Want Me Always (Heron Harbor Book 1)

by Lea Nolan

  "Exactly." Her sisters responded in unison.

  She stared at their annoying, know-it-all faces. "So you interrupted my work day because I'm boring?"

  Raven crossed one arm over the other. "This goes way beyond you being boring."

  "You lost me." What was beyond boring? Death?

  "You've been in Atlanta a whole month and you haven't done anything but work. Your energy is not in balance," Lark answered.

  "Do you have any idea how long it takes to open a new branch of a law firm? There are offices to secure, furniture to order, staff to interview and hire, clients to recruit. Not to mention studying for the Georgia bar!" Wren gestured to the pile of books on her desk and shelves beyond. "I'm drowning."

  "Did you go on that appointment I set up for you with the real estate agent?" Raven asked, evidently unimpressed by Wren's to-do list.

  "Uh, no," Wren answered, avoiding Raven's glare. "I told you I might not make it. Because you know...work." She offered a second, half-hearted motion toward the pile of paper on her desk.

  Raven shook her head. "It was Saturday morning. How are you supposed to find a place to live?"

  "I've got a place," Wren said, indignant. She hadn't exactly been sleeping in a cardboard box on the street.

  "Yeah, in corporate housing. The firm isn't going to let you live there forever." True, and it was a shame. Buckwald and Hoffman LLC had rented three furnished residential condos in the same high-rise as its offices. Riding the elevator to work each morning had been the best commute ever.

  Lark leaned toward her laptop screen. "Wren, trust me when I say this. You're not enough of a free spirit for the vagabond life."

  "I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment," Wren said.

  "Me neither." Lark laughed.

  Raven rolled her eyes. "It's a compliment."

  Wren sighed. "If I promise to look for an apartment will that make you feel better?"

  "Only if you answer my next question honestly," Raven said.

  That sounded ominous. "Oh-kay."

  "How much actual fresh air have you breathed in the last month?" Raven held up her index finger. "Filtered, air-conditioned air doesn't count."

  Oh hell. She hated when her sister used her own words against her.

  After first arriving in Atlanta, desperate to find an upside in her new situation, she'd told Raven about the Peachtree Center underground mall beneath her office. The mall meant she'd never have to leave the building if she didn't want to. She could simply take the elevator from her apartment to the office then down to the mall for practically all her needs. And she had. Multiple times. The last month had pretty been one continuous closed loop.

  The heat of Wren's defensiveness crept up her neck. "Why does it matter?"

  "Because you're living there, but you're not living there."

  "That doesn't make any sense," Wren snapped, even though she knew exactly what Raven meant.

  "Yes, it does. And judging by your answer, I'm going to assume you haven't set foot out of that building since you got there. Do you realize you're living like a hamster in one of those Habitrail things? You have lots of little rooms you can move around in but they're all connected by those plastic tubes. Do you want to be a hamster?"

  Raven's analogy was as ridiculous as it was true and that stung. She'd just endured the toughest season of her life, first being cheated on by her fiancé and betrayed by her own protégé, then falling hard for Smith and realizing all that past pain and mistrust had left her too wrecked to give herself over to the love she so desperately wanted.

  Oh, Smith. Her chest tightened.

  Dammit.

  Just the thought of him brought back the sensation of his hands on her body, and the warm scent of his skin. An image of his beautiful blue eyes flashed across her mind and Wren winced as she shoved it back where it belonged. She didn't work herself to the point of exhaustion because she was invested in this new office. She worked to make her brain too numb to think about Smith and all that could have been if she wasn't so supremely screwed up.

  "Are you okay?" Lark asked.

  Unexpected emotion constricted her throat. "I don't want to be a hamster." But she was, a prisoner trapped behind the walls of heartache.

  Lark offered an encouraging smiled. "That's great. So how many friends have you made there?"

  Wren glanced at the woman in the cubicle just outside her office door. "Avery's my friend."

  Raven shook her head. "No. She's your executive assistant. Who else?"

