Must Be Love: (Nicole and Ryan) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 1)

by Claire Kingsley

  I clutch the blanket to my chest. My heart feels like bursting.

  "It got a lot worse," he says. "I didn't eat much. I went days without leaving my apartment. I should have moved, but even that seemed like too much work. I lost out on jobs because I kept flaking out, but I couldn't make myself care. I was so numb, I thought I was becoming a monster. I started having a lot of obsessive thoughts." Ryan pauses again and when he continues, his voice is quiet. "I don't want to tell you the rest."

  I drop the blanket and reach out, putting a hand on top of his. "It's okay. You can tell me."

  "I felt like, if I was a corpse walking around, I might as well stop pretending. Like an idiot, I'd kept a bunch of Elise's pills. So I swallowed them and went to bed, fully intending not to wake up."

  Tears spring to my eyes and my stomach turns over. "Oh god, Ryan. What happened then? How did you..."

  "How did I not die?" he asks. "Cody. I texted him right before I took the pills. Honestly, I don't remember what I said, but it scared him enough that he called the police and convinced them to break in. They busted down the door and rushed me to the hospital."

  I stare at him, my hand still over his. I want to wrap him in my arms and never let him go, but I can tell he isn't finished.

  "When I got out of the hospital, my parents drove all the way down and picked me up. They brought me back here, let me crash at their place, took me to therapy. I started to get better, and I decided to stay. This place is good for me. I bought the church and started restoring it. The work helped a lot. I had purpose again, and day by day, I found it got easier. By the time I met you, I was in a good place. I was healthy."

  I shift in my seat and he puts his other hand over mine, but he doesn't turn to look at me.

  "My therapist told me I could expect to relapse a little," he says. "He gave me tools to cope if I did, made sure I understood what to look out for. He told my family the same thing. But when it started a few months ago, I tried to ignore it. What did I have to be depressed about? I had you. I should have been happy. That thought just made it worse. I was angry at myself for not being normal, for not being able to enjoy the best thing that ever happened to me. I took that out on you. I tried to push you away because I was afraid. I thought I'd only hurt you if you stayed with me. I was too broken."

  "Ryan, you should have told me," I say. "I would have helped you."

  "I know," he says. "I should have trusted you enough to tell you everything. That's why I'm here now. I screwed up. I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, but I'm willing to try."

  He squeezes my hand and slowly turns to look at me, his green eyes locking with mine. "Even though I've been the biggest asshole imaginable, what got me through this was you. I love you, Nicole. I've loved you since the first time I touched you. I was afraid of it. I thought it was too good for me, that I'd taint it somehow. But it's so much bigger than me."

  My body trembles. Ryan brushes my hair back from my face and leans closer.

  "I can't promise you that I'll never have a hard time again. But I can promise that I won't keep it from you. I'll ask for help when I need it. Please, Nicole, please forgive me."

  A tear breaks free from the corner of my eye. "Of course I forgive you."

  Ryan smiles—that gorgeous, irresistible smile. "I love you."

  "I love you too."

  He presses his lips against mine and my eyes flutter closed. I breathe deep, taking in his scent. His arms wrap around me, and my body lights up. Our kiss goes from gentle to passionate. His tongue glides into my mouth and he grabs my hips, pulling me onto his lap.

  "I missed you so much," he says. He kisses me again before I can answer, his mouth hungry for mine.

  I slide my hands down to his cock and grip it through his pants. He groans and nibbles on my lower lip.

  I need him so badly I can barely stand it. I unfasten his pants and he pulls off my shirt.

  "Are you sure we should do this here?" he asks, breathing hard.

  I pause, glancing around. "She's at work and I don't care."

  He grins, pushing me back onto the couch. He frees his cock while I pull off my pants. There is no waiting, no teasing. I ache for him and he plunges inside me, my hands on his ass, grinding him deeper.

  "Oh my god, Nicole," he says, speaking softly into my ear. "I don't want to be without you ever again."

  The feel of him inside me is bliss. He makes me feel whole. I want to be his, to have all of him, broken parts and all.

  "You never have to be.”

  I wait for Jackson Bennett at the art gallery, half-convinced he won't show up. I don't have much time. It’s nine o’clock, and the festival is set to kick off at ten. I need most of that hour to run around and make sure everything is in place. Of course, Ryan is doing some of that running around for me. He put up the new banners, made sure the food trucks set up in the right places, and wandered through the line of canopies, making sure the artists have everything they need.

  I don't know how I would have done it without him.

  Melissa confessed to setting me up, making sure I'd be there when Ryan came over. I told her I got her back by letting him fuck me senseless on her couch. She said she'd send me the cleaning bill.

