Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Forever Starts Now, by Stefanie London
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Jennifer Snow. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Road
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover art by JACOB LUND/Stocksy,
Paperkites/Gettyimages,
LUNAMARINA/Gettyimages,
Cavan Images/Gettyimages,
Interior design by Toni Kerr
Print ISBN 978-1-64937-024-2
ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-037-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2021
Also by Jennifer Snow
Blue Moon Bay Series
A Lot Like Love
A Lot Like Christmas
Wild River Series
An Alaskan Christmas
Under an Alaskan Sky
A Sweet Alaskan Fall
Stars Over Alaska
Alaska Reunion
Colorado Ice Series
Maybe This Time
Maybe This Love
Maybe This Christmas
A Lot Like Love is a sweet, small-town romance that is full of hope and heart, but there are images and themes that might be triggering to some readers. Widowhood, death, and mentions of WWII and prisoner of war camps appear in the novel. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note.
To “Ronnie from L.A.” and Marla W. Carpe Diem!
Chapter One
This was how she was going to die.
With her lower body dangling below the splintered landing on the spiraling staircase of the B&B, Sarah Lewis supported her weight as best she could on the broken wood around her. She’d fallen through and had been hanging there for almost seven minutes, and according to her Apple Watch her heart rate was reaching a dangerous level.
Her inheritance of Dove’s Nest B&B felt more like punishment the longer she was stuck there. The ominous water damage bubble on the ceiling above her head looked ready to pop any second, and the yellowing of the ceiling tiles in other areas suggested it wasn’t the first warning sign that the place needed a new roof.
She tried pulling herself out of the hole, but each upward motion of her body caused spikes of wood to dig into the exposed flesh at her waist. She winced, squirming to get more comfortable as the wood threatened to impale her. Glancing down through the opening in the shards was terrifying. She couldn’t go up…could she go down? The drop was only about twelve feet…
She could survive the fall, but her body was literally trapped. Up or down required significant bravery that she simply did not have right now.
Her cell phone taunted her from a position on the lower step, just out of reach of her fingertips. Her boss’s number lighting up the display for the third call in seven minutes had her freaking out more than her current predicament.
What the hell was she going to do?
Risk a broken ankle or the death of her career?
She closed her eyes tight.
Here goes nothing.
But a knock on the B&B front door saved her from the split-second decision of letting go. “It’s open!” she yelled, her voice echoing through the large open foyer. Luckily, she’d left it unlocked.
A slow creaking sound was like something out of a horror flick before heavy footsteps resonated on the hardwood floor below. “Hello?”
Oh no. Anyone else but him.
The familiar voice from her past made this situation a million times more mortifying. Maybe she should stay quiet. Maybe he’d leave again without noticing her legs dangling above his head.
“Hello?” Wes Sharrun called out again.
Sarah sighed. He was not her first choice for rescue, but he may be her only one. “Hi… Up here,” she called out.
A moment later, she could see Wes’s face looking at her through the cracks in the shards. “Sarah?”
Was it the sight of someone stuck in a staircase that made his voice rise in surprise or the fact that it was her? “Yep, it’s me,” she said, her cheeks burning. Thank God she wasn’t wearing a skirt.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, catching a glimpse of him through the shards.
He put his hands on his hips as he smirked up at her. “You know, I’m actually not surprised to find you this way.”
Great, her past reputation as…accident prone hadn’t been forgotten when she’d left town. “Do you think you could help? I’m starting to lose feeling in my lower half.”
“How long have you been there?” Wes asked, slowly ascending the staircase.
Long enough to miss three calls from her boss.
Gail Woodrow, CEO of Digital Strategies in L.A., didn’t believe in leaving messages. She simply called until Sarah answered. Which was usually immediately.
“Too long,” she said. “Be careful.”
If he fell, too, she would be stuck in a staircase with her high school crush, who looked even better in person than he did in his Facebook photos. In tight, faded, dirty denim; work boots; and a black T-shirt with white paint splatters on the chest, he would have caused her heart to race any day, but right now, the embarrassment and fear of falling were all she could think about.
This was not the way she had envisioned running into him when she’d gotten the call about her grandmother’s passing and had made her plans to return to her hometown of Blue Moon Bay.
She was a successful professional now with an amazing promotion pending and a rent-controlled apartment in downtown L.A. Not the gangly, dorky teen he must remember.
