Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1)

by Stephanie Rowe

  Clare and Astrid were huddled up with her computer, working on her website. Sitting at the same table were Brooke and Katie, and he could see their colored drawings of new ideas for cupcakes.

  As he watched them, Clare looked up. The moment her eyes met his, the chaos and bustle of the room melted away, until it was just them, just her, a connection that would hold him forever. She smiled at him, and lightly laid her hand over her heart. Griffin's throat tightened, and he gave her a single nod, just for her, for no one else. Tonight was date night at the Finch Grill, and he couldn't wait to lose himself in her without the chaos of the town around them.

  Brooke looked at Clare, then turned around to see what she was looking at. When she saw Griffin watching them, her face brightened and she waved at him. "Come see, Dad! You should see our displays! They look awesome."

  Griffin grinned. "Yeah, sure." He started to head over there, and then the front door flew open and Jackson strode in, wearing his customary jeans and boots.

  He waved a cardboard tube at Griffin. "Here are the latest plans for the addition you want me to build onto Wright's. We need to move the cupcake display more to the left to make room for the tables, and I adjusted the ceiling height to allow more space for Emma's paintings and the ceiling fans."

  Anticipation coiled through Griffin. He took the plans out of the tube and spread them over the counter. He nodded with satisfaction as he saw what Jackson had done. The amount of knowledge Jackson had acquired during his years of construction was impressive, and his talent with designs was even better than Griffin had suspected after his first visit to Jackson's house. The nursery Jackson had designed and built had been incredible, and Griffin had known immediately that it was Jackson who needed to design Clare's store. "Damn, you're good man."

  Jackson grinned. "I know. How about that, huh?"

  Griffin studied the drawings. "When we finish with the cupcake shop, I want you to design and build an addition to the farmhouse next. We need a master suite, and Brooke needs her own room, even though she and Katie are enjoying their sleepovers when Brooke stays over."

  Jackson nodded. "I'll check with my boss and see when we can fit it in."

  Griffin shook his head. "No. You need to build it. Your vision is what I want, not his."

  Interest flashed in Jackson's eyes. "I thought having me build the addition to Wright's myself was a one-time-thing."

  Griffin shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to push the soon-to-be-dad too far. Not yet. But he knew Jackson's talents wouldn't remain a secret once people saw what he was doing with the store's addition. "One more project. That's all. You game?"

  Jackson shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I can fit it in. Got a few more months before the baby arrives and I could use the extra cash" He thudded his hand on Griffin's shoulder. "Thanks for the extra work. I appreciate it."

  "It's not charity. You're the best, and I want the best." Griffin rolled up the plans to take them to Clare. "Do you have time to go over these now?"

  "Nope." Jackson winked. "Trish is waiting in the truck for me. We're going shopping for paint colors for the nursery. I want blue, she wants green." His grin widened. "It's gonna be a battle. Wish me luck."

  Griffin smiled. "It's just paint, Jackson. Let her win."

  Jackson inclined his head as he strode toward the door. "I always let her win, my friend. Seeing her smile is all I need." Then he saluted Griffin and jogged out the door.

  "My boy, we've got a problem." A gnarled hand closed down on Griffin's arm as Eppie moved in front of him to block his path. She was wearing a hat decorated with fresh sunflowers that were far too big for the white brim, taking up the entire damn hat so it looked like she had the whole garden stuck on her head.

  Griffin straightened the hat that had begun to slide off-center. "What's up, Eppie?"

  Eppie shook her head, her mouth pursed in dismay. "It's Astrid."

  Griffin glanced over at the table again. Astrid was in deep conversation with Clare, wearing a pair of earrings that dangled almost down to her shoulders. A polka-dotted scarf barely taming her curls, and her turquoise tank top was bright and audacious, just as he would expect of her. "What's wrong with Astrid?"

  Eppie sighed. "She hasn't created a new design in almost three months, Griffin. That woman is a veritable font of creativity, and the well has dried up."

  Griffin frowned. "How do you know?"

