Lucky Love: A Lesbian Romance

by Anna Cove

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Author's Note

  Lucky Love

  Anna Cove

  Copyright 2018 by Anna Cove

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Trademarked names may appear throughout this book. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner's trademark.

  www.annacove.com

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  CHAPTER ONE

  LENA

  As soon as I stopped the car in front of the lawyer's office, I pulled out my phone. It had beeped multiple times on the way from Logan airport, signaling the arrival of an onslaught of emails. Since I couldn't get the Bluetooth to work in the rental car, I had to wait until I stopped in this wretched place to check the messages.

  I skimmed through them all, most unimportant, until I found one with the subject line EMERGENCY.

  I tapped it.

  Do you know Cash Johnson?

  Sighing, I shook my head. Could Tara do anything without me? Two seconds after I leave and she's already running into "emergencies" regarding Cash Johnson—what did she know about Cash Johnson? And why would she email me an emergency on a day where she knew I would be in and out? I scrolled to her name in my contacts and pressed call.

  The phone rang. I leaned over the wheel, stretching my back and scanning the downtown area for signs of life. It was midday and barely anyone strolled down the sidewalk. A layer of grime covered the brick buildings and faded awnings. It didn't look much better than it had fifteen years earlier, the last time I had visited this miserable place.

  "What took you so long?" Tara answered, her voice brittle.

  "Why didn't you call first?" I asked before she could get her sentence out.

  "You were flying today."

  "I deplaned two hours ago. You could have at least tried."

  "Why don't we just get to the point? That's what you want, right? The ultimate efficiency? So, answer the question. Do you know Cash?" Disdain dripped heavy in her voice, the way it had a million times over the course of our recent arguments.

  I refused to give her the upper hand and react to her bitterness. "Yes, of course I know Cash. We worked together at Google."

  "He wants a meeting with us."

  "A what?"

  "A meeting," Tara said, her voice rising in excitement, giving me a peek at the Tara with whom I had once fallen in love. "I have him scheduled for later this afternoon, and I wanted to be sure I knew everything I could about him before we met."

  "Cancel it."

  Silence permeated the line. "I must have heard you wrong—"

  "Call him back and reschedule for next week."

  "Why?"

  "I want to be there."

  "I can do this alone."

  Could she? I'd once believed in her ability to work with people, but she had so thoroughly messed up our relationship, I wasn't sure I would trust her with my pet hamster, if I had one. But I didn't want to have that argument now, not when I needed my senses for what I was about to do next, so I decided to go with something a bit more moderate. "I'd rather be there."

  "I'm sure you would."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "There's something else. Tim found a critical bug. I had to pay him overtime to fix it."

  My anger was escalating by the minute. "You... what? Why would you do something like that? This is my project. I know it inside and out. I can fix the bug in minutes. I guarantee you."

  "What if Cash wants to try it out?"

  "It won't matter because you're rescheduling the meeting for next week," I said through gritted teeth.

  "Don't use that tone with me," Tara hissed. "We're also running low on money to pay our assistant. And me."

  Of course they'd run into issues. That was the way this project was going. If it wasn't a bug, it was computers malfunctioning (in one case, literally melting down), or our contract coders catching "grave illnesses" that were grave enough to take days off at a time, but not grave enough to keep them from heading to Disney with their families. I sighed. "I'll take a look at the bug and transfer funds into the account."

  "It won't be enough."

  "Tara."

  "What?"

  "Don't do that."

  "Do what?"

  "I know what you're thinking."

  "Do you? Do you really?" Tara's voice threatened to crack, and it made me question every decision I had ever made regarding her. How had I been so blind? I was Sum Cum Laude at UCLA. I was making six figures at Google by the time I was twenty-two. Yet I wasn't smart enough to avoid going into business with my girlfriend.

  Ex-girlfriend these days, yet here I was still dealing with her, violating one of my personal rules of a clean break.

  "We need to hire another coder," she said, breaking into my thoughts.

  "No we don't."

  "Do you ever want to get this project off the ground?"

  Three minivans drove past, filled with people inside who had never left this old city. People who didn't know what it was like to live where the sun set over the ocean. People who never knew the stress of deadlines and bugs. "I'll fix it."

  "It's not going to be enough."

  "I'll keep us going, at least until we get an influx of funding."

  Tara hung up the phone without saying goodbye. I sighed and glanced at the clock. I was five minutes early and already regretting my decision to come here in person, though showing up always meant things got done faster. And the faster this particular task got done, the faster I could move on with the rest of my life.

  I slid out of my rented Corvette—a year older than the one I drove in San Francisco—and closed the door behind me. I didn't even bother glancing at myself in the window's reflection because I knew everything was in order. My suit was pressed and unwrinkled despite the flight. My short hair was swooped to the side. And my face was clean.

