SECOND CHANCE CHARMER
BRIGHTON WALSH
Copyright © 2018 by Brighton Walsh
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Edited by Lisa Hollett of Silently Correcting Your Grammar, LLC
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Cover Art © Brighton Walsh
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Second Chance Charmer is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
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Digital ISBN: 978-0-9971258-5-6
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9971258-6-3
Willow Haven’s content. Okay, that’s a lie, but she has been trying her damndest. Trouble is, it never sticks. Second oldest in a family her town was named after, she’s always felt the pressure. From the townspeople, from her sisters, but most of all from her daddy—the original Good Old Boy and Havenbrook’s reigning mayor. The only time she didn’t feel that stress had been those blissful months spent in the arms of the resident bad boy. The same one who broke her heart beyond repair when he left without a word.
Life hasn’t come easy for Finn Thomas. He’s had to claw and fight for everything he’s ever had—and truth be told, it hasn’t been much. He spent the first eighteen years of his life living so far from the wrong side of the tracks, he couldn’t even see them through his trailer window. The only thing that ever came easy for him and made his sorry ass happy was the one girl he loved with all his heart. And the one thing he had no choice but to leave behind.
When an opportunity arises to return to his tiny, southern hometown and open the first bar in a formerly dry county, he jumps at the chance. That won’t win him points with the mayor, who’s hell bent on making Finn’s life a nightmare for sullying his namesake. But too bad for Mayor Haven, Finn’s got his sights set on more than just the town, and this time he won’t be scared off quite so easily.
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To Christina who said, “You should totally set your series here.” Thanks for playing tour guide and letting me borrow your cute little town.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Hometown Troublemaker Excerpt
Other Titles By Brighton Walsh
Have you read London Hale?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Willow Haven didn’t have bad days. It wasn’t in her planner, so it just didn’t happen, plain and simple. Her life was one of order and routine—she’d already gone off track once, and she didn’t have even the slightest inclination to do it again. Which meant she woke up at the same time each day, whether or not she needed to go into work. She did a yoga sequence, sat down and enjoyed a cup of coffee and the morning paper, and then got ready for her day.
What she did not do was sleep through her alarm—thanks to a completely inappropriate dream she didn’t want to think about, starring a completely inappropriate man she definitely didn’t want to think about—and wake up too late to be able take a shower or even put on makeup. She glanced at the clock on the wall as the second hand ticked past the big twelve at the top. 9:04. Even if she could blink her way to her office and transport instantaneously, she’d still be late for her nine o’clock appointment. Which was absolutely unheard of. Willow had never missed an appointment—had never even been later than fifteen minutes early to one, if you wanted to get right down to it.
“Dammit,” she hissed as she flew around the house, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach at the prospect of disappointing the people waiting for her. Not to mention, this was going to upend her whole day, send the line of dominoes tumbling over. She could feel it.
She grabbed her favorite black heels, hopping on one foot as she slipped each shoe on, plucked her travel mug full of liquid sanity from under the machine once the stream had cut off, and snatched her messenger bag off the hook by the front door. Town hall wasn’t far—definitely close enough to walk. But not in Mississippi in late May. Mother Nature held all the beauty in the world, but she didn’t have air conditioning. Willow’s Prius did.
Thankfully, the path from her home to town hall was clear, so she made it there in record time without having to go more than five miles over the speed limit. Lord knew if any of her daddy’s cop buddies had seen her speeding, they’d have thought she’d been body snatched.
Grabbing her bag and her coffee, she stepped from her car. It was already busy in the town square, though that was to be expected considering it was—
Willow froze with her travel mug halfway to her mouth, her eyes glued to the man across the street as he strolled into the coffee shop, casual as you please, leaving her to gape in his wake. She stared at the space he’d just been. Blinked. Stared some more. She’d only managed a brief glimpse of his face before he’d disappeared inside. But he’d looked so much like the man from her dream—so much like the man she’d once known better than herself—that a mountain range had formed in her stomach, its jagged edges cutting through her insides.
A truck pulled up to the single stoplight on Main Street, blocking Willow’s view of the coffee shop and breaking her trance. She shook her head and muttered to herself under her breath, “Get your head on straight, girl.”
