Always Be Mine: Sweetbriar Cove: Book Nine

by Melody Grace

  His ex-wife hadn’t understood this part of his job. Designing stunning landscapes for celebrity clients? That was something she could get behind—as long as he kept the mud and dirt out of their chic apartment and wore an expensive suit for the grand unveiling. But Ruby had had no interest in whatever went on in the greenhouses he built on their Brooklyn rooftop, and it was no coincidence that the more she traveled for work and stayed out late partying, the longer he spent up there, pouring his time and attention into something that would show for his effort, at least.

  Maybe if he had poured that same time and attention into his marriage, it would still be thriving today. Ruby definitely had thought so, and had made that perfectly clear during their endless fights—and couple’s counseling, and divorce mediation, all the way to the end. But surveying his plants now, Griffin wasn’t so sure. Just like in nature, some combinations were never meant to be. You could cross the most fragrant rose with the sturdiest variety, and wind up instead with the worst parts of both: a delicate, scentless flower that withered at the first sign of frost.

  No, “opposites attract” rarely paid off when it came to cultivating new breeds. Better to gently nudge the varieties in the direction you wanted, with careful tweaks and planning. High-maintenance plants were the first to fail—something that blonde actress at Rose Cottage would do well to learn.

  It was a shame though, because those gardens could be spectacular . . .

  Griffin shook his head and turned his attention back to the soil blend. He’d escaped the city for a reason. No drama, no fuss. And getting mixed up with some Hollywood diva? Well, that was one hassle he didn’t need.

  He and his roses were doing just fine all on their own.

  3

  Lila woke craving cinnamon rolls. Light and pillowy, with a drizzle of tart citrus frosting. She remembered eating them as a kid one holiday morning, but it must have been twenty-odd years ago now. How did you make them, anyway?

  She got up and clicked around online recipes. There were hundreds: everything from chopped nuts and chocolate chips, to glazed fruit wound through the dough, but they all seemed to require an overnight raising for the yeast, and too many ingredients she didn’t have.

  Unless . . .

  Lila had passed the bakery on Blackberry Lane a dozen times, but it had always been too busy to risk going in. But today, with visions of those rolls dancing in her mind, it had to be worth a shot. And maybe the Gods of Breakfast were smiling on her, because by the time she’d pulled on her jeans and bulky jacket and cycled the short mile to the café on the antique bicycle she’d found in the cottage shed, it looked almost empty inside, the early rush over.

  Lila cautiously stepped over the threshold, startling as the bell above the door rang out a cheery ding! It was cozy and warm inside, set with mismatched tables and chairs, and right away, she was hit with the irresistible scent of sugar and butter wafting from the display case in front. Lila moved closer, her mouth already watering.

  “What can I get you?” the girl behind the counter asked.

  “I’ll take a morning bun,” she replied, spying the rolls lined up on a platter: sprinkled with walnuts and oozing a thick sugared filling. “And a tea, thanks.”

  “Take a seat anywhere,” the girl smiled. “I’ll bring them right over.”

  “Oh, no—” Lila paused. She’d been planning to grab her treats and go, but it did look inviting in here, and the place was almost empty, just a table of older women in the corner gossiping with their coffee.

  “Thanks,” she told the clerk instead, and found a seat at a table in the back. There was an abandoned newspaper nearby, and she pulled it closer, browsing the latest news in the Cape Cod Caller as snatches of the other table’s gossip drifted over.

  “. . . And then Marcy took an extra two inches off at the salon, just for payback.”

  “When will she learn? Never get your hair styled by your son’s girlfriend!”

  Lila hid a smile. Never mind the tabloids, clearly these women could give Us Weekly a run for their money when it came to local scandal.

  Her order arrived, and she was just sinking her teeth into what might be the most perfect cinnamon roll on earth when the door let out another ding and a familiar-looking blonde woman stepped in.

