by Maria Geraci
I’m getting married, Luke! I know it sounds crazy, because Jeff and I have only known each other a few months, but it just feels right. It’s a lot to ask, but in a lot of ways, you’re my closest friend and I’d really love it if you could be at the wedding (invitation to follow!). I hope life is treating you well. Hugs!!
PS Could you tell your mother that I’m getting married? I’d like to invite your parents to the wedding, but the last time we spoke it seemed like she thought you and I were still together (ha ha!).
And then there was yesterday’s text.
Luke, your mother just emailed me and asked if we could come down for Labor Day weekend. WTF!? Doesn’t she know we’re broken up and that I’m getting married to someone else????
Before he could respond, she’d texted again a few minutes later.
Sorry if I sounded a little hysterical. It’s this wedding! There’s so much to do and so little time. But I promise I haven’t turned into a bridezilla. By the way, I still haven’t gotten your RSVP. You did get an invitation, right? Please let me know if you can come (I won’t take no for an answer) and feel free to bring a date!
PS Please tell your mom about the wedding ASAP. I can’t keep avoiding her calls forever. Hugs!!
He’d texted her back: Going home to WB tomorrow. Will tell her then.
He’d told his family about his breakup with Torie six months ago. His father had seemed resigned but his mother had immediately predicted they’d get back together. This latest bit of news about Torie’s upcoming marriage, however, was something he’d have to tell his mother in person. She wouldn’t take it well, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
And as for Torie’s wedding invitation? No way in hell was he going to her wedding. He was happy she’d found someone. He really was, but despite what she’d written in her email, it didn’t seem right for him to go to the ceremony. Besides, if all went as planned, in a few weeks he’d be on his way to Alaska to work on a new project. He made a mental note to call Ethan in the morning for an update on the job.
He placed the empty bowl in the dishwasher and padded his way to the lone bathroom, where several girlie products cluttered the area around the sink. There was also a small plastic container with both an upper and a lower retainer still inside. Claire had worn braces. At least, he thought she had, so these must be hers. But why would his niece leave them here?
Then he noticed the two tiny scraps of damp, red material hung over the towel rack. He picked up what must be the bottom to the smallest bikini in the world and frowned. No wonder she was sneaking in to use his beach house. No way would her father, Zeke Grant, Whispering Bay’s chief of police, let his teenage daughter wear anything this skimpy.
Luke finished up in the bathroom, pulled off his T-shirt and shorts, and headed for bed. He’d call Mimi in the morning. He didn’t want to get his niece in trouble, but it was his responsibility to let her parents know what he’d found.
He opened the door to his bedroom, switched on the light, and froze. His bed was mussed and there was a lump huddled beneath his comforter. The lump flipped over to change position, giving him a glimpse of slender, tan legs and a head full of blond hair.
Definitely not his niece.
Someone had snuck in here and rearranged his furniture.
She’d drunk all his scotch.
And she was now sleeping in his bed.
“Hey! Whoever you are, wake up.”
A woman sat straight up in his bed, causing the comforter to fall off to the side. “What?” A pair of big, green eyes blinked hard, then rounded in shock. “Oh my God!” The shriek nearly pierced his eardrums. She grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to her chin, but it was too late. He’d already gotten more than an eyeful.
There was a naked woman in his bed.
Correction: A naked blonde.
A very attractive naked blonde.
Chapter Three
Sarah’s mother had always warned her about the dangers of not wearing underwear. But the “just in case you get in an accident” rule didn’t include being caught in the buff by a strange man. A very handsome strange man.
She narrowed her eyes as recognition set in. It was the hottie from the pictures in the living room. Which meant said hottie standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs was none other than Luke Powers, the owner of this house.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she blurted.
“I’m not supposed to be here?” His broad shoulders and muscled chest spoke of a man who took his workouts seriously.
“Um, can you please put some clothes on?” she squeaked, trying not to stare, but really, it was impossible not to with all that skin hitting her straight in the face.
“I have a strong feeling that right now I’ve got more clothes on than you do.”
Her face shot up in flames. She’d gone for a swim in the gulf, then showered and landed straight in bed, too exhausted to think about putting on pajamas. Early mornings and busy days working at The Bistro were kicking her butt. “What…what time is it?”
“It’s past two in the morning and that’s my bed you’re sleeping in. So, if you wouldn’t mind?” His voice was just like his scotch. Rich and warm and disturbing to her belly in a way that made every cell in her body sit up and take notice.
Oh God. She just remembered that she’d drunk all his scotch. Not all of it, of course, the bottle had only been a quarter full, but over the past month she’d finished it a little at a time. She’d only meant to take one tiny sip, but she’d never tasted whisky that good and it had been addictive. Hopefully, she could replace the bottle before he realized it was gone.
“Let me get this straight. You’re kicking me out of your bed?” Then she shook her head because that certainly sounded all wrong.
“You can either get out of it or scoot over. Either way, I’m about to hit those sheets. It’s your choice, Goldilocks.”
Goldilocks?
“My name is Sarah Jamison,” she said, trying to take control of a rapidly deteriorating situation. “And I rented the house for the summer from your sister Mimi. She said you never come here.”
