by Meg Tilly
Praise for Solace Island
“This warmhearted romantic comedy delivers a feisty heroine, a sexy hero, and some very chilling suspense—all done with a fresh edge.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz
“Strikes all the right chords by delivering a perfectly matched pair of protagonists; a wonderfully atmospheric setting; and an engaging, vividly sensual plot that is adeptly brushed with a generous dash of danger.”
—Booklist
“With steady pacing and engaging storytelling, Flynn [Tilly] effortlessly blends mystery and romance in a contemporary style that makes this story stand out. This sexy, heartfelt romance is sure to delight readers everywhere.”
—RT Book Reviews
“[A] fetching debut . . . a satisfying romance in a cozy, small-town setting. The sex scenes sizzle, and an unexpected suspect raises the tension.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
Also by Meg Tilly
Solace Island Series
SOLACE ISLAND
A JOVE BOOK
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019
Copyright © 2019 by Meg Tilly
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
A JOVE BOOK, BERKLEY, and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Tilly, Meg, author.
Title: Cliff’s edge / Meg Tilly.
Description: First edition. | New York: JOVE, 2019. | “A JOVE BOOK.”
Identifiers: LCCN 2018029628 | ISBN 9780440000549 (trade pbk.) | ISBN 9780440000556 (ebook)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Romantic suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3570.I434 C58 2019 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018029628
First Edition: May 2019
Cover image by Kevin Russ / Stocksy
Cover design by Katie Anderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
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Contents
Praise for Solace Island
Also by Meg Tilly
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Chapter Sixty-five
Chapter Sixty-six
Chapter Sixty-seven
Chapter Sixty-eight
Chapter Sixty-nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-one
Chapter Seventy-two
Chapter Seventy-three
Author’s Note
Recipe
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Jayne Ann Krentz
Your books delighted and enthralled me. Got me through difficult, lonely times. What an absolute joy to discover that the fierce intelligence, kindness, and generosity of spirit lives not only in your heroines but in yourself as well.
Prologue
HE CAUGHT SIGHT of her as the wedding party swooped past him and entered the church. Her arm was linked with the bride’s, both of them laughing in the late-afternoon sun. Her head was thrown back, causing her long ebony hair to tumble down her back in glorious abandon.
Mine, the man thought with a fierceness that shocked him to the core.
He quickly parked, grabbed his phone, snapped a hasty photo through the windshield, then exited his vehicle. The path of his life had just veered to the left, and he had no choice but to follow where it led him.
He crossed the road and melded into the edges of a large group entering the church. Nervous sweat was starting to congregate in his armpits. He could feel it sticking his shirt to his back as he slipped past the ushers standing guard at the vestibule’s arched doors leading into the nave.
He sat in the rear of the church and waited for her to reappear. And when she did, he bathed in her beauty, the gracefulness of her form.
The ceremony was finished, the bride was kissed, and everyone stood hurling flower petals as the n
ewly married couple headed down the aisle. Only a few more minutes before they would pass the back pews and the crowd would disperse.
He tapped the lacy arm of the matron beside him. “Who is she?” he asked. He thought he had put his socially acceptable expression of bored interest on. But apparently a flare of the passion coursing through him had slipped past the mask, for the woman’s eyes widened as she took a slight step back.
“The bride?” she asked, her dimpled hands fluttering up to her neck.
“No, her,” he said, smoothing his face into benign kindness and tipping it toward the mystery goddess. “The maid of honor.”
The woman’s skittishness subsided, and an affectionate smile took its place. “That’s the bride’s sister, Eve Harris. Quite the beauty, isn’t she?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he lied. “She looked familiar, and I was wondering how I knew her.”
“She and her sister are co-owners of the Intrepid Café. It’s a pretty recent addition to our town, but it’s been quite the smash hit, let me tell you! My friends and I meet every Wednesday for our afternoon social and, oh my, do we enjoy their baked goods.” She glanced over her shoulder and noticed that her friends had moved on. “Excuse me,” she said, hurrying after them.
