Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set

by Grover Swank, Denise

  I opened my eyes. Gabe’s expression was filled with reverence. “That sounds beautiful,” he said.

  “A different beauty than Big Sur,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, shaking off the intensity. “And not without its many issues. Namely that it’s a hell of a lot easier to be a rich person there than a poor person. And it can be materialistic and fake and image-obsessed.”

  “Big Sur is slowly becoming a playground for the ultra-rich,” Gabe said. “A vacation destination, a road-trip stop, not a community of residents.”

  I nodded. “We’d both love our home towns regardless.”

  “So this is probably a silly question but… you’ll never leave Los Angeles?” Gabe asked, and there was no denying the plea in his voice.

  “Never,” I said. “Because of my family. But also I’ve spent ten years building a career there, a career that is very specific to Los Angeles. Technically, I could be a makeup artist in any big city but… I spent all that time building up a high-end celebrity client list. Referrals. My reputation.”

  I shook my head at the finality of it. Because I honestly did not want to move. But the more firmly I spoke, the more I wanted to reach across the tiny table, grab Gabe’s collar, and yank him in for a kiss.

  The contradiction was bothering me.

  A lot.

  “Family, career, community,” Gabe said. “That’s a pretty strong argument for staying in your hometown.” His eyes landed on Lola.

  “You feel the same way though,” I said.

  “Exactly the same way. Even if, ultimately, we disagree about which of our hometowns is the Best Place on Earth.”

  “Agree to disagree,” I laughed, then stood to gently deposit Lola in his arms. My skin burned where it brushed against his. I inhaled his woodsy scent. “Here’s your baby back.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “I… I mean yeah,” I stumbled. “We’re shooting today. Ray wants to get some storm shots.”

  Gabe lifted Lola up onto his shoulder, rubbing her back. She was so small against his chest, and it was doing things to me.

  Strange things.

  “You’re good with her,” I pointed out, gathering my things.

  “I’d do anything for Lola,” he said. “Anything.”

  I bit my lip; our eyes locked together. I wanted… I wanted…

  Fuck. I didn’t know what I wanted.

  “You seem like the kind of person who would do anything for someone you loved.” I was slowly turning away, even as I wanted to leap into his arms.

  “I would,” Gabe said. “For the person I loved? I’d give them everything, Josie.”

  Chapter 25

  Gabe

  “A threesome?” Gloria asked, eyes wide with glee and wonder. She took another sip of her coffee which, not twenty-minutes before, she’d poured a generous amount of Hennessy into.

  “I swear on my grandmother’s grave,” I said, laying my palm over my heart.

  “I knew your grandmother,” Gladys said. “Real piece of work. And don’t tell your dad this, but if you think what we read is steamy, you should have seen her collection of ‘vintage erotica,’” she said with exaggerated air quotes.

  I shuddered. “I don’t know if I need to know this.”

  “True story, though. True story,” Gloria piped in, reaching under the desk for the Hennessey bottle. The three of us were in the post office although it was technically closed until the rock slide was cleared. A few locals kept wandering in there, ostensibly looking for updates from the Big Sur Channel.

  “The mayor’s son. Two other girls. All seniors, attempting to have a threesome in a car.” I said solemnly. “I don’t think it was… you know, successful, at least according to Angela.” Angela hadn’t been a police officer for long, but for a glass of wine at The Bar, she’d gossip your ear off.

  “What is this town coming to?” Gloria asked with dancing eyes.

  Two dog-eared paperbacks were sprawled on the counter next to them. Cold Bed, Warm Stranger and Wed to the Pirate Captain. Both with long-haired heroes and wilting heroines on the cover.

  “Who knows?” I shrugged. “But anyway, thanks for the tomatoes. And I’m happy to hear you two are okay.”

  I’d come by to make sure the sisters had enough water—which of course they did. Both had houses with veritable bomb shelters filled to the brim with water and canned food. When I’d asked why, Gloria had merely said, “The Apocalypse,” and left it at that.

  “You going to fill us in on why that Josie girl was fleeing your house the other morning like it was on fire?” Gladys asked.