  Eppie rolled her eyes. "I keep track of these things, young man. Someone has to." She hooked her arm through his elbow, declaring him her escort. "Now, let's go over there and find out what's wrong with her."

  "I'm sure she's fine."

  Eppie looked at him, and in those old eyes, he saw genuine concern. "No, she's not."

  Griffin's amusement faded, and he realized the old lady had sensed something he hadn't noticed. Over the last month, he'd come to really appreciate Astrid's spunk and her loyal friendship to Clare. She might come across as flamboyant and artsy, but her heart was full of warmth and love, making it clear why she and Clare were best friends. But he was well aware that Astrid never spoke of her past, and he'd sensed a layer of pain beneath her cheerful exterior. If Eppie said they needed to worry about Astrid, then he would believe her. "Okay, then, let's do it."

  She beamed at him and patted his arm. "It's great to have a man around again, Griffin. Welcome to Birch Crossing. We've been waiting for you."

  Griffin grinned at her as he picked up Jackson's plans to bring them to Clare. "Thanks." Then they headed toward the table and the three most important women in his life.

  As he approached, Clare lifted her head to watch him, a slow smile growing on her face as he neared. Intense satisfaction pulsed though him, and he smiled back, unable to take his gaze off the face of the woman who had brought him to life, the woman he loved to the very depths of her soul.

  Eppie released him to grab a chair and park herself next to Astrid to start the interrogation, and Griffin walked over to Clare, needing to connect with her before he could do anything else.

  Clare's smile widened, her eyes dancing with anticipation as he grabbed the back of her chair and leaned over her. "Hi, Griffin," she said cheerfully.

  "Hello, my love." He bent his head and kissed her lightly, and a sense of absolute rightness settled over him when she leaned into him and kissed him back.

  Right there.

  In the middle of the store.

  In front of everyone.

  Claiming him every bit as much as he was claiming her.

  A moment that would never, ever lose its beauty, no matter how many times it happened.

  "I love you, Clare," he whispered against her lips. "Always and forever."

  She smiled, her eyes full of such love. "Always and forever," she whispered back. "I love you, too."

  He grinned at her, the moment sheer perfection. "Clare—"

  "Dad!" He felt a tug at his shirt.

  Laughter danced in Clare's eyes, and they shared an amused smile before he turned toward his daughter. "What's up, Brookie?"

  "Look at our cupcake designs." She held up a sketch of a cupcake with a theatre mask on it. "It's for the Shakespeare festival. What do you think?"

  Griffin pulled up a chair and sat down between Clare and Brooke as he handed the plans to Clare. He rested his arm over the back of her seat, brushing his fingers over her neck as he leaned toward his daughter. "I like it. How'd you come up with the idea for the design?"

  "It was Katie's idea, actually. See, it started like this—" Brooke took out a black and white sketch, and then she and Katie began explaining what they'd done.

  As the two teens tried to talk over each other, he glanced over at Astrid and Eppie. Eppie had her hand on Astrid's arm and she was talking urgently in a low voice. Astrid looked up at Clare, and Griffin was shocked by the raw pain in her eyes. It wasn't simply despair at being tormented by Eppie. It was something deeper, a pain and loneliness so stark it would strip her bare and destroy her.

  He recognized it, beca
use he'd been there. He'd lived with it for so long, until Clare had saved him. How could Astrid have been able to hide such pain so well? And how much deeper did it go?

  "I have to go work," Astrid said cheerfully as she stood up. "Lots of big orders to fill by tonight." She leaned forward to hug Clare, and he saw her hold on a little tighter than usual, as if she was using Clare for strength before she waved good-bye to the rest of them and sauntered off with a swagger he no longer believed.

  Shit. Eppie was right. Astrid was in trouble. He looked over at Clare and raised his brows. "She's not okay, is she?"

  Clare looked at him with troubled eyes. "I don't know," she admitted. "She's so private."

  Son of a bitch. Protectiveness surged through him as he watched Astrid leave, a need to help her, to make it right for her, to—

  Clare set her hand on his arm. "Griffin?"

  He turned his gaze toward her, his heart softening when he saw the love in her expression. "What is it?"

