by Maria Luis
Dear Mae,
Is the cheese really your biggest concern? I spent the afternoon staring at all this pinewood that you’ve brought me. Now that we’re halfway done with this glass atrium, I’ve got no idea what to do with it.
Yours,
Reese
P.S., The cheese wasn’t for me. It was for Rocky, the dog you swore we would regret not having if we didn’t save him from the pound. Your cheese went to a good cause—your son. (And Monster, your cat-son).
Dear Insufferable You,
We can use the pine for a deck in the back. Ooo, what about for a pretty gazebo? I’ve always wanted one of those.
Love,
Daisy
P.S., Don’t you dare bring Rocky into this. He’s not even supposed to have cheese! (Neither is Monster, for that matter).
P.P.S., I saw you eat it straight from the package this morning when I got out of the shower. I would have said something, but you looked so cute stuffing it into your mouth and checking over your shoulder like you were scared I’d pop up out of nowhere.
Dear Mae,
Are you hinting at something with the gazebo?
Yours,
Reese
P.S., If I’ve learned nothing from dating you, sweetheart, it’s the fact that your cheese is sacred. Can you blame me for taking a risk? Even the Rockster looked at me with pity in his eyes. I read that look loud and clear: “Dad, you are D-E-A-D if Mom catches you with that. And don’t you dare put the blame on me.”
P.P.S., I put the blame on him.
P.P.P.S., I’ve already made it up to him with a new squeaky toy that will be destroyed in approximately 5.5 seconds.
Dear Insufferable You,
I’m not hinting at anything! I’m just saying, if we ever wanted to hold weddings or, you know, anything like that at the house, when it’s finished, a gazebo would be the perfect backdrop. The Rosedale can’t steal all of the business over on Shelter Island.
Love,
Daisy
P.S., Please tell me that he didn’t eat the squeaker again. I felt like the worst dog parent alive having to go to the vet and explaining that one the last time it happened. Me and Rocky experienced such a walk of shame on the way out. Me more than him—his tail was wagging.
Dear Mae,
Weddings for other people or for our wedding? Just trying to get the logistics. Have to decide how big the gazebo will be. If it’s for other folks, it can be a standard size. If it’s for us, we might need more pine.
Yours,
Reese
P.S., I took the squeaker from him the moment he tore it from the stuffed pig’s belly. I’ll never forget the look of disappointment in Rocky’s eyes. You might be his favorite again after this.
P.P.S., You’re my favorite, too. In case you were wondering.
Dear Insufferable You,
Was that a proposal?
Dear Insufferable You,
I’m standing in front of the wine at the supermarket and I’m sort of freaking out because you haven’t answered, and now I’m wondering why we always keep to this format of texting when you’re in a meeting and OMG PLEASE ANSWER ME.
REESE.
Seriously, are you there? Was that a proposal?
Dear Daisy Mae,
I skipped out of the meeting about thirty minutes ago.
Love,
Insufferable You
P.S., If you want the answer to that, you’re going to have to find me at the hardware store where I’m currently picking out more pine for our future gazebo where I might or might not propose to you in the near future.
P.P.S., I adore you.
Dear Reese,
You are my favorite.
Love,
Mae
P.S., We’re going to have to make a pit stop by the store later because I skipped out of there with wine bottle in hand, I was so excited.
P.P.S., I’m glad we live in a small town and I won’t be arrested.
P.P.P.S., I adore you back. More than you will ever know.
Read on for the bonus short story, The Bay of Love: LOUISA and CHASE , and for the links to the other novellas in the series.
The Bay of Love: LOUISA and CHASE
A Fortune’s Bay Short Story
Louisa Trevor didn’t always dress like a pirate, but when she did, she made sure to go all out: black leather boots, loose-flowing skirt, corset-top with billowy sleeves.
During Fortune’s Bay annual Winterfest, she traded in her professional slacks and blouses for a costume that was more eighteenth-century bar wench than anything closely resembling the Pirates of the Caribbean.
There were perks to working as Curator of the town’s Pirate Museum. Really, Louisa could name at least three, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration her discounted rates anytime she wanted to visit any number of the famous historical sites in Florida, all in the name of research. Unfortunately, the perks of the job did not include historically accurate costumes, no matter how much she fought with the museum’s board to ditch the red pipe-stitching and the dreadfully awful fanny pack that gave her extra padding she so did not need. Anastasia “The Sparrow” Roberts, the pirate who had founded Fortune’s Bay in 1700, would have laughed herself silly at the sight of Louisa.
Another fight she’d never win against the board?
Fundraiser suggestions, particularly those that included Sailing on the Blue, Fortune’s Bay premier sailboat building company, which was owned by the one man in Fortune’s Bay who Louisa would prefer didn’t—
“Hello there, Louisa.”
Chase Trevor.
Her shoulders stiffened even as her stupid heart gave an equally idiotic gallop. “Chase,” she murmured, turning around to face the front door of the museum. Against the wooden plank boards that lined the walls, Chase could be best described as “All-American.” His blond hair was tousled and wavy; his skin tan from practically living outdoors; his shoulders broad and his hips narrow.