Yet, here she was…falling right back into her old awkward ways.
“Stay still. I’m going to get you out.” He headed back down the stairs, and less than thirty seconds later, he returned wearing his tool belt, which would normally be a sight fit for a fantasy, but he was also holding an ominous-looking tool in his hands.
Her eyes widened. “What’s that?”
“A skill s
aw.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Do you want to live in the stairs?”
“Maybe there’s another way to get me out.” She’d always been deathly afraid of anything sharp. The sight of needles made her feel faint. This saw thing brought an instant rush of sweat and had her mouth salivating as though she were about to throw up. It was going to require a shit ton of trust on her behalf to let him use that thing so close to her body—and trust was not something that came easily to her.
Especially not with him.
“Do you have another idea?” he asked.
“How about you stand beneath me and I’ll let go?”
He looked amused by the idea. “Serve as a crash mat?”
“Or, more heroically, you could catch me.”
“Tempting, but no. We’ll do it this way.” He started the saw, and her palms went slippery against the wood, making it even harder to hold on.
“Fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the loud buzzing of the death machine draw nearer and he carefully cut the wood around her. Pressure at her upper body eased, but so did the grip of her forearms on the wood. “I’m slipping,” she said, opening her eyes. It would be just her luck to survive the saw just to fall anyway.
Wes grabbed her arms. “Ready, on three… One…two…” He pulled, and her body lifted from the hole. Wood shards scraped against her stomach, but at least she was free, with just a few scratches and deep embarrassment to show for her ordeal.
He quickly shifted his weight between two lower stairs as he settled her in a safer spot at the top landing on the third floor. His hands on her body seemed to burn into her flesh, so she brushed them away and quickly moved out of reach.
She did not need him touching her. In her somewhat fragile current state, who knew what she’d do next? Cry on his shoulder, maybe? Those broad, muscular shoulders…
Nope. She was a strong, successful, independent woman. She could handle this latest disaster fine on her own. Now that he’d freed her from the stairs, anyway. “Thanks,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
He nodded. “No problem. I saw the rental car parked outside and thought maybe a guest was trying to check in or something, but I hear you’re the one who inherited the place.”
There was a hint of disbelief in his voice that mirrored her own. She’d been just as stunned when her grandmother’s will was read the day before, naming her as beneficiary. “I guess news travels fast in a small town,” she said, forcing several deep breaths to calm her anxiety.
“Did your grandmother hate you, by any chance?”
“I’m starting to think so.”
“You’re not staying here, are you?” Wes asked.
He meant at the B&B, but Sarah had just been wondering the same about Blue Moon Bay. She’d been back in her hometown for two days, seven hours, and—she checked her watch—twenty-nine minutes, and already her stress was escalating. She needed to get back to the city, back to her office. She’d only put in for three days of holiday time, but it looked like she’d need to stay a bit longer.
Her grandmother’s funeral two days before had been a beautiful celebration of Dove Lewis’s life. The intimate gathering of Dove’s two children, their spouses, and her grandchildren to spread the woman’s ashes over the bay in front of the B&B was exactly what her grandmother had wanted.
They had followed her wishes precisely.
Everyone had arrived, said a private farewell, and then, after a nice dinner and rare family photo taken on the beach, they had all returned to their lives. Even Sarah’s parents had only stayed long enough for the funeral and the reading of the will before flying back to Phoenix that morning.
A will that had Sarah prolonging her stay in Blue Moon Bay.
Sticking a For Sale sign on the lawn and heading back to L.A. was the smartest thing to do. Collect whatever she could from the run-down establishment and be free of it.
No one would fault her for it. The rest of her family had looked relieved when she’d been the one named as the new owner. The cost of the renovations or the headache of disposing of the property weren’t anything anyone wanted to take on.
“I’ve been sleeping in the living quarters part of the house the last two nights,” she said. “It’s better maintained than this side.” At least she hoped the queen-size bed in the master bedroom wouldn’t collapse through the floor during the night.
Grandma, what the hell were you thinking keeping this place so long?
“Okay, well, I’d stick to that side and watch your step,” Wes said. “I’m sorry to see the place in such bad shape.” He glanced at the open-concept entry as they carefully stepped around the broken landing and descended the stairs, staying close to the wall. “It really used to be something special.”