  In other words, I was exactly the opposite of Gardner, Massachusetts, with its industrial past clinging to it like a film. Overwhelmingly dingy brick storefronts and clouded windows crowded the main street.

  The old lady's lawyer had done the best he could, painting the facade of his office a sage green and hanging an etched sign. Though, like most of his neighbors, he hadn't followed through on the upkeep, letting rust from the wrought iron hanger run down the gold letters of the placard.

  I pushed through the glass front door to find no one at the desk inside.

  "Hello?" I called.

  "Come on in," came a voice from down the hall.

  The office was cle
an, but faded, with old fabric chairs in the waiting room and magazines strewn over the front desk. I walked past two empty cubicles to the first door on the left.

  Stacks of paper and Manila folders occupied almost every flat surface in the office. It took most of my energy to reel myself in, to control the shock on my face, and stop from taking a step backward.

  "You must be Lena Luck," said an affable man with blue eyes and a genuine smile. He rose from behind the desk, his chair wheels crunching papers on the floor, and strode forward to offer his hand.

  "And you must be Attorney Pavlinski."

  "Call me Tom." He dropped my hand and bent, lifting a stack of papers from a chair I hadn't even seen under all the mess, and dropped it to the floor. "Excuse my mess. I try to keep ahead of it but..." He shrugged.

  I always believed that a person's environment represented the state of their minds. This did not bode well for Tom Pavlinski. I stared at the seat and opted to remain standing. Tom sunk into his chair, but when he noticed me standing, he bounced up.

  "I won't be here long," I said. "I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Lois Luck's estate."

  "Of course. Do you want anything before we start?"

  "No."

  "Water? Coffee?"

  "I'm good."

  "Do you mind if I eat while we talk? I've got to be in court in an hour and if I skip my lunch, I get a little shaky."

  "Uh—"

  "Thanks." Tom plopped in his chair and picked up a wrapped sub. He unwrapped the package and stuffed the sub into his mouth. He chewed far too little and swallowed. The lump stuck in his throat and descended slowly. He brought his fist to his mouth and coughed before speaking again. "Sorry. Go ahead with your questions."

  I blinked as a piece of lettuce slipped through his lips and stuck there. Ignore it. "Were you the lawyer present when Lois signed the will?"

  "Mm hm," Tom said as he took another Titanic-sized bite of his sandwich.

  "May I see it?"

  "Sure." He put down his sub and lifted the corner of a folder in the stack next to him. Then he stood, leaned over the desk, and riffled through another pile. "I know it's here somewhere."

  Minutes—precious costly minutes—ticked by while he searched his filthy desk for the will. The piece of paper he would produce would be coffee-stained, no doubt. Perhaps with an oily stain left by the mayonnaise of a months-ago sandwich just like this one. Finally, he produced an unstained folder and flipped it open, revealing an unstained will inside. He slid it over to me, pointing at it. "As a beneficiary, you would have received a copy in the mail."

  "Yes, but..." I scanned the now-familiar document and noted no change. I tapped it once with my finger. "This can't be right."

  "I assure you, it is."

  "Was Lois of sound mind when she signed this document?"

  "Sharp as ever."

  I placed the document back in the folder and shut it, ready to ask the question that had brought me here. "Who is Alice Richards?"

  Tom's eyebrow flicked up before he could control it. A microexpression—so small many would have missed it—but I didn't miss things like this. It was disdain. Disdain. For me. Like I should have known. What did he know about me?

  He managed to smooth his expression over in less time than many others might. "She was a good friend to your grandmother."

  Good friend, huh? I had never imagined the cold fish of the lady I knew having any friends. Could Alice have been a special friend to Lois? A romantic special friend? I pictured two little old ladies together, playing cribbage and sipping tea and making eyes at one another and, tragically, never consummating their love. That could explain why Lois had been so frigid with me when I was a teenager. Maybe she was secretly jealous. Maybe the old bat had been gay and in the closet all this time. I barely concealed a snort at the thought.

  I had to admit, though, the image made me feel better.

  "So, this Alice woman... she's in good enough condition to manage the estate?"

  Tom frowned. "She's in excellent shape."

  "I still don't like that she inherited the house. But I would think she would only have it a few years before she... you know..." I lowered my chin.

  Tom followed my movement, lowering his as well. "I don't know."

  "Before she... you know... dies."

  "Oh," Tom said.

  "Is there any way to add a provision for that? To have the house come back to the family after she—"

  "Let's rewind, shall we?" Tom asked. "Alice is—"

  "Right here," came a chipper voice from the door.

  I swiveled to find an oddly dressed secretary in the doorway. Her red hair was swept away from her face with ironed curls. She wore a lime green dress with a fitted waist and a hot pink belt with matching hot pink shoes and hot pink nails. A set of those stupid plastic sunglasses that everyone wore but belonged only on the faces of children under the age of twelve perched on her head. Over her arm she carried a basket, finishing her look as some kind of psychedelic Red Riding Hood.

