Surprise Daddies (#1-4 Box Set)

by London James

  I smile and watch him leave. Skylar looks like Kermit the Frog sipping a cup of tea when I look back at her.

  "Mmmm-hmmmm," she says through a teasing smile.

  "What?" I ask, taking a sip of my coffee to cover up my own smile.

  "Nothing," she says.

  "Okay. Enough of the significant looks. Let's just talk about the festival. I've narrowed down the options for the new labels. Help me choose." I reach for my phone right as it buzzes with an alert. "That was weird."

  "Are your pictures calling you?"

  I look at the screen and feel my heart sink. "GPS posted a new blog," I tell her. "It's a review of a bed-and-breakfast in Virginia."

  "He's posting about another place while staying at yours? It's like he's cheating on your bed-and-breakfast."

  "It's his method. He'll review one place while staying somewhere else so that he can keep people guessing." My eyes scan over the review, and my stomach sinks again. "Ugh. Either this place is the worst he's ever been to, or simply staying at Hometown Bed And Breakfast has put him in such a bad mood he's thrashing every place he hasn't reviewed yet."

  "That bad?" Skylar asks. "What's he saying?"

  "It's pretty long, but I'll give you the greatest hits. It looks like a shoebox tossed into the middle of a field. The sheets are like cat tongues. The decorations made him feel like he was staying in an English garden sachet tucked in an old lady's underwear drawer. Breakfast made him feel like he was preparing to walk the Green Mile."

  Skylar blinks. "Old... lady's... underwear drawer."

  "That's what it says," I confirm.

  "I don't even know what any of that is supposed to mean, and it is savage," Skylar whispers, her hand pressed to her heart. Any second now she's going to get the vapors.

  "Yeah. I'm pretty certain he's just being a human for Halloween. He's some other sort of slithery creature." I think about this and shake my head. "No. Never mind. That's being too mean to slithery creatures."

  "You never know. Hometown Bed And Breakfast could be what changes him." I tilt my head at her, and she takes another sip of her coffee. "Show me those label pictures. Yay, labels!"

  "Your enthusiasm is touching." I pull up the pictures of the labels I designed for my caramel apples. "This one is the closest to the label I've already been using. Which, of course, means I like it. But does that mean I shouldn't use it?"

  "You shouldn't use it because you like it?" she asks.

  "No, I mean, I shouldn't use it because it's like the other one and I like that one."

  Skylar nods slowly. "Right." She points at the second picture. "What about that one?"

  "I think it's cute without being cloying. It has kind of a retro vibe but isn't old-fashioned. And it's very seasonal, which is perfect for the festival."

  "Have you asked Owen his opinion?" she asks without looking up from my phone.

  "You're just going to slip that into the conversation, huh?"

  She shrugs innocently. "I'm just pointing out all the words you used to describe the new labels just happen to also be appropriate for him. He's cute. He's sweet without being cloying."

  "I didn't say the label was sweet," I point out.

  "Well, his cuteness gives him extra points. You two have known each other since you were kids, and that's pretty retro."

  "And he's seasonal?" I ask.

  "Yes. You said it yourself. He's only going to be here for a short time. Seasonal."

  I nod and point at the pictures again. "Let's just concentrate on the labels, okay? I just want to push past Chad and worrying about the blog and everything, and just focus on the festival."

  "Sure." She leans closer and examines the images, then swipes her finger across the screen to see the next two. "These look exactly the same."

  "Different colors."

  "Ah." She stares at them in silence for a few more seconds, then leans slowly toward me. Her eyes don't move from the screen. "He really is sweet, you know."

  "Skylar…"

  "The man brought you a sweater because he was afraid you were cold. And because he thought you would be beautiful in it. And, and I simply cannot emphasize this enough, he threatened Chad for you. He's a knight in shining armor!" she gushes.

  "I've never heard a prince be demoted to a knight as a compliment, but consider it noted," I tell her.