  “No,” I said. “Unless you want to tell me about Angela having to tell you for the fourth time to stop taking pictures of the models at The Mad Ones.”

  “I do love that shirtless one,” Gloria sighed, hands over her heart. “And we don’t have television; you know that, Gabriel.”

  I laughed, grabbing the bushel of tomatoes Gloria had brought me. “Well, I should—”

  “Details,” Gladys interrupted. “What’s the scoop? Josie didn’t like the bouquets? They were too much? Or…”

  She looked pointedly at the area of my crotch.

  “Gladys,” I hissed, holding the bushel in front of me. “Jesus.”

  “Well, then, what was it?” Gloria asked as Gladys snickered into her coffee.

  “It’s nothing. It’s just… listen, I told you guys it was probably just going to be a one-night thing. And even though technically they’re stuck here for a few extra days, she’s still sticking to that.”

  “She sticks to her guns. I like that,” Gloria said.

  I liked that too.

  “So I backed off.” I paused. “Although we did have coffee together yesterday afternoon.” Their eyebrows just about shot straight off their foreheads. “Accidentally.”

  It had also accidentally felt like a date. An experience that had my heart racing wildly for the rest of the day and a dopey grin glued to my face. Back at The Bar, I’d put on an old James Brown record and danced with Lola until customers showed up.

  It was a small thing. But it felt like progress. Our connection wasn’t momentary. Wasn’t just lust-driven or random. It sparked between us like lightning striking the ground.

  The only issue being that we’d spent that accidental date talking about how Josie would never consider living anywhere else except Los Angeles.

  “And do you need any advice? Suggestions for romance?” Gloria said, tapping on the cover of Wed to the Pirate Captain.

  “I’m not sure Josie is really that amenable to grand romantic gestures. Although she did love the flowers. So thank you for that.”

  They nodded, raising their mugs to me in a toast as I walked towards the door.

  “Are you two going to be okay to drive home?”

  “Oh, we keep cots in the back,” Gloria said. “We’ll just pass out whenever it’s convenient.”

  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Okay, then, well,”

  I turned to go, but Gladys called out. “You’ll find her. You know that, right, Gabriel? She’s out there.”

  “Who?” I asked, even though I knew.

  “Your person. You’ll find your person.”

  I smiled in gratitude, but couldn’t stop the roller-coaster-drop feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Because maybe I had found her.

  Chapter 26

  Josie

  I unfurled my black bag of makeup tricks and instantly felt calmer after my accidental date with Gabe that morning.

  We were prepping for a shoot in the rain, and by an odd twist of events, Calvin (who’d never modeled a day in his life) was going to be photographed with Lucia.

  Who was a bundle of nerves—something I hadn’t seen in years.

  “You ready for this mija?” I asked with a sly grin.

  “Born ready, motherfucker,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes, since I knew better, but there were people buzzing all around us, and I knew she wouldn
’t want anyone else to know why Calvin made her so nervous.

  I turned back to my black bag, stroking my fingers down the assortment of tools. My career thus far had been one hell of a journey. I’d trained, studied, took tests and failed. Took tests and succeeded. Had scrambled to find clients while working multiple jobs (waitress, cosmetics counter at the mall, Sephora). All of that had led me to Lucia. Who led me to doing makeup for the models at the Victoria Secret runway shows. And then B-level actresses for award ceremonies.

  And then celebrities for the Oscars. And now, I was doing makeup for the hottest fashion line in the world.

  “Let’s see,” I said, pulling through a palette of bronzers and primers. “You’re going to be in the pouring rain, so what’s not going to melt right off your face as soon as you step outside?” I tapped my finger against my lip, thinking. “Maybe a subtle smokey eye and a nude lip?”

  Lucia nodded, anxiously watching Calvin who was listening intently as Ray explained to him what modeling was.

  “Cool, cool,” she said. “You’re the boss.”

  I laughed softly to myself, getting back to the task at hand. I grabbed a sponge and the foundation I needed, reached forward, and swept Lucia’s hair up and out of her face.