He looked like Chris Hemsworth, the complete opposite to her dark hair and eyes, but Chase didn’t share the famous actor’s charismatic charm.
She flushed at the thought. All right, so Chase did have the same charismatic charm as Hollywood’s very own Thor. It was just that . . . well, he mostly shared it with other women. Never her. Not that you care, right?
Right.
Louisa swallowed past her nerves and her want, and ran her fingers down the length of her black skirt. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Blue eyes swept over her, cataloging her not-quite-pirate outfit in a heartbeat. His gaze jerked back up to her face, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he found her lacking. “Weren’t you?” he asked before stepping into the museum fully and closing the door behind him with his elbow. “Are you really going to tell me that you haven’t been avoiding me?”
She steeled her shoulders against a wince. She hadn’t exactly avoided him, not really. Maybe she’d done a little side-stepping to avoid direct contact with him, but wasn’t that normal for a woman who’d found herself crushing on the same man who’d been her first kiss at the age of ten? It would have helped if she didn’t have to see him everywhere, or if he and her twin brother weren’t best friends, but life rarely went Louisa’s way when it came down to relationships.
Case in point: she’d existed on his radar for over twenty years now, and Chase had never once sought her out personally.
Which meant that when the board had determined that the Pirate Museum and Sailing into the Blue were to team up together for Winterfest, well . . .
“I’ve been . . .” Louisa cut a glance to the array of historical artifacts tucked away in a glass case. Rusted-out knives, centuries-old doubloons, and even an eighteenth-century necklace sat inside for visitors to peruse. They’d been found near the coastline of Shipwreck Island just last month by the museum’s main archaeologist. “I’ve been handling new inventory.”
Chase’s jaw clenched. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
�
��The word ‘avoid’ is just so very harsh . . .”
“Louisa.”
Her breath deserted her. For years, she’d waited for Chase—perfect, handsome Chase—to notice her. For more than the obvious reasons, of course: her twin brother was his best friend; they shared the same last name, despite the fact that they weren’t related; and because he’d once dated her best friend.
Although “dated” might not be an appropriate word for Chase and Tammy. Did two dates count? In Tammy’s world, probably not. In Louisa’s permanent state of living the Single Girl Life, two dates might as well be synonymous with marriage, a white picket fence, and a baby on the way.
Simply put, Louisa didn’t date often, and she considered herself lucky if two dates (with the same man) even happened. Since moving to Florida from Alabama at the age of eight, she’d met every eligible man Fortune’s Bay had to offer. Maybe she would have had her pick of the crop if she hadn’t been so hung up on Chase back in high school, but a decade separated senior year and today, and those fruitful pickings had dwindled down to pretty much nothing. Most were married nowadays, a few were divorced, and a handful batted for the other team.
Chase Trevor didn’t fit into any of the above categories, and he never had.
Now he sauntered toward her, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his cargo pants. The intense look on his expression didn’t bode well for her. “The officials of Winterfest are expecting miniature sailboats for the kids to release in two days, and the Historical Association board is expecting the Pirate Museum to host the event.”
“I emailed you all the pertinent information,” she murmured, trying her best to keep her voice steady, “including the number of sailboats needed for all the kids.”
“I deleted it.”
Louisa blinked, and then blinked again for good measure. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you deleted my email?” She’d spent no less than an hour composing it, scrutinizing every word choice and every punctuation mark so that there was not a single chance on earth that Chase could come back around and accuse her of ignoring her responsibilities.
And she wasn’t ignoring them, per se—she was just choosing the path of least resistance. Namely, keeping her relationship with Chase isolated to the virtual sphere. He was just too . . . Louisa’s gaze snared on his light sweater that stretched across his broad shoulders.
Viral, she thought, he was just too viral.
As if to prove her point, his blue eyes snapped with a barely leashed fire as he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I deleted the email. About thirty seconds after it arrived in my inbox, in case you’re wondering about the specifics.”
The specifics of it all? If his aim was to frustrate her, then he’d won this round solidly. In a voice that quivered between annoyance and nervousness, she said, “I . . . did you read any of it?”
His broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “I read the subject line.”
“And did the . . . subject line,” Louisa ground out, “not appeal to you?”
He stepped in close, and she caught the clean scent of his cologne. “It bored me.”
Louisa came up spluttering, and she had to try so very hard not to make angry, stabbing motions in the air. “It bored you?”
“You adopting a parrot to match your costume, Louisa, or are you just taking to copying everything that I say?”
Maybe this was why she and Chase had never had their chance, like in classic 1980s romantic comedies when the nerdy girl always got the popular jock. Maybe, just maybe, the relationship gods had protected her for years from getting a little too close to Chase. Maybe they’d even known she would one day be tempted to build a teacup-sized sailboat and bash him over the head with it—just because he’d decided to spin her head in circles. And delete her emails.
With her head still stampeding, she pressed her palms to her temples to relieve the growing pressure. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”
A bright grin chased the flat expression away from his face. With a soft chuckle, Chase leaned around her and flipped the we’re open! sign beside the cash register to come back again soon!
