by Tara Sheets
A giddy rush of warmth flooded her limbs and her mouth fell open. She couldn’t breathe. Wait, yes, she could. He loved her.
Hunter gripped her hand in his. “Look, I don’t know how this works. I’ve never been here before. But I know one thing that really matters. I believe in you and I want to be wherever you are.”
A tiny thrill of joy zipped along her spine. “Are you sure?” Dumb question!
“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” he said solemnly.
“But how do you know it’s real?” Another dumb question. What the hell, Holloway?
He gave her a molten smile. “Because without you, nothing else matters. And even if you turn me away, I’ll be like that man in the lighthouse legend. Always yearning for you. There’s no one else for me, Emma. There never will be.” He pulled her closer, as if he was afraid she’d disappear. “Tell me you still want to be with me. Tell me you feel the same way.”
Emma took a tremulous breath.
He waited, his leaf green eyes intent on her face.
She grinned and exhaled on a “yes.”
Then they were laughing and kissing and whispering to each other in a way that could only be described as dopey-in-love-struck, but Emma couldn’t remember a time she had ever felt happier. Hunter told her the first thing he wanted to do was make arrangements to move to Pine Cove Island, for good. Emma admitted she might like to branch out and sell her creations in both their establishments, since she had so much success with her new recipes. There was so much to discuss, though their conversation was frequently broken up with more kissing and whispered endearments and—eventually—mingled laughter and apologies to the stern-faced nurse who checked in on her patient and found him not resting.
Somewhere outside, thunderclouds began rolling in from the west. The sky cast dark shadows over the sleepy island town and an icy gale blew in off the ocean, gaining momentum until the trees swayed and the grassy fields whipped in the howling wind. Mother Nature was bringing back the storm.
On that day, there was so much rain and hail that for months afterward, the people of Pine Cove Island would talk about it. But Emma and Hunter never saw it.
That day, they only saw each other.
Epilogue
Eight months later
“See, I don’t get why that British vampire guy keeps trying.” Hunter tossed a piece of popcorn to Buddy, who was sprawled on the sofa beside him. The dog had grown so huge, his legs dangled over the edge of the seat cushions. “I mean, it’s clear the woman doesn’t like him.”
“You’re such a newb,” Juliette said from the armchair near the TV. “Buffy and Spike are meant to be. Anyone can see they’re crazy about each other.”
Emma turned from stoking the fire and felt a rush of warmth at the sight of everyone in her living room. Juliette, Hunter, and her dog, watching old Buffy reruns on a Friday night. These were her people.
Hunter gently nudged the massive dog aside to make room for Emma. He wore a rumpled T-shirt, needed a shave, and was still the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.
She settled next to him with a contented sigh. It was hard to believe he was a permanent fixture in her life now. In the past several months, so much had changed. He had moved in with her and hired managers to oversee his businesses in Seattle. The house had a new roof, a new front porch, and fresh paint. Emma had renovated her shop and was now successfully selling her creations at both Fairy Cakes and Haven. She had even created a new recipe for dog biscuits, “Bon Bones,” which tickled Mrs. Mooney to no end.
And her house and business weren’t the only things that had changed. All the shops on Front Street had benefited from Hunter’s ownership. New upgrades were being made, the merchants were reporting higher sales because of the increase in tourist traffic, and Hunter was now a member of the chamber of commerce alongside Sam. They were already planning a community park near the wharf for the upcoming summer.
Hunter slung an arm around Emma and placed a kiss on top of her head. He gestured to the TV as the Buffy theme song ended. “But I thought she liked that other guy. The angel without the wings.”
Juliette let out an exasperated groan and stood, stretching. “He’s not an angel.”
“His name is Angel,” Emma explained. “But he’s not an actual angel. He’s more of a demon.”
Hunter propped his feet on the coffee table with a sigh. “And you guys wonder why I’m confused.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Juliette said through a yawn. “It takes time to ramp up. You’ll get there.” She gathered her patchwork bag and headed to the front entrance.