  She squeezed his arm softly. "Thank you."

  He raised his brows. "For what?"

  "For caring about the people who matter to me. For caring about this town." She smiled at him, that special smile of love that still made his chest tighten.

  "Of course I care." He looked at the two teens girls at his table, at Eppie critiquing their designs, at Ophelia on her way over with his omelet, and at the woman he loved.

  Yeah, he was home.

  Did you enjoy Griffin and Clare’s story? If so, please consider leaving a short review on the eTailer and/or Goodreads. Reviews make a huge difference for authors!

  Do you want to know when Stephanie has a new book out, is running a sale, or giving away prizes? Sign up for her private newsletter here!

  Keep reading for sneak peeks the next Birch Crossing novel, and other Stephanie Rowe books, on the following pages!

  Sneak Peek: Accidentally Mine

  Jason Sarantos sank down beside his sleeping son and dropped his head to his hands, digging his fingers into his temples. "Think, Jason," he said aloud, his voice echoing through the crumbling café that he'd bought sight unseen and moved three hundred miles to run, so his son would have a chance at a normal life. But this place was nothing like what he'd thought. Nothing. What the hell had he done? "There has to be a way to make this right."

  "Of course there is," a woman said, her melodic voice drifting across the dust-filled café. "A fresh coat of lilac paint on the walls and maybe a blue-green turquoise on the ceiling, don't you think?"

  Jason jerked his head up at the intrusion, and then froze when he saw who had spoken. It wasn't the old lady with cookies that he'd imagined when he'd decided to move to this rural New England town. He'd been off by several decades and a whole lot of femininity.

  She was leaning against the doorway to his shop, her brown eyes sparkling with merriment he hadn't felt in years. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders with a reckless abandon that spoke of a spirit that would never be tamed. Some of the curls had been woven into a yellow and green braided scarf that seemed to disappear into her thick hair. From each earlobe dangled several pairs of earrings, gold wire twisted into designs so intriguing he wanted to stride right over to her and see what they were.

  She was wearing a pair of faded jeans that showed womanly curves that he hadn't thought about in way too long. The delicate straps of her pale yellow tank top rested across her collarbones, revealing a smooth expanse of skin that shot right to his core.

  But it was her smile that he couldn't look away from. It was so full of life and vitality, that it made him want to grab her and yank her into his store so she could inject the dying place with her energy.

  Her eyebrows arched up, and there was no mistaking the glint of interest in her eyes. "So, should I take your lack of response as a statement that you disagree with the lilac paint suggestion but you're too polite to tell me that? Or maybe you're just overwhelmed by my mind-numbing beauty and stunned into disbelieving silence?"

  Shit. He was staring? Jason swore and quickly stood up, brushing the dust from the store off his jeans. "My name's Jason Sarantos. I bought the place."

  Her smile widened, lighting up her eyes even more, like this great gust of relief breaking through the gloom trying to consume him. "Jason, everyone in this entire town knows your name, that you bought the store, and that it was twelve minutes after three when you drove your Mercedes SUV past Wright's General Store when you arrived in town, not to mention the fact you were drinking a coffee as you went by." She set her hands on her hips and tilted her head, giving him a teasing grin. "Everyone was pretty offended you didn't stop in to buy your coffee at Wright's and introduce yourself."

  Jason blinked, suddenly thrust back into the past, into his childhood, into the small town in Minnesota he'd grown up in, where his mother had found out about his first kiss before he'd even lifted his lips from those of Samantha Huckaby. That was why he'd been drawn to Birch Crossing: because it reminded him of everything he liked about his home and his childhood, yet it had the appealing bonus of being two thousand miles away from the sixteen cousins, five aunts and uncles, and four sisters that had driven him east to find his own path. "Shit. Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

  She laughed, a beautiful, melodic sound that went right to his gut. God, when was the last time he'd seen anyone effuse such life? He was riveted by her, by the irreverence of her smile, by the fire in her eyes. This was a woman who was so damn alive that nothing could bring her down. He wanted that. He needed that. God, he needed that.