  She goes back to trying to figure out the differences among the label options, but I'm not thinking about stickers and cellophane. My mind is with the protective look in Owen's eyes and the feeling of warmth it sent through me, taking away the chill from Chad's words.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Avery

  “Stop rearranging the apples. Stop rearranging the apples. Stop rearranging the apples.” Sebastian smacks my hand. “Stop it. They look perfect. You need to calm down.”

  He glances down the midway toward the other tables set up with vendors, and I take the opportunity to twist the peanut-covered caramel apple around slightly to better display the label.

  “They really did an amazing job,” he says, glancing back at me. “This place looks amazing.”

  He's right. Festivals in Vidalia Isle are set up along the beloved Boardwalk that leads along the bay and down to the village green. Vidalia Isle residents wasted no time when it came time for fall decorations to go up. It’s only the first week of September and already the entire area is decorated in every manner of autumnal glory imaginable. Hay bales displaying pumpkins in every shade of orange, white, green, and dusty blue line the slats of the boardwalk, taking away the last lingering reminders of summer afternoons spent around the tiny ice cream shop and crawling down the rocks for a dip in the bay.

  Further down, tall corn stalks make a fun maze. The plan is to leave the stalks up even after the festival to give families plenty of opportunities to run through the maze before it gets converted into a haunted attraction for adrenaline-starved teenagers and adults looking for a date opportunity, with virtually guaranteed cuddle opportunities, closer to Halloween. I might take a swing through it if I work myself up to being able to tolerate people in masks jumping out at me and the potential for my love of corn on the cob to be ruined.

  “No one is even come by to look at the apples,” I say.

  “That'll probably get taken care of when the festival opens,” Seb points out. “You just need to take a breath, Avery. Remember, this is supposed to be fun. It's a fall festival, and you're finally fulfilling your dream of having your very own table. No sharing your space with the Doo-Wops acapella group or the Honey Bee Awareness Association for you.”

  I nod.

  “The Doo-Wops weren't too bad. They did that medley of all the hits of the 70s and one of the 80s that were pretty entertaining. I had some problems with the honey bees.”

  “You know for that whole next year, everybody who bought jars of honey from Alfredo said it had a really nice caramel taste to it,” Sebastian says.

  “Well, at least somebody got to taste it. Nobody would get anywhere near my apples. A bunch of hopped-up bees with really sticky feet will ruin a caramel apple display every time,” I say.

  “I still say it wasn't your fault Vidalia Isle never hosted another outdoor Mother's Day brunch. Besides, that was your inspiration for putting the nice crinkly cellophane around your apples. So, silver linings.”

  “That's true. Where is Skylar? She was going to go by Hometown Bed And Breakfast and make sure your breakfast was set out for everybody and then meet us here. I haven't seen her.”

  “I'm sure she'll be here soon,” he assures me. “I just talked to her last night, and she said she couldn't wait for us to see the outfit she put together for today.”

  “Well, I'm looking forward to that. Lord only knows what Skylar considers festival gear,” I say.

  As if us talking about her conjured her into being, Skylar appears at the end of the midway and rushes toward us. 'Rushes' being a relative term. The tall orange high heels she's wearing make it a touch challenging to a
chieve a speed much beyond scurrying, but at least they're the same shade as the vibrant bandage dress that leaves exactly nothing to the imagination. She grins as she makes it to the side of the table.

  “This looks fantastic,” she says.

  I walk around the side of the table to hug her. “Good morning. The jack-o-lantern face is a nice touch.”

  She looks down as she runs her hands along the sides of her rib cage and down her waist on to her hips. The movement slightly stretches the black triangles positioned directly over her nipples and the jagged smile that stretches from hip bone to hip bone.

  “Thank you! You don't think it's too much?”

  “Absolutely not,” I tell her. “What's a fall festival without at least one cocktail dress?”

