by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden
Six Contemporary Romance Novellas
Heather B. Moore
Kaylee Baldwin
Annette Lyon
Jennifer Moore
Shannon Guymon
Sarah M. Eden
Copyright © 2015 by Mirror Press, LLC
E-book edition
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the authors’ imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Interior Design by Heather Justesen
Edited by Annette Lyon, Cassidy Wadsworth and Jennie Stevens
Cover design by Mirror Press, LLC
Published by Mirror Press, LLC
http://timelessromanceanthologies.blogspot.com
eISBN-10:1941145477
eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-47-0
Winter Collection
Spring Vacation Collection
Summer Wedding Collection
Autumn Collection
European Collection
Love Letter Collection
Old West Collection
Summer in New York Collection
Silver Bells Collection
All Regency Collection
All Hallows’ Eve Collection
Under the Mistletoe Collection
Too Good to Be True By Heather B. Moore
About Heather B. Moore
Other Works by Heather B. Moore
Gone Fishing By Kaylee Baldwin
About Kaylee Baldwin
Other Works by Kaylee Baldwin
The Pier Changes Everything By Annette Lyon
About Annette Lyon
Other Works by Annette Lyon
A Hero’s Song By Jennifer Moore
About Jennifer Moore
Other Works by Jennifer Moore
Stay with Me By Shannon Guymon
About Shannon Guymon
Other Works by Shannon Guymon
A Place to Call Home By Sarah M. Eden
About Sarah M. Eden
Other Works by Sarah M. Eden
Chapter One
Gwen changed the lens on her Canon EOS, then lifted the camera and adjusted the settings until the bride and groom came into sharp focus. In the background, the oranges and pinks of the fading sunset were a perfect blend of everything romance.
“Stand closer,” Gwen said, “and look into each other’s eyes.” Click.
A gorgeous beach wedding shot, if Gwen could say so for herself. One that might rival the wedding shoot from the week before.
The couple started kissing, apparently the “looking into each other’s eyes” too tempting to resist. Gwen shot a half a dozen more pictures, directing the couple into various poses, then lowered her camera and smiled over at the waiting family members.
The mother of the bride held up her champagne glass toward Gwen. “You should try some, sweetie. You’ve worked yourself to the bone today.”
Gwen laughed and waved away the offer. Photography was hardly work— at least, the actual shoots were a pleasure. A dream, really. Everything else in life— before and after the sessions— those were the hard parts. Shooting weddings was great as long as she didn’t let herself think too much of her own wedding six months ago. She swallowed back a swell of emotion and crossed to the beach chair holding her camera case and bag.
The setting had been vastly different. Nothing so informal as a beach, but a small church in Oregon. It had the potential to be every bit as romantic and nostalgic as any dream wedding with the elegant flower arrangements her mother had ordered and the bridesmaids’ pale-blue organza dresses, not to mention Gwen’s custom-designed gown.
But for three days leading up to the wedding, she’d had a knot in her stomach. It started with the arrival of Paul’s ex-girlfriend— who was supposedly close friends with his younger sister and who his sister insisted had to be a bridesmaid with her. Gwen had seen Hollywood movies where the bridesmaid steals the groom, but those were fiction, right? Wrong.
It took two miserable months of marriage to Paul before Gwen allowed herself to believe the signs. He was still in love with his ex. So when Gwen’s sister, Leisa, came up with the idea of offering photography sessions with her catering company, Gwen drove down the coast to San Diego without looking back.
“Thank you so much!” someone said, and Gwen turned, and was almost tipped over by a hug from the enthusiastic bride.
The groom showed his thanks more formally, holding out his hand with a smile.
Gwen’s heart pinged as she shook it. His blond hair and easy smile reminded her a little of Paul— but she wasn’t about to go there anymore. “I’ll put the proofs into DropBox by Tuesday or Wednesday, so when you get back from your honeymoon, you can decide which ones you want.”
The bride gushed another thanks, then was caught up in saying farewell to the rest of the party.
As the wedding guests sent off the bride and groom, Gwen took a moment to breathe and enjoy the scenery. This stretch of beach was Gwen’s favorite, and she brought most of her wedding clients here who wanted a beach setting. To the right, the shoreline seemed to stretch endlessly, and to the left, majestic cliffs soared, topped by multi-million-dollar homes.
What it would be like to live in a house overlooking the ocean, Gwen would never know. She was lucky to afford a tiny apartment near her sister’s neighborhood. Living with her sister wasn’t an option— Gwen loved her sister to death, but where Leisa was the perfect businesswoman, Gwen was a dreamer. She got things done, but in her own way.
A breeze kicked up, pushing against Gwen’s messy bun. It hadn’t been so messy when she’d arrived, but the beach was nearly always breezy, so Gwen had made a habit to keep her hair back while working.