“It sure was.” Sarah scanned the original dark-wood frame of the impressive foyer. Twenty-foot ceilings and spiraling staircases on either side of the large check-in desk gave the appearance of elegance, packaged in a cozy, inviting beach house. The old three-story Victorian home, built in the late 1800s, had hosted vacationing celebrities and families alike, and her grandma had treated everyone like extended family. Her warm, caring personality had once turned Dove’s Nest into the best place to stay in Blue Moon Bay.
Unfortunately, no one had stayed there in a long time. Her grandmother had closed the doors to the B&B five years before at age ninety, deciding she was too old to run the business alone, and no one else in the family had stepped up.
Sarah had been building her own career in L.A. and had never entertained the idea of moving back home. She loved her grandma, but the B&B had been Dove’s dream, not Sarah’s. Dove loved entertaining, and every guest became a friend. Sarah was more of an introvert, preferring a few close friends and intimate gatherings. She enjoyed the security and distancing that working online provided. That was her comfort zone. And her grandmother was the first one to encourage everyone to follow their own passions.
So why she’d left her to deal with this, Sarah couldn’t figure out.
Wes’s cell phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID. “Sorry, just a sec,” he said before answering. “Hey, sweetheart, I’m on my way…”
Must be his daughter. Sarah had seen photos of her on Facebook over the years.
“No, you have soccer practice tonight. Yes, you have to go… Because you gave the team your commitment.”
Sarah felt like she’d gone back in time as she listened. How many times had her own father said those words to her? Despite her being clumsy and allergic to basically everything in nature, her parents had insisted that she at least give team sports a try. They gave up when the coaches begged them to stop forcing Sarah to participate. Apparently, it only took scoring on your own net a few times to get the coach to put in the plea.
“Okay, see you soon,” Wes was saying.
As he disconnected the call, Sarah shook her head. “I still can’t believe you’re a dad.” The Wes in her memories was a smart-ass jock who thought he was too cool for school. A childhood hearing problem that developed after a terrible ear infection seemed to make paying attention in school more challenging for him.
As the school’s football star, he used his athletic body and her tutoring skills to help get him to graduation. Going pro had always been his dream, and he’d gotten drafted by the NFL after college, but an injury had taken him out of the game—literally and figuratively—after three seasons. So now he was running his own construction company in their small hometown. Or at least that’s the information her Facebook stalking provided.
She’d also learned that Wes’s wife, Kelly, his high school sweetheart, had lost her second battle with cancer five years before, and he was raising their daughter alone. Sarah’s chest tightened, her sympathy for him overshadowing the cold shoulder she’d been intent on giving him when and if she ever saw him again. “Sorry
to hear about…”
Her voice trailed, and he nodded. “Thank you.” He paused. “So, what do you plan to do with the place?”
“I can’t sell it like this, can I?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. You wouldn’t get close to what it could be worth with some structural and cosmetic renovations,” Wes said.
Ugh. That might require staying in town.
Her cell phone rang, and seeing her office number, she winced as she sent the call to voicemail. Her boss was going to kill her, but she did not need an audience when she was on a call with Gail. Asking for more time off wasn’t going to go over well. “I’m not sure I’m prepared to take that on,” she said.
“I did an estimate for Dove a few years ago,” Wes said. “I’d be happy to send that to you.”
Sarah hesitated. “I don’t know, Wes. Dumping money into this place seems kinda futile.”
“Look, I’ll send you the quote and you can think about it. Don’t do anything too quickly. It would be a shame to lose this place,” he said.
A shame for him, maybe. But this inn, or rather the ocean in front of it, had been the scene of Sarah’s most embarrassing high school moment, just weeks before she’d escaped town. She didn’t blame the incident on the inn, but it had lost some of its appeal for her after that night.
And she did blame the guy standing in front of her…
He checked his phone. “I have to go, but I’ll get the quote to you tonight.”
Sarah’s nod was noncommittal as she followed him outside. Renovating the place could take weeks or even months. She could possibly oversee the work from L.A., but this was just a headache and a distraction she did not need right now when she was up for a promotion.
“It’s good to see you,” Wes said, and his gaze held a note of appreciation as it swept over her.
Heat rose to her cheeks, and irritation overwhelmed her. Was it? Was it really?
Based on his casual, awkward-less demeanor, he obviously didn’t remember the past like she did. The way his rejection had broken her young teenage heart.
She squared her shoulders. She’d moved on. They were adults now. No need to rehash the past.
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