The Real Thing

by Lizzie Shane

  He’d been violently opposed to the idea of trading on her industry connections to advance his music career, so she’d promised not to interfere—but Ian was insanely talented, so when the director of the little indie film she’d done earlier in the summer had heard him playing for her in her trailer, she hadn’t had to say a word. He’d begged Ian to put one of his songs on the soundtrack and, now that the film was screening at film festivals to rave reviews, Ian was starting to get calls from other directors who wanted his work. He’d even insisted on paying for the luxury suite himself, with the proceeds from his first royalty check.

  Mel was annoyed with him for not taking her advice and signing with the music agent she’d recommended—but other than that her lover and her manager were getting along better than Maggie could have ever dreamed. Mel sat in the row behind them in head-to-toe Dodger gear, likely just to be contrary and wind Ian up—which he seemed to enjoy.

  Maggie hadn’t expected that friendship, but when she questioned Ian about it, he’d said Mel reminded him of Lolly. It was a comparison Maggie never would have made on her own, but once he mentioned it she’d started seeing the similarities between the two strong women who loved to run other people’s lives.

  Mel’s new girlfriend sat beside her, listening intently as Mel explained the game—as if she hadn’t just learned all the rules herself four months ago in a bid to out-do Ian’s knowledge of baseball.

  Mrs. Summer—who Maggie still had a hard time calling Allison—perched behind Mel in the back row of the luxury box with a couple of her book club friends and Ellen from Long Shores, the four of them giggling over margaritas. Ian often complained that he was surrounded by women, but she knew he loved their patchwork family—and there was at least one other representative from Team Testosterone there today, since Bree and Cross sat on Mel’s other side, having flown up with them on the jet yesterday.

  Sadie’s school would be starting in a few days and they’d decided to keep her at St. Vincent’s for at least one more year—in part because she was so excited to go back. She and Kirpa were in the same class this year and they would be dissecting frogs, both of which were apparently strong marks in favor of St. Vincent’s over LA schools. The frog thing sounded like a terrible reason to Maggie, but Sadie was inexplicably excited about it.

  Maggie had wrapped principle photography for the latest Alien Adventuress film only two days ago. She’d still have to go back for reshoots and post-production tweaks, but for now they could finally get back to Long Shores—and she could start figuring out what they were actually going to do with Aunt Lolly’s house.

  Maybe she’d turn it into a film set. It had character. Though she was pretty sure the electrical panel couldn’t handle the lights and cameras. Still, it was something she’d been thinking about lately. Maybe directing…maybe honoring Lolly’s life through film—

  Ian jerked at her side, launching out of his seat at the crack of a bat, and Maggie surged to her feet in solidarity. Sadie and Kirpa screamed, flinging their arms over their heads. Fireworks exploded over the far bleachers as the scoreboard flashed the giant block letters, “IT’S GRAND SALAMI TIME!”

  Whatever that meant. But it was obviously good.

  As the crowd went nuts, Maggie played the part of someone who actually understood what the hell was going on in the game and cheered, clapping and jumping until Ian swept his arm around her waist and kissed her.

  All right then. This part of baseball she could definitely get behind.

  When they broke apart, Ian’s dark eyes were laughing down at her. “You have no idea what just happened, do you?” he asked, his voice pitched low beneath the continued roar in the stadium.

  “Not a clue,” she admitted cheerfully.

  He laughed. “Having fun anyway?”

  “The best time of my life.”

  And the words were true. She couldn’t remember ever being as happy as she was in this moment. Surrounded by the people she loved, simply being. Watching baseball was a lot like watching a fire burn all night, in her opinion—three hours of not much happening—and she loved every minute of it.

  They settled back in their chairs as the next batter came to the plate—see? Baseball jargon! She knew this stuff.

  Sort of.

  The batter struck out, but they were still riding the pleasant hum of the new lead into the gap between innings. The scoreboard lit up and Maggie’s gaze went to it automatically to see what game the giant screen would display to entertain the fans until the action resumed.

  But this time, instead of a hydroplane race or a hat game, nine words took up the biggest jumbo screen she’d ever seen in her life.

  I LOVE YOU, MAGGIE MAY. WILL YOU MARRY ME?

  Her gaze snapped down from the giant letters to the man at her side, who was grinning at her and holding a diamond ring between his thumb and forefinger. “What do you say?”

  Her breath whooshed out at the look in his eyes.

  They’d talked about marriage. A lot. She’d sort of considered them more or less engaged since the day he’d come to her film set in LA. But his divorce had only been finalized a few weeks ago and all their talk of marriage had been in a distant future sort of way. Someday. Eventually. Later.

  But later was now. He was asking. For real. Not just in a hypothetical someday way.

  She’d always thought if someone loved her enough, in a big cinematic Jumbotron way, then it would complete her. But she didn’t need that anymore. The grand gestures. The performance of love.

  “I don’t need all this,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said. “But I wanted you to have it anyway. I wanted to shout it from the Jumbotron that I’m in love with you. Too much?”

  Maybe. But she loved it.

