by Melody Grace
A knock startled her. Eliza looked up and found Paige in the doorway.
“Do you want some tea?” her sister asked gently. “I was just making a pot.”
Eliza checked, it was almost ten a.m. She’d been in a dream world almost half the morning. “I’d love some, thanks.”
Paige drifted closer, looking around. “Find anything good?”
Eliza held up an old photograph she’d found, showing the four of them on the beach: Paige proudly showing off her sandcastles, while Eliza clutched a book.
“Cute. You should have it framed for Mom.” Paige smiled wistfully.
“Good idea,” Eliza said. “See any books you want? I thought I’d take that box to donate.”
Paige took a look, but didn’t delve any deeper. “Unless he had a secret stash of romance novels, I’m guessing it’s not my speed.”
Eliza smiled. “I don’t know, Faulkner can get pretty racy.”
She followed her sister out—and saw her bags were packed by the door. “You’re leaving already?”
“I’m sorry, we have a big design brief due at work.”
“Call in sick, hang out, relax,” Eliza urged her, thinking of the next week alone—without a buffer between her and their mom.
“Save you from being alone with Mom, you mean?” Paige grinned, reading her mind as usual.
“A fringe benefit,” Eliza admitted.
Paige gave her a hug. “Be strong, it’s just for a few days. And I need to get the last of my stuff from Doug’s apartment.”
They both winced.
“How are you holding up?” Eliza asked carefully. Paige had been typically tight-lipped about her breakup, but they’d been together for so long, it can’t have been easy.
But to her surprise, Paige gave a casual shrug. “Fine. Good. He’s just being annoying setting a time to come pick everything up.”
“Do you need me to come?” Eliza asked. “Play backup.”
Paige gave her a look. “You really will go to any lengths not to be stranded here with Mom, won’t you?”
“Busted.” Eliza laughed. She had been thinking more about avoiding Cal, but she wasn’t about to go into the details of her own love life when Paige was still so fresh from her breakup. “OK, OK, I’ll survive. Who knows, by the time you’re back, she might have fixed me up with my dream man. And he might even be over twenty!”
* * *
Eliza helped Paige load up her car and waved her off, then fetched a few loads of boxes from the office to donate. She reached for the stack of old newspapers, bound for the recycling center, but she couldn’t face just trashing them, not after what Poppy had said about the Caller going under.
Eliza paused. It seemed a shame to just let it fade away. She couldn’t bring her job, or her father, back, but maybe the printed word had a few more rounds in it yet.
The printed address on the back of the Caller led Eliza into town and across the neat square to the Sweetbriar Town Hall, where the town secretary, Franny, was happy to gossip about the newspaper’s fate.
“His daughter in Florida just had a baby, and he decided he wanted to be closer to them. Plus, the warmer winters. You know Wilber’s arthritis always acted up in the cold,” Franny said, digging into the box of her favorite sweet and salty popcorn that Eliza had remembered to bring. “I asked around for someone to take over, but couldn’t find any taker’s. There’s only a shoe-string budget,” she explained. “Enough to cover the print costs and delivery, but not much after that.”
“Can I take a look?” Eliza asked. “I’m . . . between jobs right now and could use a project. I hate to see it just fold like this.”
“Knock yourself out.” Franny opened a desk drawer and withdrew a clanking old keyring. “Top floor, in the back. The lock always sticks, so just give it a good shove.”
Eliza followed the directions to a cozy office in the attic with tiny porthole windows looking out across the town square. She was braced for more clutter, but to her relief, the room was spotless, in perfect order. Old Wilber had run a tight ship: a creaking old desktop computer held page layouts and subscribers’ details, and a bank of filing cabinets stored paper copies of old issues and features, everything including—
“Aha,” Eliza exclaimed aloud. “Future articles.”