  Lila sank lower in her seat, hoping the woman wouldn’t recognize her—

  “Lila!” Brooke’s voice rang out, and she crossed the café with an excited smile. Even on a blustery spring day, she looked chic and polished; she was manager of a local hotel—and Lila’s former wedding planner. “Oh my God, it is you! Paige said she’d seen you in the shop months ago, but I wasn’t sure. How have you been?”

  “Brooke, hi.” Lila glanced around nervously, and Brooke seemed to register her discomfort, because she immediately dropped her voice.

  “Oh, are you here incognito? Sorry.”

  “No, it’s OK.” Lila took a deep breath and tried not to feel exposed. This wasn’t West Hollywood on the weekend, with paparazzi lurking at every turn. Sooner or later, she needed to relax.

  “Sorry, old habits, that’s all.” She gave an apologetic smile. “How are you? I’ve actually been meaning to come see you,” she added. “I wanted to apologize. About what happened with the wedding.”

  “What do you mean?” Brooke looked surprised.

  “Just running out like that, after all your effort.” Lila gulped at the memory. “It really was a beautiful wedding. I’m so sorry, I hope it didn’t ruin things for you.”

  “Are you kidding?” Brooke laughed. “You made my whole year. Everyone saw the photos. I still get calls from all over the world from brides wanting the Lila Moore experience.”

  “Minus the whole ‘leaving the groom at the altar’ part?” Lila quipped.

  Brooke grinned back. “You’d be surprised. Seriously, don’t worry about it,” she added. “I actually admire you for what you did.”

  Lila blinked.

  “Choosing to walk away, despite all that pressure and expectation . . .” Brooke gave her a supportive smile. “I think it was really brave.”

  Lila slowly exhaled. Brave. That was a new one. Her agents and publicist had plenty to say at the time, her mother had wept and wailed, and even the groom himself had sent a few choice text messages, but nobody had ever thought that she’d done the right thing.

  Except her. She’d known, deep down, she’d made the right decision in leaving, but it still meant more than Brooke would ever know to hear somebody else say it out loud.

  “Thank you,” she said slowly. “That’s very kind. Did you want to sit down?”

  “Sure. I’m just picking up an order for the hotel.” Brooke took a seat at the table. “So, what brings you back to Sweetbriar Cove?”

  “The scene of the crime, you mean?”

  Brooke laughed. “I wasn’t going to put it like that. But how long have you been here?”

  “A few months,” Lila admitted. “I’m trying to lay low, so if you could keep it to yourself . . .”

  “Lips, sealed.” Brooke mimed locking them shut. “Although, I should warn you, news tends to travel fast in this town. Especially with those ladies around.”

  She nodded to the women who were just leaving—but not without sending knowing looks over at Lila’s table.

  “Oh.” Lila deflated.

  “But don’t worry,” Brooke added quickly. “We gossip with each other, not outsiders. Nobody’s going to be calling the tabloids, I promise.”

  “I hope not. I know it’s crazy to think I can just hide out here forever,” Lila added, “but I just need a break, that’s all.”

  “Well, Sweetbriar’s certainly good for that,” Brooke agreed. “Although, it has a way of growing on you.”

  Lila nodded. She was finding that out for herself. “I only planned to be here a month or so, but then the snow melted, and it’s just so pretty in spring . . .”

  “Wait until the events start up.” Brooke smiled. “Then things really get going a
round here.”

  “I thought you just had the Christmas festival?” Lila frowned.

  “Oh, that was months ago! Now there’s the Spring Fling, JamFest, the Sweetbriar Bake-Off . . . Ooh, you should come by the pub one of these days, you can meet my husband, Riley. And book club!” Brooke added. “We’re always looking for new members.”

  “I’m not much of a reader,” Lila apologized, but Brooke laughed.

  “The books are the least of the draw. It’s just an excuse to eat and gossip. We’re meeting next week. You should definitely come.”

