. But that was Reagan. A hot mess one second, queen of all she surveyed the next.

  “Because right now is all we have. This prom is around the corner. We’ve got to get cracking.”

  Brooke’s phone vibrated on her desk. She glanced at the screen, and her blood ran cold.

  Her attorney’s name stood out, stark and ominous.

  The woman was great at her job, but Brooke should’ve wrapped up business with her months ago. Done with the divorce, done with her ex, done with phone calls that made her heart punch against her ribs.

  Except Nick wouldn’t let her go. Not as long as he could make her suffer more.

  Eventually, she’d have to talk to her attorney, face the reality of what her ex-husband was trying to do, and figure out how to fight him.

  Right after she came up with a plan for the prom battle.

  “You’re in the middle of booking a big tasting party.” Reagan’s voice pulled her back. “I’m trying to sell them all a weekend room package, and Laurel is busy doing Laurel things. We don’t have time to get cracking on a prom right now.”

  They were all up to their eyeballs with work for the winery and trying to prop up sagging room sales. They needed the exposure of this prom to do exactly that, and then maybe she could afford to pay her attorney for yet another war, but that was her problem to solve. Not theirs.

  Brooke used her firmest manager tone. “We have to make time for this prom.”

  In the next second, a scratching sound came from the door. They were immediately joined by their newest and least helpful staff member, a round, six-month-old little pudge of a pug.

  “Beans!” Laurel cooed with delight and scooped up the professed love of her life. “Hey, Beans. Hey, Beans. Hey, Beans.”

  Her repetitive greeting was met with much wiggling and licking.

  “Unless the pug has an opinion on proms, we need to focus,” Brooke said.

  Reagan reached over to shower more affection on the puppy. “I have an idea. You could let me handle the winery bookings for a while. And Laurel could take over room reservations. Instead of being a control freak, you could let go of some responsibility. Then you’d be free to get cracking on this prom all you like.”

  “I don’t know if that’s the most—”

  “You need to give Laurel and me more to do. You keep saying you will, but then you never do.”

  “I’m more experienced in business than either of you. Believe me, I don’t want to hog all the work.”

  “Then don’t. You don’t have to prove anything to us. We already know you’re the smart one.”

  Her sisters might think her smart and successful, but the smarts never came easy and the success was a sham.

  Brooke worked her tail off for every success she’d ever had. Her determination was only surpassed by her ability to function on four hours of sleep for multiple days in a row. She had no choice.

  Her grandfather was a professor at Brown. Her parents were hedge fund managers who “retired” at forty to buy a chateau, and then they took a fledgling winery and made it a triumph. Hired all the right people and raised three girls, only to retire again at sixty.

  As the oldest, Brooke wasn’t only expected to do well, but to do it as seemingly effortlessly as her parents.

  Reagan harrumphed and shifted in her chair. “You’re doing too much though and, if I’m blunt, kind of sucking at it.”

  Laurel finally focused on the two of them. “If you’re blunt.”

  As tough as it was to admit, Reagan was right.

  Brooke had taken over the management of Chateau Jolie’s Boutique Winery and Hotel like a warlord with something to prove.

  The responsibility shouldn’t have been surprising—she’d watched her parents do this for years—but the daily workloads of a winery and hotel were proving to be more than any of the Sargent sisters had expected.

  But they each wanted this. They’d agreed. Their parents said they wanted to retire and the three of them said they’d take over the family business. Reagan had given up her career in retail and Laurel ceased her endless pursuit of veterinary science.

  Brooke moved home because she’d had little choice but to come back to Jolie, pouring what was left of her heart and soul into this business.

  But it was time to delegate.

  “You know what, you’re right,” Brooke said.

  A few seconds passed before Reagan formed a response. “I am?”

  “Yes. It’s time you two did more. Until this prom is over, you can take over managing the tastings and act as primary contact for our viniculturist. And Laurel, you can take Reagan’s place in managing hotel bookings and reception.”

  “Wait. I wasn’t the one complaining about my responsibilities. I’m happy with—”

  “No. As long as this prom is on our plate, I need to give it as much attention as possible. The school and the town need this.”

  Her sisters didn’t have the full picture on how badly she needed this. All three of them being in a panic would equal disaster, but at some point she had to tell them.

  “And it’ll be good PR for us too. You guys can pick up the slack.”

  “Of course we can.” Reagan practically glowed, delighted with being given a bigger role at Jolie.

  Laurel couldn’t be more opposite. Hotel duty meant more time inside. Laurel withered when cooped up indoors.