She pulled out the file and settled in. It looked simple enough—a regular rotation of local columns and news, peppered with features on upcoming events. It wouldn’t take her long to assemble the first issues and get it out to print, and as for the future . . . Her brain ticked over, already planning upcoming articles, interviews, maybe even some classified ads . . .
Eliza stopped herself before she got carried away. She’d come over to check it out on a whim, but did she really want to take on the responsibility of the whole newspaper? Her time on the Cape was supposed to be a temporary break. A chance to lick her wounds and apply for a new job back in the city—at a real newspaper, not one that ran LOCAL MAN SAVES PUPPY on the front page in fifteen-point print.
But looking around the little office, with those quirky headlines framed in a proud line on the wall, Eliza felt a surge of loyalty. The Caller was worth saving. So what if the biggest scoop they’d ever run was a blistering exposé of the plot to rig the biggest-pumpkin contest at the Fall Festival?
They could all use a little more good news in their lives.
She headed back downstairs to Franny’s office, where the older woman was juggling two different phones. “OK if I hold onto the keys?” Eliza whispered. Franny gave her the thumbs up, busy.
“You can’t have him arrested just because he planted lilies. I know you’re allergic, but . . .”
Eliza left her to it. She already felt better than she had in weeks. Maybe she would only steer the Caller for a few issues, long enough to find someone to take it on full-time, but it was something. Between this and her hostess job at the restaurant, she would be plenty busy—with no time at all to dwell on her mistakes.
However good that mistake was at kissing.
She drove across the square and down a side lane, to where Grayson’s used bookstore sat, half-hidden behind overgrown bushes of hydrangea. “You need to get those trimmed!” she exclaimed, staggering in with a box of her father’s old books balanced in her arms. “I feel like I’m Prince Charming, trying to fight my way through the Enchanted Forest.”
Grayson chuckled and hoisted the box from her arms. “It’s my plot to keep time-wasters away,” he said in his English accent, setting it down on the counter. “If you don’t make it through, you don’t want it badly enough.”
“You just don’t want anyone interrupting you,” Eliza teased, nodding to Grayson’s cup of coffee and battered John Grisham novel.
“Bingo.” Grayson looked through some of the books she’d brought. “Shipbuilding?” he said, surprised.
“I’m cleaning out my dad’s old office,” Eliza explained. “I figured they deserved a good home.”
“Bert’s been looking for some maritime history,” Grayson said. “He’ll be glad to take them.”
“Then my work is done.” Eliza brushed her dusty hands off on her cut-off denim shorts. She paused, looking around the warm, sunny room. “But now that we have all these empty shelves . . .”
“It would be a crime not to fill them,” Grayson finished, giving her a knowing smile. “Aunt June just dropped off a ton of crime books. Laura Lippman and Tana French, they’re in the back.”
“Thanks!”
Eliza happily lost herself in the stacks, each small, rabbit-warren room opening up to another. With the sun filtering in through the windows, falling golden on the wooden floors, this had always been one of her favorite places in Sweetbriar Cove, and as a kid, she’d probably blown her whole allowance here on secondhand Christopher Pike novels, and scandalous V. C. Andrews. Now, she filled her arms again, pulling down interesting titles, and some thick sagas her mom might like—
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
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Eliza looked up and froze. Cal was lounging in the over-stuffed chair in the corner, one ankle propped over his knee, and the dusty sunlight falling so perfectly over his relaxed frame that for a minute, he looked like an old painting come to life. He had a book in his lap, and five more stacked beside the chair, and he gave her a warm smile. “Great minds,” he said, nodding to the pile of books in her arms. “What have you got?”
“I’m on a thriller kick,” Eliza answered. She felt her cheeks flush and her skin prickle with awareness. Her eyes went to his lips, remembering the way they’d felt against hers; the strong press of his body, and—
No. Nope.
Not going there.
She cleared her throat. “Right now, I have a thing for books about murderous women getting revenge on the men who wronged them.”
Cal looked surprised, then laughed. “Should I take that as a hint?”