  I wander around the gallery, waiting. I've done what I can to help make the place more inviting. The current owners are pretty hands-off, and the person they've hired to run things didn't mind me moving things around. I tried to organize the art so there’s some order, grouping displays by artist or by medium. I put my hands on my hips and look around. It isn't half-bad. It still needs some hard-core renovations, but for this event, it will do.

  The door opens and Jackson Bennett walks in. He’s in a cream-colored button-down shirt and a pair of brown slacks. His look is understated, but he still drips expensive from head to toe.

  "Hi," I say.

  "Hi," he says, pausing for a second. "Nicole."

  "Yes." I hold out my hand and he shakes it. His handshake is firm, but not overbearing. "Thanks for coming."

  He puts his hands in his pockets and glances around the gallery. "Yeah, it's been fun to see the town again. It's been a long time. I read over the information you sent me, and I've been doing some research. Jetty Beach is a perfect place for some new development. I'll start with the gallery; this place has potential."

  "We’ll, you’ll have to find out from the owners if they’re interested in selling,” I say, “but I have their contact information for you.” I hand him a slip of paper.

  He takes it and grins. "Sure. I'll make it worth their while."

  What must it be like, to be able to buy anything you want?

  "Anyway," he says. "This little town's a lot of fun. I'm glad I came down. I thought I'd get out of here today, but I think I'll stay the weekend. Maybe get a street taco."

  He says that like he's never done it before. He probably hasn't. Don't rich people dine on filet mignon every night?

  "Sounds great," I say.

  A woman in a sleek gray pantsuit walks into the gallery.

  "Sorry to interrupt," she says. "Nicole Prescott?"

  I’m pretty sure I recognize her voice. "Yes."

  Jackson shakes my hand again. "Thanks, Nicole. It was nice to see you again."

  "You too, Jackson," I say. I turn to the woman as Jackson leaves. "Sorry."

  "No, that's fine," she says. "I'm Mary Harper, the Tourism Director. We spoke on the phone several times, but I don't think we've met in person."

  "Of course, Mary," I say. "It's nice to see you."

  "You too," Mary says. "Listen, I wanted to tell you that you've done an amazing job with the festival. I'm really impressed."

  "Thank you.”

  "I understand you did all this in your spare time, while still working in Seattle."

  "That's true for the most part," I say. "Although I've been in town for the last couple of weeks, which made it easier to manage all the last minute details. It's been a little crazy, but also a lot of
fun."

  "That's great," Mary says. "We have a lot more events we’d like to produce for the town. So far, we haven’t had the right person on staff to make it happen. Plus, there are plans for my organization to take over the art festival at some point. We didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so we’ve left it to the original organizers. But it sounds like, without you, the festival wouldn’t have happened this year.”

  “Well, I've done my best," I say.

  "What are your plans after the festival is over?" she asks. "Do you have to go back to work in Seattle?"

  "No, actually," I say. "I left my previous position. I'm still deciding what I'd like to do next."

  Mary smiles and pulls out her business card. "That's actually great news. I'm looking for someone like you. I know you're busy, so I won't inundate you right now. But give me a call after the festival if you're interested. I might have a job for you."

  I turn her card over in my hand, so surprised I’m not sure what to say. "Thank you. That's … amazing."

  "I hope to hear from you Monday," she says.

  I shake her hand. "You will. Thank you."

  Mary leaves and Melissa appears in the doorway. "Nicole, we need you out here. There's something going on."

  The urgency in her voice almost makes me jump. "Okay, I'll be right there."

  I hurry out the door, wondering what could possibly be wrong. The sky is clear, so it can't be rain. Did one of the banners hanging across Main Street fall and cause an accident? Did the electricity for the food trucks go out?

  I stop in my tracks. One side of the closed-off street is lined with canopies, artists displaying their work. But on the other side I see a series of large canvases set on wooden easels. Vaguely, I’m aware of people congregating behind me, but I can't take my eyes off the display.

  It’s me.

  The first is a photo of me on the beach, my hair blowing back in the wind. It’s a close-up of my face, my eyes looking off into the distance.

  I wander closer, passing the first canvas.

  The second is a wider shot, taken from behind while I walk down the sand, my footsteps trailing behind me.

  Next is me in Ryan's studio, sitting in the window, a cup of coffee held up to my chin. The lighting is soft, my eyes lowered, eyelashes brushing my cheeks.

  I keep walking. Me in the window again, my eyes on the camera, a little smile on my face.

  Me, smiling, my lips parted over my teeth.

  Me, on the beach again, my head turned over my shoulder.

  I walk on and the next is footsteps in the sand. Our footsteps. Ryan's and mine.

  I glance around, looking for him. A knot of people follows me down the line of photos, keeping a bit of distance. But I don't see Ryan.

  Cody and Hunter are on the edge of the crowd. Maureen is between them, and Ed behind her. Maureen clutches a little green handbag to her chest, a huge smile on her face. Next to them are my parents. Wait, what? Cody catches my eye and nods, gesturing for me to continue on.

