Bayside Romance (Bayside Summers)

by Melissa Foster

  “Oh, come on. I read several pages of your work, and they were all great.”

  “Well, this one isn’t. Trust me.”

  “If I trusted you with certain evaluations, we’d never have had the last couple of days together.”

  “I think I know when my writing stinks. I’ll show you.” She pulled her phone from her pocket, tapping at the screen. “I’ve got my current script on Dropbox.” She handed him the phone and crossed her arms, watching him expectantly. “I’m telling you, it’s garbage.”

  He began reading. The tone was unremarkable and slow, so different from what he’d read earlier. It didn’t even seem like it was written by the same person. He handed her back the phone and said, “You’re right. It’s crap.”

  “Geez.” She shoved her phone in her pocket. “Don’t feel the need to cushion the blow or anything.”

  He gathered her in his arms, meeting her sad eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but whatever that was, it wasn’t written by you. It was written by some heartbroken, dimmed version of you.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I told you it was bad. My forte has always been more Sex and the City meets Friends. Romantic comedies. I would give my left foot to be able to find my way back to comedic stories, but every time I sit down to write, a poorly written version of This Is Us comes out.”

  “Because you let what happened in LA suck that voice out of you,” he said as they stopped to listen to a couple of long-haired guys play guitars in front of the town hall. “You should write about those experiences, find the humor in them.”

  “And relive them? No, thank you.”

  “Think about it, Harp. I bet lots of women can relate to what you’ve gone through. You could even bring in a male main character. Believe it or not, guys have bad experiences, too. I once dated a twin, only I had no idea she was a twin. Don’t lose your mind trying to figure this one out, but she didn’t like me.”

  She feigned a gasp. “No.”

  “I know. Hard to believe, right? Listen to what this chick did. Instead of breaking up with me, she swapped places with her sister, who was totally into me. It took me almost three weeks to realize what they’d done.”

  “They were that similar?”

  “In all fairness, it was when I was in high school, and I wasn’t exactly the most attentive guy back then. That didn’t come until a few years later, after I’d had enough bad experiences to I realize I was letting them happen to me. I finally took control of my life. But what I’m getting at is that I learned from those bad experiences, and I changed. If you don’t want to continue down the This Is Us road forever, writing stories that will rip people’s hearts out, then maybe you need to start seeing your experiences through new eyes. Use what happened as a slingshot to propel your career instead of ties that bind it in a bad place. It might be just the thing you need to write the best romantic comedy ever.”

  “You make it sound doable, but I’m not even sure I want to pitch to Hollywood ever again. I don’t fit in there.”

  “One wrong person in our lives can throw every aspect of it into turmoil. You can fit in anywhere you want to, as long as you’re with the right people.” As he said the words, memories of a past he’d spent years trying to forget came rushing forward, hitting him with an impact that momentarily left him numb. He’d buried the horrible experience so deep, he’d nearly forgotten about it. But this wasn’t about him or the heartache he’d suffered, or the unplanned pregnancy that had set his world spinning. Now wasn’t the time to reveal those things. He pushed those memories aside and focused on helping Harper find her stable ground, just as he had so long ago.

  “You went through a tough time, Harp. Your world was pulled out from beneath your feet. It’s time to rebuild it on your terms. You don’t need Hollywood. Or maybe you do in the long run if you want that type of status career. For now, how about concentrating on healing Harper and writing something for yourself or a local theater?”

  Her eyes brightened. “The WHAT Theater in Wellfleet is where my love of the arts started. My parents used to take us all the time, and I worked there throughout high school, learning all about the behind-the-scenes aspects of productions. Jana acted there for years, too.”

  “Then it sounds like we have a solid direction.” He laced his fingers with hers and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand as they walked down the sidewalk. “And once you write the scene where your main character meets her handsome one-night stand turned boyfriend, every woman on earth will want to be her.”

  “I have no idea how you can be that cocky without coming across as arrogant.”

  “It’s a gift,” he said with a wink.

  She laughed and said, “Think we can go into Adam’s Pharmacy?”

  “Sure, but I’ve got condoms if you’re thinking of thanking me for the idea,” he teased.

  “Get over yourself,” she said, swatting his chest. She tugged him across the street to the pharmacy. “I want to get a notebook and a pen.”

  After Gavin bought a notebook, pen, and a box of condoms—just to make Harper blush—he and Harper explored the shops, stopping into almost every one of them. They found funky hats and took pictures wearing them, which Harper posted on her Instagram account. They shared gelato from the Purple Feather and checked out the funky clothes at Shop Therapy and other cool stores. They spent a long time in the bookstores and learned that they both had an affinity for memoirs. Harper did a happy dance after finding the book the girls were reading in the book club. Gavin thumbed through it, telling her they’d have to act out every sexual scene to make sure she was ready for the meeting. That earned him another playful smack, but the heated look in her eyes told him she wasn’t completely against the idea. He added two more erotic romances to the pile before paying. In an effort to earn another adorable blush, Gavin told the clerk they liked to read them aloud to each other. Not only did Harper blush, but she snuggled closer, hiding her face in his chest. He made a mental note to embarrass her more often.