“Do you have plans for later?” a male voice asked, and Gwen cringed before turning. The bride’s brother— Taylor or Thomas or Tyson— had been hitting on her all afternoon. And it only got worse because he’d been refilling his wine glass over and over.
“I’ve got a full evening of work ahead, sorry,” Gwen said, bending down and removing the lens then securing the camera into the case as if to prove her point.
“Oh, too bad,” he drawled, and Gwen suspected it was more from drinking than from the fact that he was apparently from Texas— something he’d mentioned more than once. “What about tomorrow? I’ve got a late flight, but my day is free. I’d love to see your town.”
Oh boy. Gwen straightened. “I’ve got work tomorrow too, and I have plans with my boyfriend.” She hoped he didn’t notice the slight flush of her face— something that always happened when she lied.
“Yeah,” Taylor-Thomas-Tyson said, taking a step back. “I get it.” He raised a half-empty wineglass and said, “All my best to you.”
Gwen pasted on a smile and pretended that he wasn’t being sarcastic. “Have a good trip home.” And stay there. She returned to packing, and by the time she looked up again, Taylor-Thomas-Tyson was gone and only a couple of guests lingered.
Breathing out, Gwen smiled to herself. She could do hard things. Like turning down flirtatious men, starting over in California, and becoming closer to her sister.
And forgetting Paul’s blue eyes.
Chapter Two
When Jack came jogging back down the stretch of sand, the wedding party he’d passed at the beginning of his run looked to be leaving. The chairs had been loade
d into a pickup, and the flower-entwined arch taken down. Running in the afternoon wasn’t Jack’s first choice, but his schedule had been crazy lately. With the acquisition of one of his holding companies by a Japanese investor, his conference calls tended to happen in the middle of the night. He often took a nap in the afternoon, then was wired by sunset and needed to burn off the energy. Running also helped with the stress of unexpectedly taking over his father’s company the year before. Right out of grad school, Jack was suddenly the CEO his father’s venture capitalist firm.
He’d decided to sell QTech to the Japanese investor when a major competitor out of China had risen six months ago. The Chinese software company had a better, faster product, so it was either dump a ton of capital into revamping his own product line or let it go then integrate the QTech employees into SureBoard, one of his father’s newer acquisitions, which made computer components out of Arizona. SureBoard received rave reviews in PC Magazine, and as a result, purchase orders nearly doubled. The QTech employees would be happy at SureBoard.
Jack’s life might look good on paper. He’d even been featured in the local San Diego magazine a few months ago as one of the wealthiest bachelors of the state. But reality was that his life was a mess. Money did strange things to people, and once someone found out who he was, he could literally see their eyes change— from mildly curious to calculating.
For that reason alone, he’d sold off two of his father’s homes and let his sister manage several other properties. Silvia was about the smartest woman he knew, so it hadn’t been a difficult decision. That left Jack the firm, and he knew if he wanted to do it right, he had to spend a lot of time on catch-up.
About a hundred yards from the beach wedding, Jack slowed to a walk. The wedding truck had left, as had the guests, and only one woman was left. She had a huge camera bag over her shoulder and was trudging through the sand, carrying a beach chair and another large bag. She looked ready to tip over, so Jack jogged over.
“Can I help carry some of your stuff?”
She turned to look at him. “I’m all right. My car’s not far.”
Jack felt his heart skip. Her green eyes were brilliant against her tanned face, and her wind-whipped hair curved around her neck, making her look like part of a surfing commercial. She hitched the camera bag up, but the second bag slid off her shoulder and landed in the sand.
“Really, let me help,” Jack said. “I promise I’m not a creep. I live here, well, up on that ridge.”
The woman looked to where he was pointing and frowned. Then she laughed as if she didn’t believe him. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. I think I’m all right. Thanks, though.”
“I didn’t mean to be funny,” Jack said. “Why are you laughing?” He’d tried to be a gentleman but this woman wasn’t having any of it. So why didn’t he just continue his run? What did it matter to him if she had to make two trips to her car?
She shifted the second bag onto her shoulder, then picked up the beach chair again. “No one lives in those houses. They belong to Europeans and Asians who come once a year— maybe at Christmas?— I don’t know.”
She eyed him up and down, and for some reason, it made his face heat up. Was she mocking him? Checking him out?
“But you…” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “You’re like, normal.”
“Well, I’m flattered to be called normal.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I’ve seen you somewhere.”
Of course she had. He’d had this conversation before. She’d rattle off a few names, and then it would dawn on her that she’d seen him on the news. And maybe her pretty green eyes would turn a hard emerald.
“Oh.” Her face flushed.
Now Jack was intrigued. “What’s wrong?”
“Do you run along this beach a lot?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, growing curious. “Like I said, I live on the ridge.”
The woman looked away, and then her eyes were back on him. “I think I’ve see you out running a few times. I shoot a lot of weddings on this stretch.”