Dazed, he followed in her wake, out of the church, down the steps into the courtyard, blinking in the harsh July sunlight. A mole emerging from its hole. His mind spun a million miles an hour.
She belonged to him. Of that he was certain.
However, this would require careful planning, preparation. He wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to pull it off, but he did know one thing.
He was her destiny.
One
Three months later
“SO, WHICH ONE will it be?” Eve asked, peering at Ethelwyn through the glass case.
The woman’s hands were shoved in the front pockets of her saggy faded jeans, her worn plaid work shirt loose and untucked. She was staring intently at the various pies. Her lips made little smacking sounds, as if she were actually tasting the various options. “I don’t know,” she moaned. “The cherry looks good, but I really love Maggie’s strawberry-rhubarb. It has just the right amount of tart and sweet.”
Behind Ethelwyn, someone cleared his throat. Eve glanced at the fiftysomething man sporting an expensive haircut and wearing a fawn-colored cashmere sweater over a button-down white shirt. His sleeves were rolled back. There was a gold Cartier watch on his wrist and a burnished gold wedding ring on his finger.
He seemed a trifle irritated by Ethelwyn’s indecision.
Eve smothered a grin. Too bad, she thought. This is the Solace Island way. Doesn’t matter what your bank balance is. Everyone’s equal.
Besides, Ethelwyn was one of the Intrepid Café’s most loyal customers. She and her life partner, Lavina, purchased copious amounts of baked goods. Whereas Mr. Fancy-Pants had only started coming by recently and usually ordered a coffee. Black. How could anyone see the tempting treats and smell the wonderful fragrances caused by her sister’s delicious creations and then just order a black coffee?
“Take your time, Ethelwyn,” Eve said cheerily. “It’s an important decision. I’ll start boxing up the rest of your order.” She slid the glass door of the display cabinet shut with her hip as she rose. Then she turned to the back counter, where her sister, Maggie, was transferring pecan-puff jam-dot cookies from the cooling racks to a display platter.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Maggie murmured, a conspiratorial grin lighting up her face.
“What?” Eve said, placing a dozen chocolate cookies with caramel centers and a sprinkling of flaked sea salt on the top into a white bakery box.
“He likes you,” Maggie whispered. She wiggled her eyebrows, which meant the guy she was talking about was super hot.
Eve peeked over her shoulder, took a quick glance around the café to see who had arrived. No one had. She looked at Maggie. Who? Where is he? she mouthed, shifting casually closer to her sister, because clearly Maggie had a better hunk-viewing vantage point.
Behind Ethelwyn, Maggie mouthed. You should see the way he’s looking at you. All hungry-like.
The tendrils of hope and excitement deflated with a thump. “Eww,” Eve said. “First of all, he’s married.”
“He is?” Maggie looked disappointed.
“Yup. Ring on the finger. And second, even if he weren’t”—Eve wrapped the red-and-white string around the bakery box and secured it—“he’s not my type.”
Maggie started to open her mouth.
“At all,” Eve said firmly.
Maggie sighed. She looked so wistful.
“I know.” Eve reached over and wiped a smear of flour off her sister’s cheek. “You’re so happy and in love with Luke, and you want that for me.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said with a rueful smile. “That about sums it up. Speaking of . . . Falling Ashes has a gig in Seattle next week. If you’d like to check the show out, it’s on one of your days off—”
“Not going to happen,” Eve said, cutting her off at the pass.
“But you and Levi were such a cute couple. That guy was so into you. What happened? Why’d you break up? We all loved him, Mom and Dad included.”
“They were okay with him. Mom thought he was wild, and Dad wanted to keep an eye on him. ‘The devil you know’ and all that. It’s the only reason they hired him.”
“Once they got to know him, they liked him.”
“Dad thought he was a slacker.”