  “You can still lead hikes and recreation for guests, Laurel. No one is taking that away from you. It’ll be fine.” Satisfied, Brooke closed her laptop. “Now that that’s settled, we need to discuss decorations for the dance.”

  “What about those prom theme packages of decorations you can buy online
? Are those still a thing?” Laurel asked.

  Reagan smirked, that damnable gleam in her eyes. “Wait. Isn’t Trevor supposed to be helping you with the prom details? Where is he anyway? He was really helpful when he brought us home.”

  “What?” Laurel perked up. “Who? What’d I miss? Who is Trevor?”

  “The youngest Bradley brother. With the big blue eyes to prove it.”

  “Stop.” Her phone buzzed with another call from her attorney.

  “And he’s got a thing for Brooke.”

  “He does not have a thing for me. We don’t have time for nonsense, Reags.”

  “You should be roping Baby Blues into decoration discussions, not us. Invite him over, make tea. You guys can plan things together.”

  Her phone buzzed again.

  “Who’s calling you?” Reagan reached for Brooke’s phone, but she grabbed it from her desk before her sister could.

  “No one.”

  “Nice try. Who is it?”

  Reagan always was the skilled liar in the family, not Brooke.

  “It’s my attorney.”

  Laurel’s delicate features scrunched into a scowl. “Why is your attorney calling you? I thought you were done with her?”

  “I was.”

  “But…” Reagan cocked an eyebrow.

  Trying to hide anything from the Sargent Inquisition was futile.

  “Nick is claiming he has rights to my half of Jolie.”

  “What?” Reagan jerked forward.

  “No!” Laurel exclaimed simultaneously. “He can’t do that.”

  “I know, I know.” She tried settling her sisters with a level tone and a few calming hand gestures. Fat lot of good it’d do. This was precisely why she didn’t want them to know. Full-blown Sargent panic didn’t help their business. “He has no legal right to anything else, but he can try, and he is. That’s why my attorney is blowing up my phone.”

  “Then talk to her.” Reagan reached for her phone again. “You’re a-hole ex-husband cannot have any part of Jolie. Sic the Barracuda on him.”

  “I am. I’ll call her in a while. In private.”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t said anything until now.”

  “I found out last week.”

  Even Laurel didn’t look convinced. “But you guys are divorced. You already settled.”

  “And got screwed,” Reagan added.

  “I thought it was over.”

  “He’s saying I intentionally hid the hotel and my rights to it, so he wouldn’t know about the property or try to get a portion.”

  “We didn’t inherit the hotel and winery until after you were separated.”

  “I know all of this, Reags. But something else you learn while going through a divorce, it doesn’t matter what you know. It only matters what you can prove.”

  Laurel nibbled at her bottom lip as she held Beans closer. “This means more money spent on attorneys and courts.”

  People who called her sister flighty or an airhead were idiots. Nothing that mattered got past Laurel.

  “Can we afford the Barracuda again?”

  A lump grew in Brooke’s throat. We. There shouldn’t be a we here. This was her past, her mistakes, coming back to haunt her. Her problems refused to let her move on and yet her sisters, when she needed them most, were still there for her.

  Her sisters weren’t bookkeepers or accountants. For as involved as they were with running the chateau, they trusted her with the financial side of the business.

  The deserved nothing but the truth. “Barely? Maybe. But I will figure something out. This is my problem.”

  “You’re our sister. We can help. What about money from the winery?” Reagan asked.

  Brooke shook her head. “Times are tighter now. Borrowing more from the winery means a significant dent in the operational budget. We’ve got a lot of overhead with the vineyard.”

  “But having your attorney is more important,” Laurel said.

  “And we’ve already agreed to the prom. Backing out will hurt us more than help us. I can put off paying my attorney for a few months. I’ve paid her plenty already. We don’t exactly have the money to spend on this prom, but we need the exposure. This prom is our best bet.”

  Reagan scooted forward in her chair. “Then you need to go talk to Trevor. Honeywilde has the money. They can handle the lion’s share of the budget.”

  Finally, she and Reagan were on the same page.

  “You need to focus on this prom. Laurel and I can take on more around the chateau while you do. Trevor should be your partner on this. Right, Laurel?”

  Laurel paused, and then nodded fast enough to give herself a crick. “What she said. And when did he bring you home? I want to meet him. Do you like him?”

  Even with the weight of the world bearing down on them, her sister defaulted to the romantic. Her world was on its way to being a certifiable wreck, yet here was Laurel, with notions of match making.