  They were pushing her hard, rubbing salt in the wound.

  "Um, I talk to Reggie every morning. He has a nice smile."

  "Sounds promising. Who is he?" Lark asked.

  "He uh...works at the reception desk in the office." Even as the words left her mouth, she realized how pathetic they sounded.

  Lark clutched her hands to her chest. "Wren. I say this with all the sisterly love in my heart. This is not healthy."

  Raven nodded. "In Baltimore, you worked like crazy but you also made time for a relationship. You hung out with your co-workers and you had friends. And you left your building."

  Wren's misery gave way to anger. "Yeah. And every one of those people screwed me over. My fiancé cheated on me. My associate cheated with him. My friends all knew about it and no one told me. Even my bosses knew. With friends like that, I'd rather have enemies. Actually, I'd rather have no friends at all."

  Lark sighed. "This isn't you, Wren."

  "Maybe it's the new me. Maybe I actually like living in a Habitrail. Do you realize how convenient it is to live above a mall?"

  "I can't believe I didn't realize it until now. But this isn't about your douchey ex-fiancé or your stupid ex-friends. This is about Smith Connors." Raven sounded so pleased to have fit the jigsaw pieces together. Wren had tried hard to downplay her week at the beach as a fun fling before she'd transferred to Georgia, but clearly she hadn't done enough to keep her sister from seeing the truth.

  "No, it's not." Wren's traitorous bottom lip trembled. She turned away from the screen to stare out at the downtown skyline.

  "Yes, it is." Raven's voice brightened with the recognition that she was on to something. "It wasn't just a fling, was it? You fell for him."

  "And he's been in love with you forever, so it must have been hot and heavy," Lark added.

  Raven nodded. "Uh huh. And now you're hiding out in Atlanta so you don't have to face him and try to make that relationship work. Because you're scared you'll get hurt again."

  Raven had some set of stilettos on her. Wren loved her sister, but that woman had no right to presume how Wren felt about anything, especially when it came to love. At least Wren had given her heart to someone; Raven had sworn off love forever.

  And how was it that Lark, of all people, knew how Smith had felt about Wren? Being the last one to know about pretty much everything was making Wren feel like the most clueless person on the planet. But just because her sisters had figured a few things out didn't mean she had to confirm they were right.

  This was her business, and hers alone.

  "You don't know what you're talking about," Wren said.

  "If you care about him, call him," Lark implored.

  Wren shook her head. "I can't."

  "Why? There's nothing in Georgia for you. Go back to Heron Harbor. Make it work," Raven said.

  "Because it won't. Now I have to get back to work. I'll talk to you later." Wren exited the video chat and hung her head in her hands.

  Her sisters were right. She was hiding out in Atlanta, opening a branch of a law firm to which she had little loyalty, after being treated poorly by its partners and her co-workers. But as a partner now, the salary bump should soothe her wounds while she healed.

  In the meantime, perhaps the scar tissue that bound her heart would break down as the bitterness of her memories of humiliation and betrayal faded. By then, Smith would likely have gotten on with his life. Which would only be fair. He was a great guy. T
he total package. Worthy of someone who could love and trust him for who he was, not force him to pay for someone else's sins.

  Just because she couldn't move on, didn't mean she couldn't help him take the next step. She eyed the thick package the Baltimore office had forwarded a couple of weeks ago. The return address was from the Heron Harbor Public Library so she knew what was in it, even though she couldn't bring herself to open it.

  Clutching the envelope to her chest, she dialed her old client, Eleanor Cuthbert, a legendary New York literary agent.

  "Hey Eleanor, it's Wren Donovan. Do you still represent cookbook authors?"

  Chapter 15

  "You know I love you, bro, but I'm starting to feel like I'm wasting my breath," Juan said.

  Smith glanced up from the spreadsheet on the table in the corner booth in Harbor's Edge. Now that Juan had been promoted to manager, they met weekly in the mid-afternoon to go over food and beverage orders, sales trajectories, staffing, and employee performance. "What? I'm listening." Not really. For the last six months, Smith had basically been phoning it in and they both knew it.