She tried once again not to stare at him, but he was just as gorgeous as those pictures he kept of himself in the living room. He must be at least six-two, with wavy brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Sarah couldn’t watch a simple TV show without the distraction of those photos. Her favorite was one of him in a black tux with a drink in his hand and a million-dollar smile on his face. She’d thought it was impossible that anyone could be that good looking in real life.
She was wrong.
But what kind of man kept a dozen framed photos of himself and his beautiful girlfriend on display? A narcissist, that’s who.
He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re a friend of Mimi’s?”
“Sort of, I mean, I didn’t know Mimi till last month. I’m managing The Bistro by the Beach while Frida and Ed Hampton are vacationing in Europe. I needed a place for the summer and, since she and Frida are good friends, she offered me this house.”
“Well, that’s going to be a problem because I plan to stay awhile.”
“For how long?”
He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Maybe till Labor Day. It depends on my business schedule.”
Labor Day! That was five weeks from now.
The implication of his unexpected return made her swallow hard. Whispering Bay didn’t have much to offer in the temporary housing department. If Luke wanted his house back, she was screwed. Except…
“Wait! I have a lease.” Mimi had offered to let her stay as a guest, but a free ride wasn’t in Sarah’s nature. She’d insisted on paying rent and signing a lease, which meant he couldn’t kick her out of his house. Not legally, anyway.
“Signed by who?” But before she could answer, he shook his head. “Never mind. Just show me the lease.”
“I don’t exactly keep it tucked under my pillow, you
know.”
“How about I close my eyes while you go get it?”
“How about I show it to you tomorrow morning?” she countered, then added, “Or, if you need proof right this second, just check your bank account. You do mobile banking, right? My check was deposited into an account by your mother. Didn’t they tell you any of this?”
“My mom handles the account for the house, and…neither my mother or Mimi know that I’m back in town.”
“Why not?”
He looked momentarily startled by her bluntness. “It’s complicated.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he nodded toward the living room. “Look, we can sort this out in the morning. For now, you can sleep on the couch.”
“You want me to sleep on the couch?”
“I hate to break it to you, but that’s my bed and like I said, I plan to sleep in it.” He unfolded his long body from the door frame and took a few steps into the room.
“Hold on! I’m not exactly dressed for company.”
“From what I just saw you’re not exactly dressed at all.”
“Well, if I’d known Papa Bear was coming home tonight, I would have made sure to wear pjs.” It came out snarkier than she’d intended, but why did he have to keep pointing out her lack of clothing?
His face split into a slow, sexy grin, causing her to suck in a breath. Luke Powers in a black tux smiling in a picture was one thing, but Luke Powers in the flesh wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a smile was something else entirely.
“Okay. I can be a good guy. Tell you what, I’ll take the couch for tonight.”
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered.
He flipped off the bedroom light and turned to leave.
“Can you close the door, please?”
“Anything else I can do for you? Warm milk or maybe some cookies?”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Nope, that’s it.”
He went to close the door, then turned to look at her one last time. “Oh and, Goldilocks? You owe me a bottle of scotch.”
* * *
Sarah lay in bed, waiting for the alarm to go off. She hadn’t slept a wink since Luke had come crashing through her bedroom door two hours ago. Well, his bedroom door if you wanted to get technical about it. She sighed and rolled out of his bed and quickly got dressed. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well get to work early.
What was he doing here? Mimi had assured her that Luke hadn’t been to the beach house in over a year, and whenever he did come to visit he always let his mother and sister know well in advance so they could stock his refrigerator. Why didn’t he know that they’d rented out his beach house for the summer? Apparently, the entire family suffered from a serious case of miscommunication.
She washed her face and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. He’d called her Goldilocks, which was kind of funny. Except in the story, Goldilocks ended up running away from the cottage and into the forest where she was possibly eaten by rabid wolves. So, yeah, not so funny after all. Despite the lease, she was in a sticky situation. One that wouldn’t get resolved until she and Papa Bear could sit down and talk this through like rational adults.
She tiptoed through the living room, grabbed her backpack, and stole a glance at him. He appeared to be sound asleep, but she still felt a little guilty. She’d taken a few naps on that couch and it had been perfectly comfortable, but she was probably almost a foot shorter and about a hundred pounds lighter than him. His big feet stuck out from beneath the flimsy blanket he’d tried to wrap around his body and his head was flung back at an awkward angle. When he woke up from his sleep of the semi-dead, he was going to have one heck of a neck spasm.
She locked the front door behind her and took off in the little beat-up Honda she’d driven for the past ten years. When a mutual friend had called to say that local café owner, Frida Hampton, was looking for someone reliable to manage her coffee shop for the summer, Sarah had immediately said yes. She was between jobs and a summer spent working on the beach seemed like a dream come true. Especially after she’d found out she could live in the cute little clapboard house directly on the gulf.
But what if the lease wasn’t valid? He was the owner of the house, and if he didn’t want to honor a lease he wasn’t aware of, could he kick her out? She didn’t think so, but then, what did she know? Plus, there was the fact that she was paying next to nothing for rent. What if he insisted she pay him what the house was really worth?