  “Maybe . . .” Lila hesitated. Brooke was being welcoming, but Lila knew she’d probably just disrupt things if she showed up. People always wanted stories from behind the scenes, or to know if their favorite star really was that dreamy in person. “I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

  “Great. Here, I’ll leave you my number,” Brooke said, scribbling it down on a spare corner of the newspaper. “I mean it, you should come. I remember when I first moved here, I didn’t really know anyone,” she added, with an understanding smile. “But people in town are so welcoming, it doesn’t take long, if you get out there and meet everyone.”

  “Thanks. I’ll remember that,” Lila agreed.

  The girl brought over a couple of bags for Brooke, and she got to her feet. “I better get back, I have three different bridal parties scoping the place out today. Thanks to you,” she added with a wink.

  “Do I get commission?” Lila joked.

  Brooke laughed. “No, but drinks are on the house. See you!” She bustled out, leaving Lila alone at the table.

  She took a contemplative sip of tea. There was a part of her that wanted to go to book club, and the pub, and all those crazy festival events. Yes, it was a relief to be on her own out here, but she’d also been lonely, not just hiding out at the cottage, but back in Los Angeles, too. But fame was a curious beast. Everyone wanted to be around her, but it was hard to make real friendships, not knowing if people really cared or just enjoyed the glamour of hanging out with the Lila Moore. She’d been burned so many times, Lila wasn’t sure who to trust—or whether it was worth getting her hopes up about really connecting with someone, only to feel disappointed when it turned out they were just angling to get their name in print or introduced to her agents, or—one particularly painful time—to use her name to score freebies from every designer label in town.

  Lila took a deep breath. She was starting over, remember? And a cinnamon roll on a beautiful spring day was as good a place to begin as any.

  * * *

  After she finished her breakfast, Lila decided to cycle further, up the coastal road all the way to Provincetown, the largest community on the Cape. She’d fallen in love with the place when she’d first been scouting wedding locations, and it still looked like something out of a movie to her. Walking the picturesque cobbled streets with their cute boutiques and galleries, she half-expected a director to yell, “cut!” and for a sound crew to emerge from behind the war memorial.

  But nope: nothing but a group of teens hanging out on the library steps, and some early-season tourists snapping pics by the town hall.

  Lila took her time meandering, enjoying the sun on her face. She peeked her head into a few local stores, admired the sunhats in a boutique window, and was just contemplating lunch, when a passing vehicle slowed to a crawl beside her and the driver leaned hard on the horn.

  The sound cut through the peace of the street, and Lila whirled around, startled. It was a beat-up truck with out-of-state plates. A couple of guys were in the cab, twenty-somethings in baseball caps. One of them leaned over and whooped out of the open window. “Hey, it’s you! From that movie!”

  Lila gulped. So much for incognito. She crossed her arms and walked a little faster, but the truck kept pace idling alongside.

  “Aww, come on, princess, give us a smile!”

  She shot a vague grin in their direction, silently praying they would just give up and keep on their way, but instead, the truck pulled over just ahead, and the guys climbed out.

  Crap.

  Lila took a breath and forced a careless smile as they sauntered over.

  “Damn, it is you,” one of the guys drawled. They were overgrown frat types, in jeans and hooded sweatshirts. One was short and stocky, the other gangly. “My buddy didn’t believe me, but I told him . . . I loved you in that movie, the one with the horses.”

  “Yeah,” his buddy snorted. “Great acting.”

  His eyes roved up and down her body, and even in her bulky clothing, Lila felt exposed. She forced herself to straighten up to her full height and look these guys straight in the eye. “Thanks,” she said pleasantly. “That’s always nice to hear.”

  “So, what are you doing all the way out here, princess?” The larger of the two leered at her. “Hey, you should grab a drink with us.”

  “Yeah, we could show you a good time.”

  “I have plans.” Lila gave them another vague smile and started walking. Where had she parked her bicycle?

  They followed, keeping up a stream of comments behind her as she continued down the street.

  “Aww, come on, you’ll have fun.”

  “Naw, she thinks she’s too good for us, doesn’t she?”

  “That’s right. Stuck-up Hollywood princess.”