  “You’re nervous,” I said, moving the sponge down her cheekbones, lightly covering her skin.

  “I heard through the Big Sur Channel you had coffee with Gabe this morning,” Lucia said, ignoring me.

  “The fuck?” I hissed, covertly looking behind me. “It’s barely been two hours.”

  Her lips twitched up. “You’re the talk of the town, babe.”

  “Cool, cool,” I said, mimicking her.

  She kicked me. Wincing, I coated Lucia’s eyelids in a dark, gritty eyeshadow. Drew a thick strip of black across the top of Lucia’s lashes.

  “Open.” Lu fluttered her eyes open, smiling up at me.

  “Hermosa.”

  “Do you remember what I said?” she asked.

  I rolled my eyes with a sigh, turning back to find a brightening powder. I knocked some into the palm of my hand, rolled a brush through it, and started dabbing along the inside of her eye.

  “You can still have a wild, passionate fling with a sexy bartender. Who has a big dick,” she continued.

  I laughed despite myself. “I remember what you said. And I also need you to remind me why I hate men, generally. And relationships, specifically. And that it won’t work with Gabe, especially.”

  “Okay, I think I got it,” Lucia muttered.

  “Smart-ass,” I said, laying down a strip of false eyelashes and pressing them into place. A memory was tugging at me: the morning of the wedding, my eyes closed as another makeup artist friend, Jazz, glued lashes to my eyes, speaking in soft Spanish with my mother who was holding my left hand.

  And Lucia, holding my right hand, saying over and over, You’ve never looked so beautiful.

  I swallowed hard, clearing my throat.

  “These need to set,” I said, even though Lucia knew that. This was probably the three-hundredth pair of false eyelashes I’d glued to her over the last ten years.

  “Okay,” she said kindly. “Sorry, I’m just still formulating the thesis you requested.”

  “You don’t have to indulge my theatrics,” I smirked, blending blush on my hand. I swirled the color, then held it up to Lucia’s cheek.

  “Got it,” Lucia said, eyes still closed but a secretive smile on her face. “You hate men in general because two years ago, a terrible one used you. Emotionally manipulated you. Had you plan a fucking wedding for months. Stood you up. And you never saw him again.” Her voice was quieter so the crew wouldn’t hear.

  The words hardened my heart. “That’s right.”

  “Relationships, specifically…” she tapped her finger against her lips. “You hate men, in general, but you do use them quite frequently to get off.”

  “Their sole purpose,” I said dryly.

  “But Clarke…” she paused. “Clarke was not a good example of what I think a relationship could be. Should be. He gave them all a bad name.” Her eyes fluttered open.

  “You’re going to fuck up the lashes,” I said, reaching for her, but she grabbed my hand, holding it for a second.

  “Which brings me to Gabe. I’ve thought a lot about this since we’ve arrived here in Big Sur. This place is… this place is opening my eyes to some things. Don’t you think?” she asked, eyes wide and vulnerable.

  I nodded slowly, thinking of the angry ocean, the dark, winding roads through the forest. The almost imperceptible calm I’d felt at night as I lay in my tiny cabin, listening to the wind and the waves. So different from the endless, frenetic energy of Los Angeles.

  “I know what you mean,” I said.

  “I think… I think the longer you don’t date someone who you might care about, the more you let Clarke win.” Lu reached up to tap my temple. “I know he’s in there, but he’s not in charge anymore.”

  “Mija,” I started.

  “Escuchame,” Lucia responded. “I’m not saying it’s not complicated or that I have a clear answer of what you should do. But you, Josefine Torres, are the most bad-ass woman I know. Before Clarke, I watched you light the world on fire to get what you want. Is Gabe what you want?”

  Yes.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “That’s fair,” Lu said. “It’s only been a couple of days. But I just don’t want you to dismiss your own bad-assery.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “Who gives a fuck?” Lucia said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her long legs. It was moments like this when it was easy to forget that my best friend was a famous supermodel. Even half-covered in makeup on the set of a photo shoot.