She was blushing, and Jack hid a smile. “Are you a wedding photographer?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Mostly. I also do graduations, retirement parties... Right now weddings are at a premium, being summer and all.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen quite a few lately,” he said. “I guess the traditional church thing isn’t too popular anymore.”
“No.” Her voice went tight, as if Jack had said something that bothered her.
She hefted the chair a notch higher and headed toward the parking lot again.
It took only a second to decide what to do next. He caught up and took the chair from her, then held out his other hand. She sighed and handed over her bulky bag— not heavy, but still awkward for carrying in the sand.
“I’m Jack Mead.”
“Gwen Kilpack.”
Jack waited for recognition to dawn on her about his name, but there was nothing. “How long have you been a photographer?”
“Since I was about ten,” Gwen said.
He smiled. “And professionally?”
“I’ve been doing it for a couple of years, although my family still sees it as more of a hobby.” She stopped by an older model Honda Accord. Unlocking the doors manually, she said, “I’ve never cared about ‘making it.’ I just want a good life, you know? I mean, simple things are better...”
Jack waited for her to finish, but she turned away and opened the trunk, then loaded her camera bag into it. He set the beach chair and other bag inside the trunk with the other one.
She looked up at him. “Thanks for your help, and sorry about the philosophical run-down.”
“No worries,” Jack said. She climbed into her car, and he couldn’t think of anything that would delay her.
He stood in the parking lot long after she’d pulled out and turned onto the main road. Simple. His life was anything but. Every email, every conference call, every letter had to be diplomatically crafted. His personal life grew less and less private as newspapers and magazines ran feature articles about his inheritance of his father’s firm.
Clearly, he and Gwen lived on different planets.
Jack turned back to the beach and walked toward the path that climbed to the back of his house. The sun was well beneath the horizon now, and the first stars had appeared in the deep-purple sky.
It was way too late to find simplicity in his life— simple died along with his father.
Chapter Three
Gwen pulled up to La Jolla beach. Only three days had passed since her last wedding here. Three days of thinking about that guy— Jack Mead.
When she’d driven out of the parking lot, there had been a few bikes chained to a rack and a well-worn minivan sporting a couple of car seats. Gwen suspected that neither the bikes nor the minivan belonged to Jack, which meant he might very well live in one of those huge houses on the ridge. In which case, she’d completely insulted him.
She’d earned two notches that day— turning down a drunk guy and insulting a rich guy all in the same evening.
This morning’s shoot was for an older couple who were renewing their vows. Forty years of marriage. It was amazing really. She wondered what their secret was.
Since it was early yet, Gwen set off toward the water to set up where the sun would be in the perfect position for the ceremony. The ceremony was supposed to start about 9:30 am, which really meant 10:00. A few joggers were out, a couple of them with their dogs. Gwen waited for one particularly obnoxious dog to lose interest in her before she set up her chair and piled her stuff on it.
The breeze coming off the ocean tugged at Gwen’s dress. It was one of the three that she saved to wear at weddings— nice but not too dressy. She walked the shoreline with her camera, taking a few photos, then analyzing the background and the angle of the shots on the screen. She didn’t want the guys from her sister’s catering company to set up the chairs and portable arch any random place.
When she found a great pl
ace for the ceremony, far enough from the ocean’s edge, yet away from the parking lot so that there’d be plenty of privacy for the wedding, Gwen fetched the beach chair and bags and relocated them. Now all she had to do was wait.
After kicking off her sandals, she walked barefoot toward the water, snapping a couple more pictures of a yacht out on the water.
Someone called her name, and she turned, assuming that the set-up crew had shown up so this early. But it wasn’t Jeff or Chris.
“Gwen?” the guy said, striding toward her. “That’s your name, right?”
It was him. Jack Mead. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his tanned chest glistened with perspiration in the morning sun. And he was out of breath.
“Yeah, good memory.”
He smiled, and Gwen smiled back, although nerves thrummed through her. “Out running again?” she asked, stating the obvious.
“I am— glad it’s not as hot as the other day.”
But he was definitely as hot.
“Got another wedding shoot?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Apparently she was lame at making conversation. He stood only a few feet from her now. She was suddenly insanely curious if he had a girlfriend or was married. This guy was way too good-looking to be single.
“So what do you do for a living?” she asked.
He looked out over the ocean. “I’m in business. Took over my dad’s company about a year ago after he died.” The sudden transformation on his face was remarkable, from relaxed to tense in a split second.
Gwen lifted her camera and snapped a picture of it. He looked at her with surprise, and she felt mortified. “Sorry,” she said. “Habit. I can delete it.”
“No, it’s okay.” Jack moved to her side.
Gwen angled the camera so he could see the picture, then zoomed in and said, “Look. You have a worry crease between your eyebrows.”