  Lila tried to keep calm. People turned like this on a dime. One minute, thrilled to be meeting her, the next, cussing her out because she didn’t want to be their best friend. “Sorry, I’m busy,” she called back over her shoulder, walking faster. “Have a great day!”

  “You think you’re better than us?” The voices turned mean. “You think you’re so special, don’t you, sweetheart? With your fancy movies and big Hollywood mansion. Well, let me tell you, your acting sucks!”

  Lila felt a flash of anger. They would probably never dream of yelling like this to someone they knew, but she wasn’t real to them. She was just a headline, a face on a magazine cover. A body up there on the screen.

  And she’d had enough.

  “Is that the best you can do?” She spun around to face them.

  The guys stopped, looking surprised.

  “Because I’ve heard it all,” she continued, blood surging hot in her veins. “Every insult and slur you can think of, so come on, go right ahead. Or are you too chicken to say it to my face?”

  “Whoa, calm down.” Shorty gulped. “We were just joking around.”

  “Sure, real hilarious,” Lila shot back. “Harassing random women on the street, seems like a ball to me.”

  “Dude, she’s crazy,” the other hissed, and Lila laughed out loud.

  “Angry? Sure.” Lila advanced, waving a finger in their faces. “Sick to death of guys like you? Absolutely. But crazy? Ha! Believe me, you don’t want to see me when I’m crazy—”

  Lila felt a firm grip on her arm, and then someone was dragging her away.

  “What the—?” She struggled, but she was pressed up against a solid chest.

  A very familiar solid chest.

  Lila looked up to find that rugged, blonde-haired man. The gardener from the other day. Griffin.

  She tried to shake him off. “What are you doing?” Lila demanded, still riled up.

  “Say goodbye to the nice men,” Griffin said, already propelling her down the street.

  “Hey, stop!” Lila finally yanked free. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Saving your ass,” Griffin replied, looking irritated. He was still dressed like he was about to go digging in her back yard, in work jeans and a plaid shirt, but Lila wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the way the sun caught gold in his hair, not after the day she’d had.

  “Well, I don’t need saving!” she cried. “I was handling it.”

  Griffin sighed. “I don’t doubt it. My money was on you in a fight. But unless you wanted a video of you unleashing a can of whoop-ass to be the next big internet hit .
. .” He nodded across the street, to where that gaggle of teenagers was watching, cellphones poised and at the ready.

  As quickly as her anger had flared, Lila deflated. “Oh. Them.” She swallowed, coming back down to earth with a bump. “Thanks.”

  “What’s that I hear?” Griffin put a hand to his ear. A teasing smile was playing on his lips. “An apology?”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.” Lila rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. ”I said thank you.”

  “And so sweetly, too.”

  She was grateful. It has been a close call. Attention from guys like that was bad enough, but seeing it splashed all over the internet . . .

  “I should give you a ride,” Griffin said, glancing back to where the guys were getting in their car. “See you home safe.”

  Lila opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. If those guys were still mad . . . If they followed her home . . . “Thank you,” she said again.

  “Twice in one day, I’m a lucky man,” he drawled.

  “Don’t push it.”

  She retrieved her bicycle from the rack beside the library, then followed him to a mud-splattered Jeep. He loaded it on the rear rack while she climbed in the passenger side. The vehicle was a mess, but somehow, she hadn’t expected anything different. There were compost bags on the floor, crates on the backseat holding potted plants, and a couple of rose bushes crammed in the back, blocking the rear view and filling the Jeep with an incredible scent.

  She took a deep breath of the sweetness, feeling more turned around than ever. She hadn’t been lying to the guys, she was used to cat-calls and insults. Usually, her armor was up; she was braced, and prepared for battle. But here on Cape Cod?

  She hadn’t been ready.

  “Does that happen often?” Griffin asked once they were on the road.

  Lila turned.

  “Those guys,” Griffin added, glancing over.

  “Often enough.” Lila swallowed back her sadness and tried to sound casual. “I usually have my driver or security around in LA.”

  “So, when you caught me in your lilac bushes . . . ?”