  "So, what's it going to be?" Juan asked.

  Smith scrubbed the back of his neck stalling for time as he tried to figure out what the hell Juan had just asked. "Uh, what do you think?"

  "That's what I just asked you." Juan sighed. "Look. It's April. You're out of time. You have to develop our new seasonal menu."

  Right. Because for the first time since he started cooking Smith didn't have a list of innovative new dishes poised to debut. His heart wasn't in it. Devising dishes worthy of Harbor's Edge demanded a level of passion and creativity he hadn't felt since Wren left him last October. Still, Juan was right. The restaurant's menu was past needing an upgrade and it wouldn't write itself.

  Smith raked his fingers through his hair. "Fine. I'll try to come up with something."

  "Boss, I need it like, yesterday," Juan pressed.

  As if Smith didn't comprehend the fucking urgency. This was his restaurant. He was aware of how important the summer season was, not only to this location, but to the rest of his burgeoning business. But he was also dealing with some personal limitations that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake, and he just needed a little goddamn patience.

  Smith leaned in on his elbows. "Then recycle some dishes from the last three summers' menus and stop bitching at me."

  Juan's head cocked to the side. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that because I know there's something wrong with you, even though I can't figure out what the hell it is."

  And that's why Juan was the general manager. He was smart and tough and didn't take unwarranted shit, even from his own boss.

  Smith rubbed at his temples. "You wouldn't understand." Because he barely understood it himself. He and Wren had only spent a week together but it'd fucked his shit up.

  He still thought of her. The smell of her hair. The velvety touch of her skin beneath his calloused fingertips. The turn of her smile. The gleam in her soft green eyes, especially when she tilted her head to look up at him. God, she was beautiful. And she'd been his, finally, for seven precious days.

  He should've been able to lick his wounds for a month, maybe two tops, then get over himself and get back to his life. But he couldn't. It'd been six long months of grieving.

  At first, he'd been stunned that it'd all fallen apart. She hadn't left him because of him, but because of what other men had done to her. He was sure she'd realize he wasn't like those others and would come back to Heron Harbor, they'd hash it out, and she'd spend the night in his arms.

  But his cell phone never rang and she never showed.

  Then Smith grew angry. Not at her, but at every dirtbag who'd broken her trust and hurt her so deeply she didn't feel free to live her life as she chose. And he was angry that their actions denied him the love he'd always pined for, and frankly deserved. He was worthy of Wren Donovan. He would have been good to her. Loved her. Cherished her, and yes, worshiped her.

  Now, he was somewhere in the depression stage, steeped in the knowledge that he could never have the woman he loved.

  And that made him so damn sad.

  It was such a deceptively simple word. Three tiny little letters that, when placed together weighed so much more than the sum of their parts. Smith wore his sadness like a concrete vest weighing down his chest. His mother once told him that sadness was another word for loss. Boy, was she right. He'd lost Wren.

  Juan wouldn't easily be brushed aside. "I'd like to try to understand because from where I'm standing your life looks pretty damn perfect. Your restaurant is killing it. You got a huge book deal and a national tour coming up. And the Cuisine Channel wants to make you a star."

  Smith scoffed. "Don't get ahead of yourself. They just want to talk about pairing a show to the cookbook."

  "They're going to take one look at that face of yours and throw a contract at you."

  "We'll see," Smith said. He didn't take anything for granted these days.

  "Right. Because you're so horrifying ugly," Juan deadpanned.

  "Hey."

  "Come on. You know you're hotter than hell. Which is why you have your pick of women. But for some reason, you haven't been interested lately."

  "Since when do you keep tabs on my dating life?" Smith gathered all the productivity spreadsheets.

  "What can I say? It was a dry winter. I can't help but notice eligible bachelors." Juan was perpetually on the hunt for the perfect boyfriend, but his standards were so high, he found himself just as often disappointed.