“You’re being harsh. Sure, it would take Levi a while to get focused, but once he did, he pulled his weight on the construction site. The guy was crazy about you—still is, I bet. He’s single.”
Eve gave her sister a look.
“What? It’s not like I’ve been keeping tabs on him. He sent me a friend request last week on Facebook. I was curious, so I glanced through his profile—”
“I’m going to be adventurous and take the cherry!” Eve heard Ethelwyn’s raspy voice declare from behind her.
“Sounds like a plan, Ethelwyn,” Eve said, turning around with a smile. “I’ll box it up.” She removed the homemade cherry pie with the latticework crust and fluted edges from the case.
“He still looks smokin’ hot,” she heard Maggie say from behind her. “Had a tour schedule posted, so he is managing to book gigs. Maybe the timing for the two of you wasn’t right before.”
“It wasn’t timing that broke us up,” Eve said, aware of a slight acerbic edge creeping into her voice. She sighed. It wasn’t fair to be grouchy at Maggie. Her sister didn’t have all the information. Why would she? Her family had been so fond of Levi, and he’d loved them. Even though the breakup had been brutal and he’d behaved very badly, that person wasn’t who he truly was. Drugs and alcohol had sunk their claws into him. It had broken her heart to see the man she loved disappear into a shell of his former self. She’d stayed in the relationship longer than she should have, trying to save him. One day, after he’d surfaced from a three-day bender, she’d realized the only person she could save was herself.
He’d been gutted when she’d left. No need to wound Levi further by tarnishing her family’s view of him, crushing the memories of happier times.
“You guys were both so young. Maybe things would be different now. Seriously, Eve, what would it hurt to go say hello? If you left right after work, you could hop on the ferry and totally make it to the concert with time to spare. You’d have to stay overnight, of course . . .”
“Maggie, honey,” Eve said, squeezing past her sister to snag a pastry box. “He’s a great guy and all, but—”
“But you aren’t attracted to him anymore.” Maggie huffed out a disappointed sigh. “I get it,” she said, gathering up the cooling racks.
Attraction, Eve thought, was never an issue. Hell, if she’d felt any more sparks around Levi her hair woul
d’ve caught fire. It was the day-to-day connection that had been the problem—or the lack thereof.
“Mmm,” she murmured, even though a reply wasn’t necessary. Maggie had already disappeared through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen.
Eve placed the pie on the counter and started to assemble the pastry box.
Levi. She still missed him. Correction. She missed the Levi she used to know, the bright-eyed boy-man who was overflowing with big dreams and passion, not the Levi he’d turned into. They’d met her first week at the university. Within a month he’d convinced her to move out of her dorm and in with him. He was exciting, older than her, in the graduating class. His philosophy was that one should live in the present, seize life with both fists, burn hard and bright. It was what had attracted her to him in the first place.
Their first year together had passed like a dream. Memories of music and making love, sunshine and laughter, friends and members of the band tumbling in and out of their apartment. Making sangria in the enormous pasta pot that the previous tenant had left behind. Going to the band’s weekend gigs, standing in the front, starting the dancing, other people joining in. Aware of his eyes on her while he made love to his guitar, to the mic. The gigs became a protracted foreplay to what they would be doing after the set, his music and voice thrumming through her sweat-slicked body like a caress. She’d felt unleashed from the girl she used to be. The one who’d spent her high school years working weekends and summers in the family construction business alongside her sister, mother, and dad. Weeks would sometimes pass before she’d remember to drag herself out of their warm bed, put on her sensible clothes instead of her wild-child ones. She’d walk across campus to the Presbyterian Church on Whitney Avenue. But it wasn’t her church, with her family, familiar faces and friends. She would sit there surrounded by strangers, a lump in her throat, imagining her family back in Eugene, Oregon. Sitting in their regular pew, freshly scrubbed and innocent of the wild university goings-on, their bellies full of homemade pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. Missing them had loneliness rising like a volcano, threatening to tear her apart until finally she stopped going to church altogether.