“Take it any way you like,” Eliza said. She couldn’t help noticing that he looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, lounging there in a rumpled shirt and jeans.
Not that she wanted to notice things like that.
“Listen.” Cal paused, and got to his feet. “About last night . . .”
Eliza gulped. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she felt that surge of heat return, the inexplicable craving to toss her books aside and pick up exactly where they’d left off—
“I apologize,” Cal finished, looking awkward as he stood there across the small room. “I don’t know what I was thinking, kissing you like that. It was madness.”
“Madness,” she echoed, bobbing her head firmly in agreement even as her body told a different story. “Temporary insanity.”
“Exactly.” Cal exhaled in clear relief. “I don’t know what came over me. But I can assure you, it won’t happen again.”
Eliza clutched her books. Of course, he was right. She’d decided the same thing.
So why did she feel something like disappointment, just a small pang in her chest?
“Great,” she said brightly. “We don’t need to feel weird about it. It happened. Just one of those things. Now we can be friends.”
Cal arched a curious eyebrow.
“Well, not friends,” Eliza added, flustered. “Not after you fired me and started dismantling the newspaper I love. But, you know, civil.”
Cal’s lips quirked in a smile. “That’s very generous.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“No, not at all. I’m relieved; if I see you around, you won’t give me the cut direct.” Cal grinned wider. “People might talk.”
Eliza glared. “How do you know about Regency etiquette?”
“I know a lot of things.” Cal smirked. He strolled closer, and for a terrible, wonderful moment, Eliza wondered if all the talk about madness and manners was a ruse, and he was going to kiss her again. Then he plucked a book from her stack. “Lady Killers?” he read the title. “You should carry a warning.”
She snatched it back. “Says the man who fires so many people, he can’t even have the decency to remember their names.”
A flicker of hurt crossed Cal’s features, and Eliza wished she could take it back. Then his face set again: stubborn and proud.
“I remember,” he drawled. “At least, the important ones.”
And then he sauntered past her out of the room. Eliza sank back against the wall with a groan. That man was infuriating! One minute, she wanted to kiss him, the next, slap that knowing smirk right off his lips.
His hot, sensual lips . . .
Eliza gripped her books tighter. She knew exactly where thinking like that would lead her, and it was off limits.
Cal Prescott knew their encounter last night was a mistake, and this was one thing, at least, they could agree on.
It could never happen again.
6
So far, Cal’s mission to relax was going great—except for one big problem. Well, Eliza wasn’t exactly large, but her presence loomed: five-foot-seven of pure, dark-eyed tension that seemed to follow him all over town. First the pub, then the bookstore, and now, the memory of her kiss lingering in the back of his mind, making his imagination tangle up in knots when all he wanted was to unwind.
He spent the next few days trying to steer clear: exploring the nearby towns, driving out to distant beaches, and spending the evenings relaxing in the (relative) comforts of the Pink Palace, but by the time a fourth person recommended the life-changing sticky buns at the local bakery, he decided enough was enough. He wasn’t the kind of man to hide away from trouble—and definitely not when there were tasty baked goods on the line—so early on Friday he drove over, and found a line already snaking outside the door in the morning sun.
“These must be some sticky buns,” he remarked, and the guy ahead of him chuckled.
Cal paused. “Jake Sullivan?” he asked, recognizing the broad frame of the former football pro. “Cal Prescott,” he introduced himself. “We met a few years back. You were kind enough to volunteer as a bachelor in one of my Foundation’s charity auctions.”
Jake’s forehead smoothed in recognition. “Cal! How are you?” He shook his hand. “God, I remember that event. Some woman bid ten grand on me, just to get revenge on her ex. He supported the Jaguars,” Jake explained, and Cal laughed.
“Sounds like a bargain.”
“She said so,” Jake agreed. “So, what brings you to town?”
“Just a vacation,” Cal replied. The line inched forwards, but nobody seemed in any rush. “I’m surprised to see you here. I would have figured you for New York or LA, one of those big sportscaster jobs.”