Backing her car out of the driveway, she let out a long overdue sigh. She should have known the whole thing was too good to be true. Now that Mr. Hot Stuff had returned, he’d probably demand she vacate the premises as soon as possible. She’d been working at The Bistro for almost a month now, with another five weeks to go before Frida and Ed returned from their European trip. Maybe she could find a cheap little efficiency in Panama City. It wouldn’t be on the water, not with the kind of rent she could afford, and the thirty-minute drive would be inconvenient, but it might be her only choice.
She drove through the quiet streets of town and parked her car in the usual spot behind the café. Frida and Ed lived in an apartment above the restaurant. Originally, the plan was that Sarah would stay in the apartment, but then they’d decided that their trip was the perfect time to remodel, and Frida’s good friend Mimi had offered up her brother’s house as an alternative.
Maybe Sarah could still stay in the apartment. All she needed was a little space to lay down an inflatable mattress. Tom Donalan, the construction manager in charge of the renovation, was always here at eight am sharp to check on the previous day’s work before he went on to his other projects. She’d run the idea by him.
She used her master key to open the back door that led directly into the kitchen. It was four in the morning, but The Bistro by the Beach, Whispering Bay’s premier coffee house, opened at exactly six am. There were scones and bagels to bake, coffee beans to grind, oranges to squeeze into juice. All of which was second nature to her. She’d worked at cafés and bakeries since she was sixteen.
After graduating high school she’d tried college, but it hadn’t been for her, so she’d gone to work for one of the big cruise lines, but after a few years she’d grown restless and taken over the management of a small coffee house in Gulf Shores, Alabama. One day soon, she hoped to be just like Frida and open her own business. A business on wheels, that is. She was only five thousand dollars away from buying a slightly used, but still in good condition food truck. The truck’s current owner, a former employer of Sarah, had promised to hold it for her until fall. If she could just work out the rest of this summer living on the cheap, she could do it.
Sarah was chopping up mangos to go into the fresh fruit cups when Allie Donalan came in through the kitchen door. She was newly married to Tom and part owner of the Whispering Bay Gazette, the local paper, but she still worked at The Bistro a few mornings a week to help out Frida and make extra money.
“My God, it’s not even six and it’s already sweltering outside.” Allie hung up her bag and quickly changed into the bright blue T-shirt with The Bistro’s distinctive Got Coffee? logo stitched on the front. She was tall with long, dark hair and bright brown eyes. Her brother, Zeke Grant, was the local chief of police. His wife, Mimi, was Luke’s sister, which meant Allie and Luke were related through marriage.
Sarah was dying to ask Allie what she knew about Luke. Why had he come home without telling his family? And not that it was any of her business, but when were he and the beautiful brunette in the pictures getting hitched? But if Luke hadn’t told anyone he was back in town, then it wasn’t Sarah’s place to rat him out.
Allie took in all the fresh bagels and chopped up fruit on the counter. “You’ve been busy.”
“I got here a little earlier than usual.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Something like that.”
Lucy McGuffin—a bubbly twenty-something, recent culinary school graduate, and the café’s full-time barista—arrived and soon the place w
as hopping with regulars. Sarah picked up a freshly brewed pot of coffee and strolled through the dining room offering refills and greeting customers.
Frida had explained to her before taking the job that having a cup of coffee and a muffin at The Bistro was more than just a quick breakfast for the locals. The Bistro was a place for the townspeople to see each other and be seen. And more importantly, to exchange information, aka gossip.
It had only taken Sarah a couple of days to discover that Frida was right. The customers were more like family. Whispering Bay was charming and quaint, a small beach town comprised of quirky townspeople who loved to stick their noses in everyone else’s business, but who, deep down, all cared about one another. The Bistro was home to the Mom’s Day Out morning breakfast group and the place where the local Rotary Club met for coffee on Thursdays. And, of course, to the Gray Flamingos, a senior citizen activist group, and also where the Bunco Babes (Frida and Mimi’s Bunco group) sometimes gathered to play.
After just a few weeks, Sarah had gotten to know the regulars pretty well, and she would miss most of them when it was time for her to move on.
This morning, several of the Gray Flamingos sat at their regular table overlooking the gulf. Betty Jean Collins watched her approach and put her cup out. “When is Frida coming back?” she asked.
“Good morning to you, too, Betty Jean,” Sarah answered as sweetly as possible. Betty Jean was one of the rare regulars Sarah wouldn’t miss.
The seventy-year-old-something retiree from Boston made a grumpy noise under her breath. “Your coffee is too weak.”
“You told me yesterday my coffee was too strong.”
Gus Pappas, the owner of Pappas and Son Plumbing and a total sweetheart, winked at her. “And here I was just about to say that your coffee was just right.”
Sarah smiled at him. “What are the Gray Flamingos up to this morning?”
Viola Pantini, a widow as well as current president of the group and Gus’s girlfriend, said, “Well, you know after last month’s big drama, Whispering Bay needs a new city manager and I’m happy to say that one has just been hired.”