Buddy heaved himself off the couch and padded after her. The big dog’s tail whipped back and forth as she bent to scratch behind his ears.
“Come visit me at the flower shop tomorrow,” Juliette called, slipping her bare feet into a pair of shearling boots. “Romeo’s serving mulled cider and I’m going to spike it when he’s not looking.”
Juliette managed Romeo’s Florist Shop, and with her knowledge of plants and garden charms, business was booming. There was even a shelf in the store devoted to her handmade soaps and bath products.
She gave Buddy one last pat on the head, waved good-bye, and disappeared into the night. The house shut the door behind her, but not before an icy blast of February wind billowed into the foyer.
“I’ll put another log on the fire,” Hunter said.
Emma gathered the empty popcorn bowls and walked down the hall into the kitchen. She cocked her head when she heard him speaking in the other room. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” he called. “I was talking to the house.”
She smiled and placed the bowls in the sink. Lately, Hunter had been having a lot of covert conversations with the house. Once, she caught him muttering to it while he fixed the floor in the attic. Another time, she heard him scolding it in the kitchen, his voice lowered to a whisper. Whatever the issue was, she was grateful for how accepting they both were of each other. When Hunter moved in at the end of the summer, the house had welcomed him with open doors, like he belonged there. And now he talked to the house like it was no big deal; like they were family. The ease with which he had slipped into her life brought her more happiness than she had dared to hope for.
“You know,” Emma said, walking back into the living room, “you’re beginning to sound like a Holloway. People are going to start calling you eccentric.”
Hunter threw her a guilty glance and shoved his hand behind his back.
She stepped closer to the sofa, avoiding Buddy, who was now dozing on the floor. “What’s going on?”
He dropped his head back and sighed up at the ceiling.
The window curtains billowed out in a huff.
“I had a plan,” he said. “But clearly, the house has a different opinion.”
“It can be very stubborn like that.” She settled beside him on the sofa. “What’s the plan?”
He hesitated, then drew a small velvet box from behind his back. With a tentative smile, he opened it to reveal a sparkling engagement ring.
Emma’s heart thumped once. Twice. A warm, giddy feeling began unfurling inside her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Do you like it?” He seemed almost nervous as he held it up. “It’s okay if you don’t. You can pick something else, if you want.”
“No.” She stared down at the brilliant diamond, bracketed by two crescent-shaped sapphires. The ring was beautiful, but it signified something so precious, it wouldn’t have mattered if it were a loop of string. A flood of emotion swept over her and she gave him a tremulous smile. “It’s perfect.”
He glanced at the ring, then back at her. “I’ve had it for a couple of weeks, but I was planning to take you someplace special so I could do it right. I hid it in my desk drawer, but it kept appearing in front of me, wherever I went. When I was in the attic fixing the floors last week, I pulled up a floorboard and there it was. Yesterday, I found it in the kitchen cup
board when I went to make coffee. And just now, it showed up here on the sofa. Apparently, the house thinks it’s time.”
The clock on the mantel chimed once, and Hunter laughed. “To hell with my plans. The house is right, anyway. I don’t want to wait any longer.” He took the ring from the box and fixed his emerald gaze on hers.
“Emma, will you—”
She kissed him, because she couldn’t help it.
“—marry me?”
She kissed him again, because her happiness was too much to contain.
He pulled her into his arms and murmured, “I’m really hoping that’s a ‘yes.’”
She laughed and wiped her eyes. “Of course, yes.”
When he slid the ring on her finger, a sudden breeze swirled into the room. It caressed the hair on their temples and brushed over their lips and eyelashes. Emma felt as though they were being blessed, and a fierce sense of joy rocketed through her at the rightness of it. There was powerful magic in the air, and this time she knew it was just for them. She whispered softly in Hunter’s ear and he grinned, then chased her up the stairs.
The lights in the room dimmed, then winked out.
The curtains drew quietly closed.
The dog sighed happily in his sleep.
And the house settled in a satisfied hmph.
Don’t miss Juliette’s story in
DON’T TOUCH MY PETUNIA
by Tara Sheets.