She had to have seen incorrectly, no doubt a product of her dream playing tricks on her mind and her frazzled morning throwing her off. There was no other explanation. For one thing, Finn Thomas hadn’t set foot in Havenbrook in ten long years, and she didn’t anticipate he’d suddenly gotten a craving for the coffee at Higher Grounds. Second—and this one was harder to admit, even to herself—she hadn’t felt that zing of awareness she’d always had while in Finn’s presence. And despite the fact that he’d broken her heart and then hadn’t even had the courtesy to stick around and watch while she’d attempted to get over him, she sort of hated the idea that maybe that spark was gone.
Her phone rang from inside her bag, tearing her from thoughts better left beneath the heaps of baggage she’d stuffed them under years ago. After a quick glance at her screen, she blew out a heavy sigh. Her father’s name flashed, and she pushed aside the wave of exhaustion that swept over her just seeing it there. With her daddy at a conference and his assistant, Gloria, on maternity leave, making sure town hall ran smoothly fell solely on her shoulders. It’d been damn exhausting.
The kicker was it would’ve been a much easier job if only her daddy had faith she could actually do it.
Shuffling th
e items in her hands, she swiped across the face of her phone to accept the call. She plastered on a bright smile, hoping it would carry through the line. “Mornin’, Daddy.”
“Will,” he snapped. He always snapped. And he always called her Will, never mind the fact that Willow wasn’t the boy her daddy’d assumed she’d be, or that she didn’t particularly like the nickname. At least, not coming from him. Not when she knew the story behind it.
Having four girls after a decades-long line of only boys had done nothing but piss off the old man. The Havens were known for producing virulent males, but it’d only taken one to break the streak. A false reading on an ultrasound meant Willow’s older sister had come home in a blue outfit, to a blue nursery, and had worn only blue the first month of her life. And Rory James had morphed into Aurora Jane on her birth certificate.
When Willow had come along three years later, Momma and Daddy had decided not to find out the gender at all, considering the last time had been a complete shitshow—her words, not her momma’s. But her momma had carried Willow low, had craved nothing but salty foods, and her heart rate had been slow. So, based solely on a bunch of old wives’ tales, Willow’s father had been certain she’d be a boy.
When she’d come out lacking one very important appendage, foresight on her momma’s part meant she’d had an appropriate outfit in which to bring Willow home. Her nursery had still been painted blue, but this time, there’d been bits of pink everywhere. And Will Grant—her father’s choice of name—had been changed to Willow Grace. But Daddy had always insisted on calling her Will. To remind her she’d failed him even while taking her first breath? Maybe. Probably.
And thus began what she liked to think of as the biggest practical joke her father had ever been on the receiving end of, all courtesy of the big man upstairs. Her daddy was a good old boy and completely old-fashioned from his bull-head all the way down to his stubborn feet. He was a man’s man—whatever the hell that meant. Thought a woman’s place was barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Didn’t think a woman could do a “man’s job”—and certainly couldn’t do it as well.
Which put him in quite a pickle, seeing as their town was their namesake, and at least one person from each generation of Havens had served as the mayor of Havenbrook. Being plagued with four daughters—each one more headstrong than the previous—for a man who was perpetually stuck in 1950, thinking women belonged only to the men in their lives, was laughable.
Karma, if you asked Willow.
All she knew was it was exhausting having that man for a father. Having him for a boss? It was a wonder she’d managed to keep her sanity intact.
She blew away the stray hairs hanging in her eyes, working hard to keep the smile in place. “Yes, sir?”
“Why aren’t you in the office yet? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe the work day starts at nine o’clock, not whenever you get around to it.”
Of course, he’d called on the solitary day out of the hundreds she’d worked for him when she hadn’t been in the office early. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense to Willow’s failures. And he took the opportunity to call her out on every single one of them any chance he got. But because she knew he was anxious being away from the town and his job, stuck at a conference he didn’t want to go to, she bit her lip and forced herself to swallow any back talk. Buying herself some time so she didn’t bite his head off, she glanced down and kicked a stray rock away, hating how the weight of his disapproval made her feel all of seven years old.
The sun shone bright in the sky, illuminating her favorite shoes far better than the lighting in her house did. Which was how she realized she wasn’t wearing her pair of black heels, as she’d intended, but rather one black and one navy. That’d teach her for buying multiples of the same style of shoes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled.
“’Scuse me, young lady? You might be a grown woman, but you know I don’t tolerate no back-sassin’.”
She dropped her head back on her shoulders, exhaling a long breath, and closed her eyes. Later tonight, after she’d downed an entire bottle of wine, she was going to laugh about this day. She hoped.