  “I like him as a person, yes. But that’s it.”

  “Boo.”

  Didn’t matter that Brooke wasn’t ready for a match, in her sisters’ eyes, she’d only heal the hole in her heart with another man.

  But she knew better.

  She’d moved on, put one foot in front of the other, and did her best in life. She’d found a way to keep going, and lately she’d enjoyed a level of contentment found in routine.

  The deterioration of her marriage destroyed that mythical happily-ever-after, but she was happy enough right now. She’d never be the optimistic, go-getting Pollyanna she once was, but she was doing okay.

  Reagan and Laurel couldn’t understand this. They’d never experienced her reality.

  She hoped they’d never have to.

  “Well, I still want to meet him. When is he coming to Jolie?” Laurel used her singsong voice and held Beans in front of her face, bobbing him up and down. “He will love us. He should come over. We like new people.”

  “Stop being weird. You’re scaring the dog.” Reagan reached for Beans, but got the side eye from both of them.

  “Reagan does have a point though,” Laurel said from behind the pug. “You need to get Trevor’s involvement now. If we’re counting on Honeywilde to fund this party, he should be the one discussing the streamers and stuff with you, not us.”

  With a calculating glint in her eyes, Reagan agreed. “Exactly. And, like I said, they do this stuff all the time at Honeywilde. We could use his help. If you’re meeting with the prom committee tomorrow, you need to loop him in before then.”

  Brooke bristled, her defenses marching forward to fall in line. “I don’t want this to be Honeywilde’s project though. It needs to be ours.”

  With a wave of her hand, Laurel dismissed her concern. “And poor Trevor has to compete with you for credit. I trust you’ll figure out a way to win. Don’t you, Laurel?”

  “Totally.”

  “I am not that bad.”

  Her sisters shared a glance that argued otherwise.

  “Remember the time she wanted to compete to see who could decorate the prettiest Christmas tree?” Reagan asked.

  “So instead of one big tree, we had to get three smaller ones.” Laurel nodded.

  “In my defense, I was eight.”

  Laurel leveled her with a look. “But you won, with flying colors. I had Mom’s help and you still beat us!”

  Reagan’s rarely heard laugh filled the room. “Remember, Mom demanded a recount because she said Dad and Gigi and Papa were biased?”

  Her sisters’ laughter, each uniquely their own, shined some light into the shadows of Brooke’s heart. They weren’t sure what the future held. Jolie was in trouble, but the three of them had each other, and that was a lot more than most people had.

  Surely, Brooke could figure out the rest.


  “Come on, Laurel. The two of us have got to get cracking on our new jobs.” Reagan snatched the calendar from Brooke’s desk before she could argue. “You better call Baby Blue Eyes.”

  Without another word, her sisters popped up from their seats and left. Not even Beans stayed behind for moral support.

  Brooke slumped back in her chair, the realization sinking in fully.

  Her sisters were right; she needed Trevor Bradley’s help. But even more than that, before she could do anything else, she needed Trevor Bradley’s money.

  She had to go back to Honeywilde.

  Chapter 7

  The sun-dappled western shore of Lake Anikawa was Trevor’s favorite patch of earth. Dotted in mountain laurel and rocks, hiding narrow paths and small clearings, the lakeside made the perfect mini getaway.

  Beau barked in agreement as they neared their preferred clearing.

  Trevor set his blanket down to give his dog a two-handed scratch, making one of his back legs peddle. “I know, buddy. Best idea ever.”

  They could have a little peace and quiet, enjoy the out of doors. He’d even brought snacks.

  If they needed to get away from the constant flurry of activity at the inn or wanted a break from his family, this place, just to the right of the cove, was the ideal hiding spot.

  Except for today.

  “I know you’re trying to do your stretches or whatever,” Devlin said, intruding their space with way too much pep in his step. “But I need a minute.”

  “It’s yoga, not stretches. I’ll give you a minute, if you swear you’ll never call it stretching again.”

  “Fine. Yoga.” Dev bent to pet Beau.

  “What’s up?”

  Dev caught the edge of Trevor’s blanket as he rolled it out and straightened the corners. “You know we’ve got the Blueberry Festival coming up next month.”

  His brother’s tone made him look up. “Yeah.”

  “My schedule is basically nothing but this festival until the day of. Sophie and Roark are slammed with gearing up for the season. Our staff is scheduled out for the next eight weeks and—”

  “Cut to the chase, Dev.”

  “We really need you to come through on this prom thing.”