  "Don't worry about it. The town will have you trained in no time, trust me." She raised her eyebrows. "I don't suppose you're dialed into the gossip chain enough to know my name?" She wrinkled her nose, and he thought he saw a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. "I tend to be fodder for talk in this town. I'm not always a fit."

  Yeah, he could imagine. She seemed to carry the kind of spunk that might knock an old New England town on its ass. Jason grinned, and he was almost surprised to realize he still knew how to smile. It felt like a long time since he'd smiled, and actually meant it. "Yeah, sorry, I figure I need at least twenty-four hours to recognize everyone in town by sight."

  "I'll be back to quiz you in twenty-four hours." She inclined her head and held out her hand. "Astrid Monroe. My brother Harlan is the one who sold you the shop. He's out of town, so he asked me to stop by and see if you needed anything."

  Instinctively, Jason reached out to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for the offer." Yeah, he knew what he needed. He needed a damned angel to sweep into his life and fix everything that he'd screwed up, to make this okay for his son. He needed—

  Then as he felt the warmth of her palm against his, the light touch of her fingers on the back of his hand, his gut knew what he needed.

  He needed her.

  Like it? Get it now!

  Sneak Peek: Unintentionally Mine

  She was like an angel in the night.

  Harlan couldn't take his gaze off Emma as he cut the engine, letting his boat drift in toward her dock. He'd been out for one last tour of the lake, one last night to remember the town that he'd made his home for the last five years. He'd expected to feel relief, but he hadn't. He'd felt strangely melancholy, as if he was leaving before he was supposed to. Instinct had taken him past Emma's small cabin, as he'd done on so many other sleepless nights.

  This time, for the first time in two years, she'd been outside, even though it was past midnight. The way she'd been huddled up in that huge blanket had caught his attention, as if she were a broken bird stranded on land. He hadn't intended to approach. Hadn't planned to say anything. But the boat had drifted right toward her anyway.

  "Harlan?" She grabbed the bow of his boat as it bumped her dock, jerking him back to the present.

  He caught one of the pilings on her dock, anchoring the boat as the blanket slid off her shoulders. In the moonlight, he could tell she was wearing a white tank top with straps so thin they looked like t
hey would snap under the faintest breeze. Her black shorts were boldly short, revealing so much more leg than he'd ever seen from the woman who wore long skirts and blue jeans every day of her life, or at least on every day that he'd seen her. Her hair was down, tangled around her shoulders, as if it were caressing the skin she'd so carelessly exposed to the night.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was throaty and raw, and he realized she'd been crying.

  "Couldn't sleep." He leaned on the piling, not daring to get out of the boat, not when the need to play the hero was pulsing through him so strongly. All he could think of was folding her into his arms and chasing away the demons haunting her. "You?"

  "Same." She hugged herself, her huge eyes searching his. The moonlight cast dark shadows on her face, hollowing out her eyes and her cheeks.

  "Want a ride?" He asked the question without intending to, but found himself holding his breath while it sat in the air, waiting for her response.

  "To where?"

  He shrugged. "Nowhere. I'm just driving."

  She looked back at her cabin. "I was just—"

  "Crying. I know. Going back inside will help, do you think? Or maybe getting the hell away from life for twenty minutes would be better?"

  Defiance flared in her eyes, and her shoulders seemed to lift. Without a word, she grabbed the corner of his windshield and set her bare foot on the edge of his boat. Silently, he held out his hand to the woman he'd never touched in all the years he'd known her, except for last night. She met his gaze, and then set her hand in his.

  Jesus. Her skin was like the softest silk, decadent in its fragility, tempting in its strength. He closed his fingers around hers and helped her into his boat. Her hip slid against his side as she stepped in, and electricity sizzled through him.

  She caught her breath, glancing at him as she moved away to sit in the passenger seat.

  Harlan said nothing. He had no idea what to say. Not to her. Not to this woman. Not in this moment. So, instead, he restarted the boat, backed up until he was clear of her dock, and then unleashed the throttle. The boat leapt forward, slicing through the water with a boldness that was probably irresponsible in the dark.