  As the afternoon turned to evening, they meandered through galleries and more cool shops. Harper began leaning into him, taking his hand whenever the urge hit.

  They had dinner at the Governor Bradford, sharing fries and steamy kisses. When the sun set, they found themselves sitting on the beach by the pier. Seagulls pecked at the wet sand along the shore. Couples walked hand in hand, and the din of the town hung in the evening air. Harper sat cross-legged in her jeans and tank top, her hair lifting in the bay breeze as she jotted down notes and told him about the ideas he’d inspired for a story. She looked radiant as she chatted animatedly, her voice rising with excitement, her pen moving quicker across the page. He was glad to see she’d shaken off more of the clouds that had followed her home from LA, allowing the effervescent, confident woman he’d met all those months ago to shine through.

  “You’re happiest when you’re writing, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She looked at him and said, “I always thought I was. But lately I’d say writing and spending time with you are neck and neck.” She leaned closer and whispered, “But you’re edging ahead in the race.”

  He kissed her then, slow and sweet, and said, “Welcome back, Harper.”

  By the time they drove back to her cottage, Gavin was utterly and completely intoxicated by her. He unlocked her door, and when he put the keys in her hand, he drew her into his arms. He felt a difference in her, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

  When he gazed into her eyes, she fidgeted nervously with her keys and said, “Do you want to come in?”

  “More than anything in this world,” he said honestly.

  They’d had such a good day, there was only one way he wanted it to end. But Harper had laid herself bare to him, exposing her vulnerable underbelly, and she deserved the same. Making love to her before he admitted what he’d hidden from almost everyone else in his life would cast darkness on those lights in her eyes, and he couldn’t bear to be the caus
e of that.

  Not tonight.

  Instead he said, “This was the best day I’ve had since the day I met you. But if I walk into your house with the way I’m feeling about you right now, I won’t walk back out until tomorrow.”

  “Oh…um…” Desire and restraint swam in her eyes.

  He lowered his forehead to hers, knowing he had to be strong enough for both of them. Their kisses told him they were on the same page, but he knew that even though Harper was coming back into her own, she might still feel like she was on tenuous ground in her own mind. There were enough obstacles for her to second-guess right now. He didn’t want to do anything that would cause her to second-guess them, so he did one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

  He kissed her good night and headed home for a cold shower.

  Chapter Eight

  AFTER SPENDING THE weekend with Harper, transparency became the focus of Gavin’s thoughts. He needed—wanted—to tell Harper what he’d gone through in college. Talking about it might bring back the trust issues he’d spent years overcoming, and he didn’t want to risk that with her, but he knew he had to. He’d never imagined how good sharing his space could feel, but Harper had taken him up on his offer to work from his dock, and when he’d found her, looking beautiful and immersed in her writing, down by the water Monday evening, it had made his day. Knowing she might be there made him look forward to coming home to the house he loved but had never quite made into a home. They’d gone to Common Grounds for dinner, and as he’d thought she might, she loved the people and the atmosphere. When he’d taken her home last night, he’d tried to tell her what had happened his first year of college, but she’d looked at him like he was everything she’d ever wanted, and he’d let it go. He was meeting Justin and a few of their buddies for a drink tonight, but tomorrow he and Harper were going to the Chatham Band concert, and come hell or high water, he was going to tell her.

  Gavin turned his thoughts back to Mia Stone, who was leaning over the conference table at the Ocean Edge Resort. They’d spent the last two hours going over design elements for the new boutique. Photographs of artwork, catalogs for furniture and lighting, swatches of fabric, and other proposed design elements were spread over the table.

  Mia’s dark hair curtained her face as she picked up the blood-orange paint sample he’d brought. “I have to admit, based on our initial meeting I thought you’d come back with pale blues and buttercup yellow, which seem to be the standard colors for coastal boutiques. I adore your bold, unexpected take on things, and I think Josh and Riley will, too.”

  “Excellent. Mixing the bolder colors and textures with the lighter furniture gives the eclectic, more energetic feel you’re trying to achieve.”

  “I agree,” she said as she sat down in a chair.

  “Then I’ll get started on scheduling our team.” He began gathering his things and said, “Are you enjoying your time on the Cape?”

  Mia crossed her legs and sat back with a relaxed smile Gavin saw a lot more often from clients since moving out of the city. “I love it here. It’s a world away from New York in terms of pace. I love New York, but this is a nice change. The people are definitely easier to work with. You don’t have any single men who like the city lying around, do you?” She leaned forward with a glimmer in her eyes. “Please tell me that you and Serena run a matchmaking business on the side.”

  Mia was a beautiful woman who zipped around in skinny jeans, low-cut blouses, and sky-high heels as if they were running shoes. They had worked together over the phone for a few weeks before she’d come out to the Cape. She was professional and friendly, with a sharp sense of humor.

  “I doubt you have trouble in that department,” Gavin said as he put a handful of catalogs in his briefcase.

  “Getting dates isn’t a problem. Guys hit on me a lot. By the way, I appreciate that you never have. Some businessmen forget we have professional boundaries.”

