by Katie Cross
“Why are they here?”
I scanned the titles. Most of them were familiar. I’d read almost all of them, but one was new. A thrill pulsed through me at the idea of having a new romance to read. JJ chewed on his bottom lip for a second. A hint of color appeared at the top of his ridiculously perfect cheekbones.
“Because I read them,” he said.
“You read them?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I read them. Not super intensely. Skimmed most of them over the past couple of days. There were others.” He frowned a bit. “But I left them out.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t remind me of you.”
“Oh.”
He grabbed one. “This heroine, Kristyna something, reminded me of you because she had a lot that happened in her past, but she let go of it to become her own person.” He tossed it aside to grab another. “This one? This girl reminded me of you because she stood up for herself and didn’t take any crap.” He ditched that with a flick of his wrist. “I couldn’t put any of these down because all I pictured as I read was you. Your courage. Your tenacity. Your bravery. Then I understood what you meant. These books are hope. When I pictured you in them, I almost felt like you were with me.”
My throat clogged. Was there anything more romantic than the acknowledgment of my beliefs? His validation that none of this was a lie? Love and romance were real. For him, they had been a force for good.
Finally.
He picked up another one. “But this one was my absolute favorite. I read every word.”
My voice trembled when I whispered, “Why?”
“I saw you in this one because she didn’t realize how much he loved her. How much he wanted to be with her. She was frightened that they’d destroy each other, so she left.”
I swallowed. “What happened at the end?”
JJ turned to me, gaze on my lips, then back on my eyes. He yanked me into his chest. My breath caught when his hand found my jaw. His thumb lingered over my cheek, and he lowered his head until he was a breath away.
“She returned,” he whispered. “And he told her that he loved her. That romance and love are real, and will be a force for good in their lives. Then he kissed her breathless until they both felt fireworks in their fingertips. They never had to part again unless they wanted to, but neither of them did.”
His fingers threaded into my hair as he tilted my head back. My eyes fluttered closed the second his warm lips pressed against mine. I leaned into him. He wrapped an arm around my back to anchor me against his hard chest.
My bones melted. My body fused to his. I forgot everything but the gentle caress of that all-encompassing kiss. Everything between us was warmth and light and trust, and this was what a first kiss should feel like.
When he finally pulled away, his olive eyes, so murky with emotion, found mine.
“Forgive me for not coming after you?” he whispered. “For not telling you sooner that I loved you the moment I saw you staring at me from the other side of the Zombie Mobile after you almost died?”
“Always.”
He kissed me senseless again until I didn’t know where he started and I began. Until the velvet touch of his lips was as familiar as my own. When I pulled away, he framed my face with his hands. His thumb caressed my bottom lip.
“I didn’t believe in romance, Lizbeth. Maybe not even love until you came along. But I do believe in it now. You’re right. Romance is real. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking. Sometimes it’s sad. A lot of the time it’s hard. But I also believe it’s worth it. You are worth it, Lizbeth. And if you’ll have me, I’ll always be yours.”
This moment always happened in the romance books: the turning point. The time when the love interest realized what an idiot he had been and confessed his feelings to the girl. It had made my heart thrill a thousand times. More than once, I’d thrown the book across the room in annoyance—because, hello? Why did it take you so long to figure this out, stupid love interest?
During the long, lonely nights when Mama and Dad screamed at each other, I’d dreamt of this moment myself. The man who would come in, sweep me off my feet, and whisk me away from the hell I’d lived in so long.
And this time it felt exactly the way I wanted it to feel.
Like magic in my toes. Wings on my heart. Hope on my horizon. A safe place to land when all the world was dark and scary. Arms to hold me tight and promise me I’d always be loved, never alone.
“You’re scared.” I looked into his eyes. “Aren’t you?”
He smiled softly. “Terrified.”
“Me too.”
JJ blinked. His expression softened. “Is it worth it to you, Lizbeth? The risk of love?”
“Yes.”
JJ tightened his fingers around mine. “Then take a risk with me?”
I leaned into him and pressed my lips to his. His arms wrapped around me, his hands tangled in my hair, and I forgot to be afraid.
34
JJ
Mark stood in the corner of the Adventure kitchen, his cell phone pressed against his ear. He leaned back against the stainless steel refrigerator, nostrils flared, face puckered. Whatever the other person on the line side, it didn’t look good from this end.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay. Okay. Okaaaaay.”
“Fine.” He saw me looking at him, pointed to his phone, and rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t do anything stupid. Swear it. Okay, gotta go.”
He hung up.
“My accountant,” he muttered, “is the single most frustrating woman on the planet. I’ve never seen her face, can’t remember why or how I hired her, she infuriates me almost every time we speak, and I will never, ever fire her because she is probably the only thing standing between me and utter bankruptcy.”
I grinned. “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “I hope I never meet her, and I also hope she keeps telling me to stop making stupid decisions.”
“She doesn’t like the spa?”
“No. She thinks it’s a terrible idea.”
I couldn’t help a smile. “But you’re doing it anyway, right?”