  She shook her head, looking down at the gorgeous ring. It wasn’t huge, but there was something familiar about it. Her breath caught and her gaze flicked back two rows to Mrs. Summer—Allison. She smiled and waved, her ring finger bare—and Maggie realized not just that it was the ring Ian’s father had given her mother, but also that everyone in the box was watching them. The rest of the stadium had moved on, the screen flashing Happy Birthday and Anniversary greetings now, but inside their little bubble, everyone was waiting for her answer. Sadie’s eyes were hopeful, her dimples pressing into her cheeks as she tried to hold back her smile. Mel’s eyes were misty as she pretended she wasn’t choked up. Bree was beaming already—never holding anything back. And every last bit of it was perfect.

  Ian had given her this moment, surrounded by faces reflecting love—and she wanted to give him every moment of the rest of her life, and all the love in her heart. Which she was learning was an awful lot of love. More every day.

  She met his eyes. “Yes.”

  He grinned, his mouth tipping up higher on one side than the other. “Yeah?”

  “Of course. Since the leeches, remember?”

  His brows arched. “You aren’t just saying that to complete the moment?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, thrusting out her hand. “Gimme the ring, Ian Summer.”

  “So bossy.” He grinned, sliding the ring onto her finger. It was a little loose, but couldn’t have been more perfect. As soon as it nestled into place, Sadie squeaked, no longer able to restrain herself, and flung herself at them.

  Maggie caught her, laughing—and then Mel was leaning over the back of the seats and Bree was squeezing in and she found herself at the center of a knot of people in the world’s most awkward group hug—all of them laughing, half of them crying, everyone talking at once, and her heart swelling to fill her up so full it felt like she was going to burst.

  When they all finally resumed their seats, there were already two outs in the bottom of the eighth inning. Maggie cuddled up against Ian’s arm, admiring the ring on her finger more than watching the game. She sighed and whispered, “I love you, Ian Summer.”

  He smiled, bending his head close to her to mur
mur, “I couldn’t leave you if I tried, Maggie May.”

  “Good.”

  He chuckled, turning his attention back to the game, though his hand reached down and interlaced his fingers with hers. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.

  Maggie Tate, Queen of Illusions, Hot Mess of Hollywood, had finally found something real. And she was never letting go.

  Thank you for reading THE REAL THING.

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at your favorite bookseller or book club website.

  There are several full-length novels in the Bouquet Catchers series. Read on to enjoy a sample of the first book of the series, ALWAYS A BRIDESMAID.

  Always a Bridesmaid

  She’s all heart. He’s all business.

  Parvati Jai knows better than to pin any romantic hopes on Max Dewitt. She may have had a crush on her best friend's older brother since she figured out what boys were good for, but she's looking for Mister Forever—not a workaholic entrepreneur with a romantic attention span that tops out at two weeks. Yet with her business failing, her newly-engaged best friend vanishing into a love bubble, and even her teenage niece announcing she's getting married, Max becomes the one person she can rely on—and the idea of a little fling with him becomes even more tempting.

  Max knows his little sister's best friend is off-limits...until Parvati confesses she once had a crush on him and he can't help seeing her in a new—and very intriguing—light. He's never been good at letting people past his charming facade, but something about Parvati makes him want to let down his defenses.

  But even if he lets himself fall for her, how can he convince a woman who knows all about his love-'em-and-leave-'em ways that he finally wants forever?

  * * * * *

  Chapter One

  The death knell of Parvati Jai’s professional hopes and dreams came on a Saturday morning in September, in the innocuous form of a phone call from her assistant manager.

  “Sorry to bug you on your day off,” Anna said by way of greeting, “but we’re out of the Jamaican Blue Mountain.”

  The Jamaican Blue Mountain. The most expensive and exclusive coffee bean they offered—and the product with the least forgiving supplier.

  With her cell phone pressed to her ear since the ancient Jetta pre-dated Bluetooth by about a decade, Parvati pulled into a nearby parking lot to avoid unintentional off-roading and a ticket she couldn’t afford for distracted driving.

  Her assistant manager’s voice sounded more and more like the Voice of Doom as she went on. “We were supposed to get a delivery last Thursday, but there’s nothing in the storeroom and when I called the supplier to confirm they sent it, they said our last check bounced. I know that’s not even possible,” Anna insisted with a touching—and delusional—faith in Parvati’s solvency, “but they’re dicking me around and refusing to expedite the shipment even though we’ve been one of their best customers for like five years.”

  A confession pressed up against the back of Parv’s throat. She really should just tell Anna everything. From the truth that for every single one of those five years Common Grounds had been teetering on the edge of bankruptcy to the revelation of the elaborate shell game she’d been playing to keep things going for the last several months—borrowing from Peter to pay Paul until there was no one left to borrow from.

  “Madison said I shouldn’t bother you since you, like, never take a day off,” Anna went on, her habitual irritation with the coffee shop’s most popular barista tightening her voice. “But we’re totally out of the Blue Mountain and some of our regulars are going to bitch.”