  Mrs. Cachelle came to mind, and he said, “We all have clients like that. I’d never cross those lines. I also have someone special in my life, and I’d never embarrass her like that.”

  “That says a lot about you. I’m going to have to start hiring a PI to check out my dates before accepting. Everyone seems to have a hidden agenda.”

  “I hear ya on that front.” Loud and clear, he thought with a bite of guilt. He didn’t have a hidden agenda, but he believed in honesty, and it was definitely time to show his hand to Harper.

  He closed his briefcase, turning his thoughts back to Mia, and said, “Serena’s husband knows a good PI. Reggie Steele. Let me know if you want his number.”

  Amusement shone in her eyes. “I know Reggie. We’ve worked with him. Gosh, I haven’t seen him in years, but maybe I should give him a call…”

  They joked about Mia hiring Reggie to prequalify her dates and then circled back to discussing the boutique. Gavin promised to be in touch the following week to firm up schedules.

  After he left, he received a text from Harper with a picture of her tanned, toned legs dangling off the edge of the dock, her toes skimming the water. I had a great writing day! I love working here. Thank you! How did your meeting go? Have fun with the guys tonight.

  He climbed into his car and called her as he drove out of the parking lot. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hi. I hope I’m not cramping your style by monopolizing your dock.”

  He heard the smile in her voice and wished he were there to see it. “You are my style, sweetheart. Nothing you do can cramp it.”

  “How did the meeting go? Did you dazzle Mia with your ideas?”

  “She was almost as dazzled as I am by your smile.”

  “Would you like a cracker with that cheese?”

  He heard her giggle and said, “Yes, please. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Send me a selfie to tide me over until the concert.”

  “Gavin Wheeler, you could charm the panties off a nun.”

  Forget the nun, he wanted Harper.

  They talked for a few more minutes, and then Harper said, “I’m heading home. Have fun with the guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow, then the next day, and if I have it my way, every day thereafter.

  IF ANYONE HAD told Harper last week that she would enjoy writing articles for the newspaper, she would have balked. She’d thought newspaper articles were a thing of her past, stepping stones to bigger, better challenges. But a lot had changed since she’d come home, including her perspective, and she owed it to the deliciously sexy man sitting on a blanket a few feet away. It was Wednesday night, and they were at Kate Gould Park in Chatham. Balloons waved in the breeze, tied to long strings attached to children’s wrists and the backs of chairs. Families and groups of friends and lovers picnicked on the lawn, chatting, dancing, and taking pictures of the forty-piece band. Gavin looked handsome and relaxed, watching a young father dance with his two adorable, pigtailed little girls by the bandstand. He’d been so patient while Harper interviewed families. She was finally holding her last interview of the night with Edna and Frank Boema, an elderly couple who had been attending the concerts for more than thirty years.

  Edna, a pleasantly plump woman with frizzy gray hair and serious dark eyes, had just finished telling Harper that she’d celebrated her eightieth birthday last weekend. Now she was rattling off pieces of history about the band. “Did you know the band was started by just twelve members in 1931?”

  “Yes, I did, actually,” Harper said. “I grew up coming to these concerts, and my father made sure my siblings and I knew the history of how it all began. It’s hard to believe so little has changed since then.” The band still wore white pants and white shoes with colorful blazers, though they’d switched from blue to red. Some things never changed. Like Gavin. He was the same person she’d met almost a year ago, a thoughtful, deep thinker. His patience, support, sense of humor, and his dedication to his clients made him even more attractive. Not to mention those steamy kisses…

  “The co
ncerts didn’t start here, you know,” Frank said, drawing Harper from her thoughts. Frank was an affable, balding man who wore his dress pants belted just below his chest, a short-sleeve dress shirt, and a tie. His skin was marred with age spots and mapped with wrinkles.

  “Oh?” Harper knew the original bandstand had been in the parking lot next to the town offices, but she let Frank take the stage.

  After a long history lesson, Frank said, “Eddie and I had our first date here.”

  “I’d love to hear about that.” Harper took copious notes as they shared details of the date that led to their long, happy marriage. Edna told her about how, on the advice of her older sisters, she’d played hard to get and had turned down his first three offers for dates. The fourth time he’d asked, he’d told her it would be his last request—and she’d told him she wanted to accept the first time he’d asked and that she hoped she was the last woman he’d ever ask out. After the concert they’d gotten pizza and taken it to the beach, where according to Frank, they fell in love beneath the stars.

  Their story was just the foundation she needed to create a tale of moonlit family traditions for the article. When she finished the interview, she made her way back to Gavin.

  Her heart skipped as he stood up to his full height, reaching for her hand. She tossed her notebook on the blanket and took his hand.

  He pulled her closer, his arm circling her waist. “How’s it going, Lois Lane?”

  “I think I finally have enough for the article. Sorry it took so long.”

  He pressed his lips to hers and said, “You’re creating magic for millions of readers. No need to be sorry. But see those women over there?” He nodded toward a group of older women wearing fancy bright red hats. “They’ve been eyeing me like I’m a container of Bengay. I think you’d better dance with me before they come over and start stripping down and rubbing their bodies all over me.”