“I grew up here,” Jake replied. “And my girlfriend is local, so I figured it was time to put down some roots.”
“Makes sense,” Cal nodded. “Do you still keep up with the team?”
“Every game day.” Jake smiled. “I’m an armchair coach now.”
Cal laughed, and they talked sports until they finally reached the counter. “What’s good?” Cal asked, surveying the display case.
Jake snorted. “I can tell this is your first visit. Just try one of everything, you can’t go wrong.”
Cal didn’t go quite so crazy, but he still walked out with enough pastries to feed an army. “Good start,” Jake said approvingly from his spot at a table. “Are you coming by the festival tonight?”
“The lobster thing?” Cal asked, remembering the banners.
“It’s kicking off tonight, down at the harbor,” Jake said. “Drinks, a band, all the seafood you can eat. You should come by, meet the gang.”
“OK,” Cal replied slowly, thinking immediately of Eliza. Was she part of “the gang” too? And if so, would she even want him there? “Maybe.”
“Just follow the noise,” Jake said with a grin. “You can’t miss it.”
* * *
Jake wasn’t wrong. The sun was just sinking over the horizon when Cal heard the music start, drifting from just down the coast. It sounded like a party, so he grabbed his keys and walked the long way down, along winding back roads that were hazy in the dusk light. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked so much; he never had the time. He had a driver on standby to ferry him around to city meetings, so he wouldn’t lose a single moment he could spend on calls or paperwork en route. Here, there were hardly any vehicles on the road, just miles of hedgerows and the glint of the ocean through the trees as he stretched his legs and meandered down towards the harbor, enjoying the evening breeze and the lazy call of gulls circling above the bay.
The party was in full swing when he arrived: a few hundred people gathered on the pier already, with picnic tables, food vendors, and a band set up on a low stage, the speakers blasting. Cal wasn’t even searching the crowd, but his eyes found Eliza all the same, spinning in a circle on the makeshift dancefloor. She was wearing jeans and a red shirt, her hair pulled back and her whole face lighting up as she laughed at something her girlfriends said.
He couldn’t look away.
“You look like you need a beer,” Declan’s voice boomed beside him, and Cal turned, glad for a distraction. His friend was even scruffier tonight, with a drink in one hand and some kind of fried snack in the other. Cal looked around for the inevitable gorgeous sidekick, but he couldn’t see one around. “Flying solo?” He arched an eyebrow, surprised.
“Not for long.” Declan grinned. “Just surveying my options, you know how it is.”
“No, but I know how you are.” Cal chuckled and followed Declan over to the beer booth. “I’m surprised you aren’t cooking tonight. Didn’t you say you made the best lobster roll on the East Coast?”
“Both coasts, mate,” Declan corrected him. “But I’m off the clock tonight. These aren’t bad,” he said, grabbing one from a nearby table and devouring it in a single bite. And coming from a chef, that was high praise, so Cal paid for a couple too, to wash down with a red cup of something on draft.
“Cal.” Jake emerged from the crowd, waving. He seemed in good spirits, even thought he was wearing a novelty hat with a bouncing toy lobster attached to it. “You made it.”
“Interesting hat, mate,” Declan drawled, but Jake just smiled.
“I know. I lost a bet with Riley. But I’ll have my revenge come the Fourth of July. I’ve got a star-spangled onesie with his name on it.”
Declan snorted. “That I’ve got to see.”
“So, you two know each other?” Cal asked, and the two men laughed.
“You could say that,” Declan said. “He thought I was macking on his girl, nearly threw down in my restaurant last year.”
Cal laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”
“In my defense, Mackenzie’s a gorgeous woman.” Declan put his hands up. “But I guess I wasn’t her type.”
“You mean, she has taste?” Jake said, teasing.
“Easy there,” Declan warned him, and then was distracted by a passing group of coeds. “Hello.”