Had he . . . had he planned this?
Louisa had never been close friends with him—that role had been left to her twin, Aaron. She was also perfectly aware that she didn’t know all of Chase’s quirks, but there was no doubting the victory swimming in his blue eyes as he towered over her.
Had she missed something?
“I’m so glad to hear that you’re speechless, Louisa,” he said in a silky drawl.
Do not stutter, girl. “I’m confused.”
His hands settled on her shoulders. “We’re going on an adventure today. I hope you’re ready for it.”
“An adventure?” Seriously, had she missed something? If it wouldn’t have been incredibly awkward, she would have asked him to pinch her. Just a little one, right above the elbow. Clearly, it was time to ask the practical questions, like the one that had sat on her tongue since he’d first strolled into the museum. “Chase, have you been drinking?”
“Haven’t had a drop.” He squeezed her once and then let go, stepping back and heading for the museum’s front door. “Lock up, would you? We have some materials that we’ve got to pick up.”
Louisa’s mouth opened, the words forming on her tongue, and then she shook herself. It was obvious that Chase was on a mission, and wasn’t this what she’d always wanted? For Chase to notice her, even if it was just on a friendly basis?
She glanced down at her costume and then felt the familiar trace of a blush work up to her cheeks. “I think I might need to change my clothes.”
“No,” Chase said, his voice startling her to meet his gaze, “you look perfect as you are.”
Louisa shaded her face from the winter sun with a raised hand to her temple. “This adventure of yours, Chase . . .”
The man didn’t even pause to let her finish.
He kept up his quick-paced stride, heading across the football field away from the Pirate Museum. “Keep up, Louisa!” he called out over his shoulder. “Trust me, you don’t want to miss out on this.”
Miss out on what? She kept the words to herself, mainly because she looked crazy enough waltzing about town in her work apparel—she didn’t need to add shouting at the most eligible bachelor in town to her list of oddities, too.
Head down, Louisa hiked up her skirts to her calves and followed the dratted man across Fortune’s Bay’s football field. “Do you have any plans to tell me what’s on the agenda today?”
This time around, he slowed just enough so that she had the opportunity to pull even with him. “Do you want the truth?”
She narrowed her eyes, just as her shoe heel sank into a small ditch. With reflexes that were Thor-like—once again proving that he was not quite mortal—Chase caught her by the arm and hauled her up right. His fingers were hot on her arm, broad and strong, and even if he was rapidly becoming the most annoying man in her existence, she couldn’t help but . . . well, swoon just a little bit.
“Who doesn’t want the truth?” she countered before shaking free of his hold. It was either that or sink against his chest and purr like a cat, and she prided herself on not acting the simpering miss.
His lips turned up in a small smile. “Loads of people, Louisa. Most people don’t want to hear honesty, and they especially don’t want to see it a good majority of the time. Even if it’s staring them straight in the face.”
She mulled over that, picking at the possible hidden meanings. Ultimately threw her hands up in the air, and demanded, “Seriously, are you okay today?”
“Never been better.”
Louisa tried to recall the last time she’d spent any amount of time alone with Chase. A few months ago, she’d venture to guess, when they’d been left together at the Wilde Pirate, Fortune’s Bay’s local Irish Pub.
One minute they’d been surrounded by friends, and in the next . . . poof. Every single one of them had disappeared, sav
e Chase Trevor. And when the pub’s owner, Conor Callaghan, had poured them each another pint of Guinness, Chase had turned to Louisa and asked, “Do people still ask you if you liked kissing your cousin?”
Fifth grade. A dared kiss at the back of a school bus. Their elementary school peers hadn’t cared that Chase and Louisa weren’t related even by marriage. Instead, the kids had watched in shock as the “Trevors”—as they’d been dubbed—leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss that lasted a whopping two seconds.
In that moment, Louisa’s harmless crush had taken off to newfound heights.
In that same moment, Chase Trevor had propped a lanky arm on the back of the bus seat and exclaimed, “She’s not my cousin.”
No one had listened then, and the “kissing cousins” nickname had stuck around for years afterward, haunting Louisa throughout high school and until she’d left Fortune’s Bay to attend college at the University of Miami.
She’d returned two years ago after achieving her Master’s degree in Museum Studies, only to find that Chase had never left. She couldn’t remember what exactly she’d told him that night at the Wilde Pirate, but she knew right now that this good-humored man was not a version of Chase she was familiar with.
Football turf turned into cement as they crossed the street, and Louisa glanced up at the row of local shops. “Are you taking me for a pedicure?” she asked, pointing at the beauty salon. Not that she wouldn’t rather be submerged in cataloging new inventory at the museum, but a mani and a pedi never hurt anyone.
Chase laughed, and he laughed hard. The sound curled her toes and warmed her like a fix of hot chocolate on the coldest day in winter. “Another day, maybe. Today, we’re heading for the hardware store.”
Oh, the hardware store.
How absolutely, wonderfully romantic—not.
See? she told herself. Don’t think for a single second the man is into you because he’s not.
Louisa refused to let the sting of reality bite her in the butt for longer than a hot-second.