“That depends,” he drawled, then turned to Lizbeth. Just as his mouth opened to speak, she stopped him with a hand in the air.
“I already told you I’m not opening an agency,” Lizbeth said from across the kitchen where she sat, her computer on her lap.
“Fine.” Mark leaned against the wall and folded his arms, chewing his bottom lip in thought. “Then what if JJ opens his own catering service from Adventura, and you do the website design? We’ll hire out all the back end. I do have an awesome accountant. She’s irritating as all get-out but does her job well.”
“That’s up to JJ.”
Mark groaned. “He’s never going to do it. But if you have the agency and—”
“You don’t know that.” She fluttered a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Now, go away, Mark. JJ is making frosting next, and then we’ll be back inside to start the Christmas Eve festivities. Tell Meg I’ll bring some more drinks.”
He scoffed. “You just want me to leave so you can make out.”
“Totally,” I said with a grin, the dry scent of flour in the air.
Lizbeth grinned at me and winked. Several massive cinnamon rolls cooled behind me as I slid another tray of carefully rolled balls of dough into the oven.
Mark thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the counter. “Fine, Lizbeth. Maybe you don’t have an agency, just a solo venture. But my offer to back it still stands.” Mark held up two hands. “I’m just saying! The board members were so impressed with the dashboard and what you did for Adventura that I don’t think you’ll be able to do all the work they’re going to have for you all by yourself. Hence, agency. Final word. I’m out.”
He backed out of the door, two hands held up in a placating gesture. Once he was gone, Lizbeth set aside her laptop and crooked a finger at me. Ever her obedient servant, I closed the distance betw
een us. Her body pressed against mine as I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her into me. She hooked her legs around my midsection and pressed our lips softly together.
“I love it when you do that,” I murmured against her lips.
Startled, she pulled back. “What?”
“Put Mark in his place.” I grinned. “It’s super sexy.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, but didn’t let me go. “I appreciate his help in starting my own company to help people with online coding problems, but it’s my company. Not his.”
“The flexibility you have doing an online job is amazing. Since Mark isn’t charging you rent in exchange for free tech support.”
“He couldn’t afford me otherwise,” she said with a wicked smile.
I laughed and ran my hand over her thighs, then up her back. She stared into my eyes, all warmth, light, and hope. Snow fell outside. Christmas lights glowed from the office—put up by Justin under her strict supervision. A small Christmas tree decorated by Megan and Justin was visible through the front window. The festive mood of the season had lightened all of us.
Next to us lay a well-worn and familiar binder covered in pink hearts. She’d obnoxiously scrawled Lizbeth and JJ’s Love Binder and kept daily tallies of all the most romantic things we did. At the top of her list? “Snuggle on the couch while JJ makes me laugh” came just before “read quietly while JJ plots out new climbs.”
I wholeheartedly agreed. Lizbeth was my kind of romance.
“Can you believe it’s Christmas Eve?” she asked.
“No.”
“Cinnamon rolls for Christmas breakfast sound perfect, by the way.” She pressed her forehead to mine, nose adorably wrinkled. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I think you have great ideas.”
“You were my best idea.”
She smiled. “I also agree with that.”
Breathless, I could only stare at her for a moment. She wore a little Santa hat with a white shirt and red Christmas pajama pants that clashed horribly with her hair. Her slippers were obnoxiously fuzzy, and she smelled like evergreen.
Somehow, she was mine.
I stepped back and reached into my pocket. My hand trembled as I set a box on her leg, my fingers closed around it.
“I have your Christmas present right here,” I said.
Her expression brightened. “Do I get it a day early?” she squealed.
Shakily, I grinned. “If you want it. I wanted to give it to you when we were alone so I could just . . . watch you.”
She sobered, and her hands came to rest on my shoulders. “JJ?” she asked breathlessly.
I pulled her off the counter and set her gently on the ground. Then I dropped to one knee and opened the box. My voice shook when her hands rose to her face, covering a startled gasp. Her eyes grew wide as saucers.
“Lizbeth, I love you. I love you more than I ever knew possible. I will always love you. I will always protect you. I will always be here, through the good and the bad, the fun and the scary. You’ll never be alone, and you will never be unloved. Will you marry me?”
For an interminable amount of time, she simply stared at me, frozen, most of her face hidden behind her fingers.
A bolt of fear struck me.
Then her hands fell.
Tears sparkled on her cheeks.
My heart stammered.
“Yes.”
She whispered it as she reached out to touch my face. The wetness of a teardrop lingered on her fingertip.
“Yes?” I repeated.
“Yes!” she cried. “JJ, yes!”
I leapt to my feet and swept her into my arms. We whirled around the kitchen, laughing, until I stopped and slid the ring onto her finger. A pink diamond, heart shaped, sat in the middle of a circle of smaller white diamonds. The simple setting looked perfect against her skin.
With tears in her eyes, she studied it, then me.
“Was this enough?” I asked with a quick glance around us at the warm kitchen. “Was it . . . romantic and . . .”
“JJ, I’ve never felt anything more perfect. I’ve never felt so loved. This was romantic perfection.”