“Sorry, Daddy, that wasn’t meant for you.” She shut her car door and hustled toward the front steps of town hall, trying to make up for the time her father had cost her. “Now, what can I do for you? You should be enjoyin’ that conference instead of worrying yourself with calling here.”
“I wish I wouldn’t have to call you, but you haven’t given me much reason to trust you can take care of Havenbrook on your own, now have you?”
No, not much. Only five years of her life, not to mention restoring a failing downtown while she was at it. But none of that mattered in her daddy’s eyes. Mostly because—as far as Willow could tell—she simply wasn’t her older sister. Or born with a penis. And, unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about either one of those.
“No need to fuss,” she said. “We’re doing all right here, even without the mayor.”
He snorted in that arrogant way that set Willow’s teeth on edge. “Avery said it’s a mess there, just a mess.”
With every word out of his mouth, it was getting harder and harder to bite her tongue. Especially when they both knew what he said was a pile of horseshit. There was no way her assistant and best friend would throw her under the bus. Even if it was the truth. Town hall had been a mess since Richard Haven had gone out of town. A mess he’d left her with, but one for which he’d criticize her endlessly, constantly comparing the somehow lacking job she did to her older sister. Never mind the fact that Perfect Rory had never held a job in public service—or at all, for that matter. That didn’t matter to Daddy. Rory did no wrong, and Willow did nothing but wrong.
She was twenty-seven years old, had been doing this job for five years, and she was fed up with her daddy’s constant nit-picking. She’d done the job better than anyone in the past decade, and yet she was critiqued on her performance on a daily basis.
After a lifetime of it, she should be used to it, but the truth was it still stung.
“Town hall is running fine, Daddy. Nothing to worry about. I’ve got it all under control.”
“Funny you say that, seein’ as how you’re on the phone with me instead of tending to your first appointment.”
The urge to look over her shoulder was strong just to check and make sure he didn’t actually have cameras on her. How else could he be thousands of miles away and still know the ins and outs of her day like some kind of bloodhound?
She pulled open the front doors and stepped inside, sighing into the cool relief of the air conditioning as she hurried toward her office. “I’m headed in there now. I had to run out to my car and grab some paperwork for it.”
He grunted, and she could just see him smoothing his tie over his slightly rounded belly, his lips pulled down in the corners. “I need some information on the little party you’ve got comin’ up.”
The little party to which he was referring was the annual Fourth of July parade—something that took a full year of planning and preparation to pull off. In fact, for the past five years, she’d allowed herself a couple hours of celebration on July fourth, and then on the fifth, she dove straight back into planning the following year’s parade—or little party, according to the town’s mayor.
“All right,” she said, working hard to keep the frustration from seeping into her tone. “What sort of information?”
“Well, I don’t know, now do I? I’m not the one who plans all these frivolous gatherings. I need somethin’ to show at this meeting, is all. Just send me whatever you’ve got, and do it quick. It’s startin’.”
Without waiting for a response from Willow, her father hung up, giving her absolutely no details on what he needed, how much of it he needed, or where to send it. But then again, that was her daddy. Expected other people to do the work for him without giving them heads or tails of what he needed, then berated them for doing a subpar jo
b.
Yeah, she was definitely drinking an entire bottle of wine tonight. Maybe two.
She shuffled her way to her office in her too-high heels she could only hope no one would notice didn’t match. Her messenger bag thumped against her hip as she hurried down the hall, careful not to spill the coffee gripped in one hand. Sliding into her office sixteen minutes late, she darted her eyes around, breathing a sigh of relief when no one waited inside. Finally, the dominoes had stopped crashing into each other.
Avery looked up at her and smiled. “Nola’s already in your office.”
“Dammit.” Willow’s shoulders sagged. Of course she was. Willow wouldn’t have been lucky enough to have her appointment be late too. She blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face. “How long’s she been here?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Dammit.”
Avery waved a dismissive hand and shot Willow a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I brought in a couple glazed croissants from The Sweet Spot and got her all set up with some fresh coffee. Then we discussed the glorious specimens of men on display over at the firehouse, weighing the pros and cons of a runner’s body versus a linebacker’s. She’s fine.”
“You’re a godsend,” Willow said. “An inappropriate godsend, but a godsend nonetheless.”
Avery grinned. “Indeed, I am.”
Willow huffed out a laugh and rolled her eyes as she juggled the items in her hands so she could turn the knob to her office. “Hey, Nola. I’m so, so sorry—”
Second Chance Charmer (Havenbrook Book 1) Page 1