  “That's what I thought,” she says with an excited grin. “Oh, breakfast went really well. I wanted to tell you that. That creepy woman with all the books drank like four glasses of orange juice that she said was the best she ever had. That other guy said nothing, which is no surprise since I haven't heard him speak a word since he checked in.”

  “What about...”

  She cuts me off before I can even finish the question. “Owen?” she asks with a knowing tease in her voice.

  “I was going to ask about Mr. Mercer,” I tell her.

  She sticks her bottom lip out. There are many things Skylar is good at, and one of them is managing to look beautiful while pouting. It's astonishing to me she hasn't scooped up some exorbitantly wealthy man who thinks she's adorable when she pouts and is willing to do anything it takes to make her smile again. I suppose there's still a chance.

  “Your blogger extraordinaire is fine,” she tells me, distinctly less pleased to be talking about GPS than Owen. “And he said he was planning on checking out the festival later today.”

  “Perfect,” I say. “I'm sure that will lighten him right up.”

  “I apologized for you not being there, and he said he's gotten pretty used to it. And now that I think that through, maybe it isn't as fine as my initial evaluation,” she tells me.

  “Know what, that's not fine. That's definitely not fine,” I say, my voice creeping higher.

  “Yes, it is,” Sebastian says. “It’s because you're not there right now. You are here on this beautiful day at the first annual Vidalia Isle Harvest Festival, ready to wow the masses with your kick-ass caramel apples.”

  “Some of them even have chocolate sprinkles,” I point out.

  “See?” he says with an encouraging grin as he rubs my arms. “Some of them even have chocolate sprinkles. They're bound to be successful.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I look at Skylar. “Thank you for handling breakfast this morning.”

  “Of course,” she says. “I know how much you want this, and I'll be there for you any way I can.”

  “It looks like she'll need it,” Sebastian says. “The festival just opened, and I already see people eyeing the apples. Man your battle stations, ladies.”

  Turns out he was right, and for the next few hours while slinging apples, I was talking up the many events I could make all the more festive with an assortment of customized caramel apples. Not that I've ever done anything like that, but when a heavily pregnant woman asks if I could make itty-bitty apples decorated with blue sprinkles for her upcoming baby shower, I assure her I could absolutely make itty-bitty apples decorated with blue sprinkles for that upcoming baby shower.

  By the time the flow of festival-goers slows down, I'm hot and thirsty. Strands of hair have wiggled their way out of my ponytail, and I shake my entire inky-dark mane down so I can sweep it back up off my neck. I've just managed to wrangle it up onto my head when I notice a cup appear on the corner of the table. One finger touches it, pushing it slowly toward me across the coppery tablecloth. I follow the finger up and see Owen looking at me with a soft smile.

  "I figure if I'm not holding it, the chances of spilling it are greatly diminished," he says. Sebastian lets out a slight yip behind me, and Owen's eyes lift over my head to him. "Cinnamon Buns," he greets.

  "Strawberry Eclair," Seb says from over my shoulder.

  I turn my head to look at him. "What does that even mean?" I murmur.

  He shakes his head and rests it against the back of mine for a second. "I don't know anymore," he says.

  Picking up the cup, I take a long sip of sweet tea. It's not exactly the fall beverage I was anticipating, but it's cold and soothing against my throat, making me glad for the lack of spice and heat.

  "Thank you for the drink," I say. "It's exactly what I needed."

  "Absolutely," Owen says.

  "Are you having fun at the festival?" I ask.

  "I just got here. Not sure what to do first." His eyes sweep over the festival, then come back to me. "Do you want to come check it out with me?"

  And my mind just went blank. Absolutely nothing. It's all gone.

  "Of course she would," Skylar says.

  "Oh, um. I can't. The table has been really busy, and people keep wanting to talk to the person who made the apples."

  There are so many words and of all of them, those are the ones I go with. Fantastic.

  "Then I'll talk to them," Seb offers. I shoot him a look, and he narrows his eyes back. "What? I dipped, flipped, carameled, and sprinkled quite a few of these bad boys, thank you very much."