  Calvin walked up to us, looking nervous as ever, about to join us in makeup. But then a wardrobe assistant grabbed him, lifting him out of his shirt. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Cal has a nicer body than I thought,” I said, suddenly distracted. What was with this town? Were all the men secret hunks?

  “Mm-hmm,” Lu said, similarly distracted. She was watching Calvin, fingers against her lips.

  “How do you feel about him?” All I knew was that they’d shared a hot and heavy make out, they’d talked about books, and they’d been leaving secret poems for each other like goofy grade-schoolers. It was freaking adorable.

  “Do you remember our Best Night Ever?” she asked suddenly, looking back at me.

  I did. Every night Lucia and I tore it up in the city, we made it our goal for it to be epic and wild. But one night we’d hit the jackpot. Started with carnitas tacos from my favorite taco truck in East L.A. Drinks at our favorite blues club, Franklin Bell’s on Colden Avenue. Stumbling down the road, we’d accidentally walked into a street fair, and Lucia and I had volunteered to be part of the fire-thrower display—holding hands and squealing as three sexy men tossed flames around our heads. Ended up at a club where, for real, Missy Elliott showed up for a surprise, pop-up concert, and we danced until we were breathless and covered in sweat. Were briefly stalked by the paparazzi as we’d snuck into KazuNori for late-night sushi. Then we snagged a 3:30 am showing of Magic Mike and hit our favorite diner for breakfast.

  And then we’d honest-to-God shown up for work three hours later: a twelve-hour photo shoot that I barely remembered because I kept sneaking off to sleep in the bathroom.

  But it was… well, the Best Night Ever. My favorite combination of late-night shenanigans: part planning, part luck, part letting the warm embrace of a Los Angeles night guide you through chaos.

  I grinned at the memory, feeling powerfully homesick. Exhilaration, spontaneity, a powerful feeling of being alive. The visceral texture of that night was something I could recall perfectly.

  “Of course I do. Tacos, Missy Elliot, fire breathers.”

  “Every time I look at Cal, it feels like Best Night Ever,” Lucia said.

  “Wow,” I said, applying blush to her cheeks, althou
gh she was already blushing. “All of that, just from looking at him?”

  Her eyes turned back to me. “Every time.”

  I thought about Gabe and the exquisite connection we seemed to share. The way he seemed to really see me. His kind eyes. His desire to create a better community. His devotion to his family.

  “Oh God,” I said. “I think I feel it too.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I woke up early and drove to a hiking trail in the Ventana Wilderness. Standing at the trail entrance, I looked through the forest: the branches dipping low, leaves heavy with moisture. The ground was drenched and muddy—pungently spring-like. There was no one around. No sound. No distractions.

  Gabe had said he used nature as therapy, something I never thought I’d do. But I was entering my second day of sleeplessness, and I’d try anything.

  Because I’d had the dream again.

  Hallway closing in. A suffocating claustrophobia. A hand clamped on my wrist.

  It was Clarke. I knew it.

  And when I’d woken up, sweating, my heart galloping like a racehorse, it was thoughts of Gabe that comforted me. His deep laughter. The feel of his muscles flexing beneath my wandering fingers. His arms wrapped around me as I’d slumbered.

  When I’d woken up, I wanted Gabe in my bed.

  In so many ways, the fact that I’d used Gabe to get me through the night was more upsetting than Clarke’s persistent subconscious presence.

  My feet crunched over the ground as the trail wound through the forest. The after-effects of the storm were still present, and the mist hung like a fine curtain. The verdant greenery felt prehistoric. Ancient and beautiful.

  I tried to find gratitude for this moment. This place. This unexpected week of pleasure I’d been granted. Like Lucia had said—I’d had a fling. I was allowed to feel things. To feel the complications of yearning for someone I’d never see again. It didn’t mean I was going to end up, three months from now, waiting for Gabe to show up at our wedding.

  And the rock slide could be cleared any day now—in fact, yesterday, at the coffee shop, could have been the last time I’d ever see Gabe.