  “Don’t worry,” Parv said, finding her voice. “Offer ten percent off the Honduran blend instead—we have lots of that one. I’ll straighten things out with the supplier when I get back from Monterey tonight. Everything will be great.”

  She hung up after a couple more minutes reassuring Anna with that lie lingering in the air.

  Everything will be great.

  She would need to tell them soon. Anna and Madison were going to lose their jobs when the shop went under, and she wanted to make sure they had plenty of time to look for other work. She could only put off the inevitable for so long.

  Parvati knew she shouldn’t have started paying for the coffee orders out of her personal account last spring, but Common Grounds simply didn’t have the money and she’d been so sure if she could just hold on until summer that things would get better. Business always picked up during the tourist season.

  But then Starbucks had opened on the edge of town, right off the Pacific Coast Highway—the same Starbucks whose very convenient parking lot she had swerved into when Anna called—and the tourists had proved to be much more drawn to familiar and convenient than they were to small town charm off the beaten path.

  Even so, things had been a little better. The summer surge had been small, but noticeable. Just enough to give her hope.

  Until she got the notice that the rent was going up. Again.

  The cute little Main Street section of Eden was prospering, so her landlords felt justified in jacking up the rent accordingly—and the lease agreement she’d signed when she fell in love with the location didn’t protect her against the rate hikes. If the camel’s back hadn’t already been broken in three places by then, that straw would have done it.

  The personal check to her Blue Mountain supplier wouldn’t have bounced—she was always so careful. But she’d had to replace the brakes on the Jetta—lest she go careening off the PCH and into the ocean—and she’d accidentally put the repairs on her debit card rather than the credit card with the identical logo.

  The blow was one more than her checking account could handle.

  By the time she realized what she’d done, the overdraft charges were just the icing on the cake. She had to appreciate the irony in being fined for not having any money, but it had forced her to face facts. Common Grounds wasn’t just failing, it was dragging her down with it.

  But even as she scrambled to find the money somewhere to cover the shipment, she kept smiling, kept hoping it would get better, kept promising that everything was going to be great, long after she knew it was a lie. Parv tossed her cell phone onto the passenger seat and stared up at the Big Green Mermaid of Doom.

  She loved Starbucks. It had been one of her favorite late night study locales during college and her soul deep affection for their dark roast blend had been a contributing factor in her decision to open Common Grounds in the first place.

  It was a crying shame she’d never be able to look at one of them again without feeling a crushing sense of failure.

  They were doing good business for a sunny Saturday morning after the tourist season tailed off—far better than Common Grounds was doubtless doing without its signature Jamaican Blue Mountain.

  The front door opened and Parvati watched a Starbucks patron emerge with a grande cup clasped in one hand.

  A very familiar Starbucks patron.

  Parvati was out of her car before her brain caught up with her body, charging across the parking lot on a tide of righteous—and wildly irrational—indignation. “Traitor!”

  Max looked up, a smile of greeting freezing on his face as his gaze flicked guiltily to the cup in his hand. “Parv. Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, traitor. Since when is my coffee not good enough for you?”

  She wasn’t in the habit of bullying her customers into buying from her, but Max wasn’t just a customer. He’d known her since she was six years old, ever since she became best friends with his sister Sidney. He’d been one of her first and most loyal customers since she opened Common Grounds and the last person she’d expect to defect to Starbucks.

  God knew he could afford her prices—the man was holding the keys to a shiny new Tesla, for crying out loud.

  He glanced at the car now, as if wondering if he could make a break for it before she tackled him and doused him with his own latte. “I wa
s in a hurry and there was no parking at Common Grounds,” he admitted. “For the record, your coffee is infinitely better.”

  It had better be, for what she paid for those damn beans. Parv had tried to make a niche for herself in high-end Eden, California by offering the luxury coffees her customers couldn’t get anywhere else. It had made her clientele loyal—but limited. Even Parv couldn’t afford to drink her own premium blend.

  “Where are you going so dressed up?” Max asked.

  Parv went along with his unsubtle attempt to change the subject from his espresso betrayal, eager for the distraction from all things Common Grounds.

  “It’s my parents’ fortieth anniversary.” She smoothed her skirt, the cocktail dress and heels she wore a far cry from her usual comfy casual flip-flops and maxi skirts. “My sisters are throwing them a big bash at their place in Monterey. Command performance.” She’d put particular effort into her appearance today, taking the time to wrestle her thick hair into a classy chignon and slap on some makeup. Normally she would have been flattered Max noticed—especially since she’d had the Mount Everest of crushes on him ever since she’d figured out what boys were good for—but she was too nervous about facing her family and the inevitable questions they would ask. “Where are you off to in such a hurry you didn’t have time for the best coffee in southern California?”

  “Work.” He snuck a glance at the massive diver’s watch on his wrist. “New client wants us to upgrade the security at his estate.”

  “New client I’ve heard of?” she asked, shamelessly curious about Max’s glamorous life. Growing up just up the road from Malibu, she’d had her fair share of celebrity sightings over the years, but Max owned and ran a company that provided bodyguards and security systems for the stars themselves. There was no competing with that.