  A smile stretched her red-lined lips as she pulled back a napkin from the top of the basket. The sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar threatened to buckle my knees, drawing me forward like a cartoon character in love.

  "You must be Lena," she said. It was her voice I'd heard. "It's lovely to meet you. I'm Alice. Want a snickerdoodle?"

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALICE

  I never believed in love at first sight until I met Lena Luck. To be honest, it was more like lust at first sight. My body did all the talking, growing warm down in the pit of my stomach. It had been so long since I'd been attracted to someone, I hadn't thought it possible anymore. But Lena was exactly my type.

  She wore a smart tailored suit with a graphic T-shirt underneath. Slightly masculine features, a square jaw, ambitious, no doubt. Just the kind of woman I'd sworn off years ago after I left Northampton. I recovered before I dropped my basket and dry-humped her right in the office, offering her a cookie instead. And that's when everything turned.

  Instead of taking the cookie and smiling back as many others would do, Lena frowned and glanced back at Tom. "You've got to be kidding me."

  I tried not to take offense. "I didn't poison them. I promise."

  "I'll take one," Tom said. "I would never pass up one of Alice's brilliant creations."

  I swiveled to him, smiling still, but keenly aware of the daggers Lena sent into the side of my face. "That's sweet of you to say, Tom. Just a simple snickerdoodle today. Nothing fancy."

  Tom closed his eyes as he bit down on the cookie I handed to him. He moaned.

  I chuckled, ever aware of the dark pit of doom in the room that was Lena Luck.

  "Sit, sit," Tom said, gesturing to the chair next to Lena.

  Lena sat, rigid as a skeleton. I stopped short, then walked to the chair next to her and moved the stack of papers to the floor. I had been to Tom's office enough to know he didn't stand on ceremony, and if you wanted a place to sit in his office, you had to make it yourself. Despite the mess, he was a good lawyer, though he was a little annoying at times.

  "Lena here wanted to know why Mrs. Luck chose you as personal representative of the will."

  "Ah." I sat up straight, smiling a bit. "First of all, I prefer the term executrix."

  "Well, the state of Massachusetts doesn't. And neither do I," Lena said, so sourly I could practically taste lemon at the back of my throat.

  My muscles strained with the effort it took to keep the smile on my face. Lena had lost her grandmother. She was in pain. She definitely, most definitely probably had a good reason for not attending the funeral. Like she was just so distraught she couldn't keep it together. Or something. No matter the case, I had to be compassionate. It would take some time for her to adjust. "I spent a lot of time with your grandmother over the past year."

  "I gather that."

  "If you want to know anything about her in the end—whether she was sick..."

  Le
na turned her head to me in slow motion. She took up as much space as she could with her tight body. "The only thing I want to know is how you weaseled your way into our inheritance."

  My face turned hot, then ran cold. Everything about the way I was holding my body—my rigid back, my hands in my lap, my ankles crossed—felt forced and unnatural with the weight of her statement. Her attitude started to make more sense. I glanced at Tom for help, and when he offered none, I twisted to face Lena. "I was under the impression you all didn't want the house."

  "No one ever said that."

  "Your grandmother told me you wouldn't want it."

  "What would she know? She hadn't spoken to me in fifteen years."

  Wow. Fifteen years. I was struggling to regain control, to remain polite. Lois had often seemed a little cold and removed, but she was one of those people. Once you got to know her, you saw her soft underbelly, her vulnerability. She wouldn't have let fifteen years go by without speaking to her granddaughter, would she? Given what I had witnessed in the past few minutes, I would bet the house—literally—it was all on Lena. I wouldn't throw that in her face. It wasn't polite. "If I had known you had wanted the house..."

  "Why wouldn't we?" Lena sat up straight. "Think about it."

  "I don't know... because... well..." The proximity of Lena—she was so close I could smell the soft spice of her soap—made me want to stutter, made me want to turn and run. It also made me want to lunge forward and kiss her. How long had it been since I'd had someone in my bed? Years? I would have to remedy that soon, especially if Lena was going to stick around for a while, because... yeah. No. Lena was not the one for me.

  Lena sat forward, leaning on Tom's desk, her shoulder in my face. "She must have forced Lois's hand."

  "I... never." I placed a hand on my chest, my attraction smothered with anger.

  Lena stood. "I mean, look at her."

  "Lois was sharp as a tack," I said. "She made this decision on her own."

  "What did you do to her?" Lena towered over me. "Did you ply her with cookies? Did you seduce her?"

  "What?" I laughed at the ridiculous nature of her claim. "I would never even think of doing that."