  Smith chuffed out a laugh as he stacked the order ledgers then stood up from the table. "Then thank goodness it's spring. There should be plenty of visitors to distract you. Maybe Mr. Right will finally sweep you off your feet."

  He and Juan crossed to the bar where Brittany was setting up for the evening shift. A few months before she'd finally taken Smith up on his offer to leave Johnny's Roadhouse and come work at Harbor's Edge. The tips probably weren't as good, but she was safer here, and closer to home and Timmy.

  "Can I get a soda and lime?" Smith asked Brittany as he sat at the bar.

  "You still haven't explained what's got you in this funk," Juan said.

  Damn, his manager was like a kid with his tongue stuck to a frozen metal flag pole. He couldn't let it go. "Look, I've just got a lot going on. The restaurant, book, tour. Maybe a TV show. I'm still thinking about franchise options."

  "Right. And that funk's got nothing at all to do with Wren." Brittany placed the glass of seltzer in front of him.

  Busted. He should have known that no matter what brave face he put on, she knew him too well.

  "Wait—the woman who was here for a week?" Juan asked

  Ignoring Juan, Smith kept his gaze on Brittany. "So what if it does? It doesn't mean I'm not also feeling pressure about all those other things. You'd agree that a book, a tour, and maybe a TV show is a lot to handle."

  "Sure, but those things are your job. You're supposed to feel pressure about them. It's normal," Brittany said.

  Smith gripped the cold glass in his hand. "Are you saying it's not normal to feel things about Wren?"

  Brittany shrugged. "Well..."

  Juan shrugged. "Again, she was only here for a week."

  But he'd loved her most of his life. He couldn't explain that to them. Or express the feeling of utter completeness he'd had when he was with Wren. Neither Brittany nor Juan could possibly understand because they'd never felt true love or had a partner who treated them with respect.

  "I'm not saying you shouldn't have had feelings for her. Or that it's wrong to still be a little heartbroken." Brittany's expression softened with compassion as she reached for his arm. "It's time to accept she's not coming back."

  Smith jerked out of her grasp. "I know she's isn't." Even he heard the defensiveness in his voice.

  "Then why did you hire contractors to finish your house?" she asked.

  "Because I needed walls."
<
br />   The cookbook sale had made it possible to hire someone to do all the work for him. The publishing deal was finalized at the tail end of his denial phase. He assumed Wren had reached out to the literary agent who called him out of the blue one afternoon to discuss his cookbook. She took it to auction and three publishers bid on it, the winner paying more than he'd ever thought possible for a recipe collection.

  If Wren had made that referral, she had to have been thinking of him. He still had to matter to her. That hope nurtured his dream that one day, she might come back and he'd offer her not only his hand, but also a gorgeous home. But that was months ago. The renovations were well underway and it was increasingly clear he'd be the only one to enjoy them.

  "You've needed walls for ages. And an indoor shower," Juan said.

  Brittany crossed her arms. "I'm just saying you did it for Wren, not yourself."

  "Does it matter? Honestly, I thought you'd both be happy I hired them. You've been busting my balls for years for living in a construction zone."

  "I am happy. The house is going to be beautiful. But it's time for you move on."

  "Yeah? To what?" Smith asked.

  "More like to who." Brittany said.

  "Actually I think it's 'to whom'," Juan corrected. She shot him a cutting glare and he threw his hands in the air. "Sorry."

  "I hope you're not suggesting what I think you are because we've already tried that and history has proven that's a no-go." He waved his index finger between them. Brittany was the last person he'd consider dating. She was—in a roundabout way—the reason he wasn't sitting with Wren right now.

  Brittany shook with revulsion. "What? No. Don't be stupid."

  "I'm sorry I'm so repulsive," Smith snapped.

  "It's not that. We've been there and done that and I'm not doing it again. But…” Brittany’s lips slid into a sly smile. “I have a friend I think you should meet."