  My heart races and my tummy does little somersaults. There are four more canvases, all in a line, but they’re covered with white cloths. I walk up to the first one, looking around again for Ryan. My hand trembles as I lift the cloth.

  It’s the beach, just in front of Ryan's house. Written on the sand is one word: Will

  Oh my god.

  I let the cloth flutter to the ground and move to the next canvas. The beach, another word written in the sand: You

  The crowd lets out a collective gasp. I race over to the next canvas and whip off the cloth: Marry

  Tears blur my vision. My hands are shaking so violently, I have a hard time clasping the edge of the cloth to reveal the final word: Me

  I gasp and my hands fly up to my mouth. The crowd makes another noise and I feel the presence of someone right behind me.

  I turn. Ryan stands there, that sweet, lopsided grin on his face. The cuffs of his white button-down shirt are rolled up. He adjusts his slacks as he slowly sinks down on one knee.

  The oohs and ahs from the crowd fall away as Ryan takes my hand. He looks up at me, his green eyes glistening.

  "Nicole Prescott, will you marry me?"

  I laugh and cry all at once, unable to speak. He stands, slowly, and produces a small box, as if by magic. He opens it, revealing a beautiful diamond solitaire with a gold band. I hold out my hand—he has to hold it steady, I’m shaking so badly. I take a trembling breath as he slips the ring on my finger and looks into my eyes.

  "Yes."

  ~~~

  Must Be Crazy, book two in the Jetty Beach romance series, is coming soon!

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  About the Book

  I’m an overthinker by nature, and I thought about this book for a long time before I started writing it.

  I knew I wanted to venture into a new genre, and romance was a natural fit. My favorite part of any story is usually the love story, whether it features heavily in the plot or not. I’m a sucker for a good will-they-or-won’t-they, or will-it-work-or-won’t-it story. But when it came to writing my own romance, I wasn’t sure where to start.

  I thought about whether I’d be able to write believable characters who were single and dating in their late twenties. I married my high school sweetheart, so my personal experience in the dating pool is pretty limited.

  And that’s when it hit me. What if my relationship hadn’t worked? What if I’d dated my boyfriend for years, but we hadn’t gotten married? And what if I found myself suddenly single, without much experience in the world of dating?

  That’s how I discovered Nicole. She’s a woman who believed her life was headed in a certain direction—a very linear direction. When that reality comes crashing down, she’s faced with navigating a world she didn’t think she’d be a part of. She’s insecure about the world of dating, and isn’t sure how to handle a fledgling relationship.

  I knew Ryan would be a photographer, and when I created his backstory, I knew he had suffered. Depression is a very serious illness, one that has touched people I love. I wanted to explore what happens when someone finds themselves relapsing, despite the presence of good things in their life. Part of Ryan’s struggle is the feeling that he shouldn’t be sad and listless because he has Nicole. The juxtaposition of the good with the dark makes his relapse deeper. He berates himself for not being happy, when the truth is, depression isn’t about happiness. It’s much more serious than a bad mood or feeling down. Ryan has to acknowledge this in order to take the steps necessary to pull himself out of the darkness again.

  I raise a glass to anyone who has slogged through the mud of depression. The fact that you get up, day after day, working, playing, socializing, loving—even when it’s so hard you’re not sure you can—is a feat. You’re brave as fuck and I salute you.

  I hope you enjoyed this story. I loved writing it and already find myself missing these characters. The good news is, you’ll get to see a little more of them in the next few Jetty Beach romances. I don’t want to give too much away, but they did get engaged, so there will be a wedding down the road…

  Thanks for reading!

  If you haven't already, don't forget to sign up for new release announcements, and for the opportunity to get free advance review copies of new books.

  Acknowledgements

  A great, big, huge thank you to everyone who helped make this book a reality.

  To Tammi: this book would literally not exist without you. Not only did you help me brainstorm, tolerated my numerous silly questions, and did a stellar job editing the finished product, you were on Team CK from day one. Your friendship and encouragement means the world to me. Thank you.

  To Alison and Renee: thank you for letting me pick your brains and being so willing to help me get this book off the ground. You are lovely friends and I’m so blessed to have you in my life.

  To Shayne: thank
you for the gorgeous cover and for being kick ass.

  To all my AC peeps: I heart you guys. I wouldn’t be doing this without all of you. Thanks for being my tribe.

  Last, but never, ever least, to David: you are my rock, my safe place, my heart, and my life. Thank you for giving me my own happily ever after.

  About the Author

  Claire Kingsley writes smart, sexy romances. She's in love with love, and finds inspiration in the stories of broken people who find love and healing together—with a generous dose of steam.

  She can't imagine life without coffee, her Kindle, and the sexy heroes who inhabit her imagination. She's living out her own happily ever after in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three kids.