I sealed our future with a kiss. Lizbeth melted against me and I caught her. I always would.
Runaway
Are you ready for the next installment in the Coffee Shop Series?
Runaway is next, and I can’t wait for you to meet Stella Lee, accountant extraordinaire, and woman that just wants to disappear. And it’s not just the people from her past that she’s evading, but now she has to hide from one of her most difficult clients—Mark Bailey.
Here’s a sneak peek.
RUNAWAY
Chapter 1
Stella Marie
CHAPTER ONE
Stella Marie
Drizzling rain pattered my windshield as I stared at a cabin built by long wooden logs stacked on top of each other. Faded white lines lay between each log, making it look ancient. Rain stained the logs a darker shade of brown, and a little wisp of smoke rose above the chimney despite the rain.
The longer I sat out here in my beater car that didn't even have a real license plate yet, the weirder this whole situation became.
And it was already pretty weird.
Still, there was one man that could help me, and that man both resented my existence and desperately needed it. He also proudly lived the life of a hermit in the mountains—I mean, who bragged about that?—and hated all details.
Mark Bailey.
And that alone seemed pretty ridiculous, but so was this entire situation.
A few more moments passed while I rallied my courage. In fact, I prepared myself like this every time I had to talk to Mark. I'd clutch the phone for a few minutes, think through every sentence that I had to say, and then hope that he didn't wander off on a list of his ideas. Eventually, he would wander. He'd talk things out, and I'd have to pull him back to reality and the main points that he'd called for anyway.
Lately, he'd called a lot more often than usual.
Today would be very different, however, because we'd be face-to-face for the first time. For half a second, I stalled this confrontation while trying to picture what he looked like. Mark and I had always spoken on the phone. He called me out of the blue one day, declared his need for an accountant, and proceeded to tell me about every business venture he'd ever started. For a man that hated details, he had a mind like a steel trap.
Plus, I'd seen his tax returns too many times. He was overly generous on charitable contributions—to the point he sabotaged any profit from his company. A bit of a bleeding heart, really.
Blonde, I'd guess. He sounded nice enough on the phone, so probably straight-laced, with short hair like a businessman and clean dress. He was single—at least his tax returns weren't filed jointly—and had no other income besides his own. Slight of frame, maybe. Like Ryan Gosling?
With a jolt, I shook my head. No, I had to stop assigning actors to everyone I met. It just . . . made people easier to approach.
With a shove, I forced myself out of my little car and into the pounding rain. It slammed into my shoulders while I shut the car door, then skirted the edges of a dirt pathway filled with water. Mud squished under my shoes as I hurried under an eave and forced myself to knock. The only thing that kept me moving was momentum. If I thought too hard about this, I'd just leave.
Ten seconds after I knocked, the door flew open. Out of sheer nerves, my heart fell all the way to the pit of my stomach.
And then I burst out laughing.
A tall, broad-shouldered bear of a man glowered at me. He had brown hair, almost black, that stuck up in odd angles from the back of his head. His beard hadn't been trimmed in days. He wore no shirt and gray sweat pants with a pair of flip flops on his feet. My glance was quick, but he certainly wasn't slight or business-like in any sense of the word.
The man had muscles.
A hibernating bear came to mind first. Hardly Ryan Gosling. Hardly what I always
pictured on the other end of the phone. Somehow, though, this was better. First, who would mess with me if that scowl came to the door? Not many. Second, I could fit his voice with this guy.
This was a wild Mark Bailey.
Quickly, I drown my amusement in the face of his dark annoyance. Now that I thought about it, this may not even be Mark. He spoke about a brother, JJ, often enough. Behind him was a warm-appearing cabin, with a snapping fire that let out heat. A trickle of rain ran down my back, and I shivered.
"Are you lost?" he asked.
"No, I . . . I'm looking for Mark Bailey."
His eyebrows lifted. When he said nothing more, I realized that was the only response I could expect.
"Are you Mark?"
He nodded. I rolled my lips to school my laugh. No, I couldn't laugh at him again. He'd hear the wild hysteria. The tinge of desperation and fear and uncertainty that belied everything in my life now. Then he'd turn me away.
"I . . . I'm . . ."
My name hovered on the end of my tongue. Stella Marie. Did I dare say Marie? I'd always run my accounting business through my middle name—didn't want the world to know my first name, felt too much like an invasion—so the two names together may not clue him into who I was.
But maybe the sound of my voice and the name Marie would get him to thinking.
In a perfect world, I'd get through this confrontation without him knowing who I was. Mark tried to hide it, but he was always frustrated with me. Didn't like when I curbed his wild ideas with sound financial sense. If there was one thing Mark felt like he didn't have, it was time. He was in a hurry for everything even though he was what, 31? Two years older than me?
Money didn't always run at the same speed as Mark, and that galled him to no end.
"My name is Stella Marie," I finally said. Grandma had named me. You are Stella Marie, she always said. Not just Stella. Be proud of your heritage. So it felt strange to hear Stella without the Marie.