  "Just for a little bit," Owen says.

  Skylar gently pushes me toward him.

  "You deserve a break," she tells me. "Seb and I've got this. We'll hold down the fort. You go and have a good time."

  I smile awkwardly at Owen as we fall into step heading down the boardwalk.

  You've got good friends," he says.

  I nod. "Yeah. They're amazing. I don't know what I'd do without them."

  "How long have you known them?" Owen asks.

  "Since I was pretty young," I tell him. "I met Skylar first. We'd play together in the summers when I came to stay with my grandparents. Then when we got a little older, we met Sebastian. I looked forward to getting back here and seeing them all year."

  His eyes slide to me, and I notice a mischievous look form on his face.

  "Hmmmm…" he says.

  "What?" I ask suspiciously. "What is that look?"

  "I know what we should do first."

  He starts walking backward.

  "Where are you going?" I ask.

  "Come with me," he says. "Finish your drink."

  "Because that inspires so much confidence in me."

  "Come on," he insists.

  I take the last swig of tea and toss the cup into a nearby trash can disguised in a tower of hay bales. That's dedication to details. When I step up beside him, Owen turns around and continues forward, leading me toward the green where rides, games, and other attractions scattered in the grass make up the traditional festival atmosphere.

  "Are you going to fill me in on the plan?" I ask.

  "Just be patient," he says. A few steps later, he looks at me. "Do you trust me?"

  "That's debatable.”

  He laughs and gestures at where he's led me. "The Fun House," he says. "Like your place... only fun."

  "That probably sounded a lot better when it was still in your head, didn't it?" I ask.

  "It did," he affirms, then fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a handful of red tickets. "I've got tickets."

  "You came prepared." I follow him to the podium set up outside the entrance to the Fun House.

  Owen tears off a few of the tickets and hands them to the teenager perched behind the podium.

  "Can't go to a festival and not be ready…"

  "For the fun?"

  "Exactly." He gestures toward the entrance with a dramatic sweep of his arm. "After you."

  "How chivalrous," I say.

  He shrugs. "It's in the job description."

  He flashes me a sexy smile and follows me inside. At first, there is very little fun to the Fun House. The door leads to the bottom of a set of metal s
teps running to one side along a wall covered in black tarp. Splashes of neon green and pink paint on the tarp glow in the blacklight coming from some unseen source.

  "Looks like an alien murder scene in here," I say.

  "Your mind is such a lovely, happy place," Owen says. "Makes me feel safe."

  I laugh as we continue up the stairs to a level filled with what look like punching bags dangling from the ceiling.

  "I don't know if this is encouraging getting out aggression or a warped way to force exercise on people," I say, weaving around one bag and promptly getting bounced in the side of the head with another. "Where's the door?"

  Owen fights his way past a few of the punching bags, and I lose sight of him. "This way," he calls. "Just follow the sound of my voice."

  Each of us trying to get through independently means a lot of bags swinging around, hitting each other and us, and making the way through the room even more disorienting. Finally, I find the door and Owen waiting for me. It leads us to something that reminds me of a cement mixer painted in black and white stripes. It looks like we're walking through an analog portal to the next dimension.

  "This looks treacherous," I say, pausing at the mouth of the churning tunnel. "Remind me to tell Skylar not to try the Fun House. Nothing sadder at Halloween time than a splattered jack o' lantern."

  "It's okay," Owen says, stepping up beside me. "We don't have to go through it."

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  He gestures at it, and I can't help but notice his chest is distinctly puffed out as he evaluates the tunnel gallantly. "If you're scared or worried you're going to fall. We can just go back through the other way," he says.

  I roll my eyes and run headlong into the tunnel. Moving as fast as I can, I get out the other side and turn back to face Owen. He stares at me in surprise, then looks at the tunnel with a distinctly higher degree of uncertainty.