Available from Zebra Books in Fall, 2018.
Read on for a special preview . . .
Chapter One
If a guy was going to fondle her petunias, the least he could do was act like he cared. Pawing at them with a big meaty ham fist while he stared absently out of her shop window was not cool.
Juliette Holloway frowned, swiping a lock of dark hair behind her ear. It was going to be a long day at Romeo’s Florist Shop, and she still had two more flower arrangements to put together before the morning rush.
She leaned over the counter and called across the room. “Excuse me.”
The guy messing with her petunia plant didn’t move or turn around. He had broad shoulders, and his head almost reached the top of the doorframe. In jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a baseball cap, he looked like one of those NFL athletes—completely out of place surrounded by the delicate summer blooms and hanging fuchsia baskets.
She called again, louder. “Hello?”
Nothing. He just kept running a giant hand over the fragile purple flowers.
Juliette bristled. The plant was her newest project. Normally, she could make anything grow and thrive. Like all Holloway women before her, she was born with a special gift. Hers was garden magic. A customer had given her the potted petunia after rescuing it from an office cubicle. The poor thing had been halfway to the grave, but she’d nurtured it back to life. And now some linebacker was mauling it.
She marched across the room and tapped the man firmly on his back. It was a rock-hard, muscular back. He was probably one of those gym guys who spent all day pumping iron. “Can you please not touch that?”
He swung around and pulled an earbud out of his ear. Loud, thumping music spewed from his headset. Even with a baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses, he looked vaguely familiar. Strong jaw with a light stubble, high cheekbones, full lips. A tiny prickle of recognition tiptoed down her spine.
She gestured to the pot of flowers. “Please don’t touch my plant.”
He frowned and pulled the other earbud out. “What’s that?”
Juliette sighed. Gym rats. Brains in their biceps. She enunciated each word carefully. “Don’t. Touch. My petunia.”
His lips twitched. “I . . .”
She closed her eyes, ignoring the flush of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. Way to set yourself up, genius. Maybe he didn’t notice.
“I’m not usually so forward.” His deep voice hovered on the edge of laughter.
Okay, so he noticed. Big whoop. Whoever he was, he was immature, and she didn’t have time for this. She grabbed the plant and turned away. The hem of her gypsy skirt caught on the edge of a low shelf, and she yanked it free before escaping to the back counter.
“Have we met before?” he called.
She threw him a glance.
He gave her a slow smile that sent a jolt of physical awareness from the top of her head to the tips of her blue painted toenails. “I feel like I know you.”
For a pickup line, it was pretty bad. But he had a million-dollar smile and knew how to use it. The face. The superhero physique. All he needed was a cape or a giant hammer, or something. He probably didn’t have much practice with pickup lines because he didn’t need any.
He sauntered toward her.
There was something familiar about the way he walked—like he owned the world—but she couldn’t place him. When he reached the counter, she was glad to be on the other side. It’s not that she felt threatened. At five feet nine inches, she was comfortable with tall people. But this guy towered over her, and when he looked at her like that, it was . . . unsettling.
He took off the baseball cap and mussed his tawny hair.
Juliette sucked in a breath.
Then he removed the sunglasses and fixed her with a gaze as deep and dark as the earth after a rainstorm.
Something inside her cracked open, and a trickle of long-forgotten feelings threatened to bubble to the surface.
Logan.
She took an involuntary step back, trying to hide her surprise by leaning casually against the wall. Supercool. She was an iceberg of cool. Except she misjudged the distance to the wall and stumbled.
“That bad, huh?” His mouth kicked up at one corner. It was the same cocky grin that had once made her naïve, teenage heart yearn for things that were impossible. Logan was four years older. He’d been far too busy with the cool kids to notice her. And when he finally did that night at his senior graduation party, it was only to judge her and find her lacking.
Stay icy. She gave a half shrug. “It’s been a while.”
“Over thirteen years.”
She studied him from beneath her lashes. His face was deeply tanned, his features sharper and more defined. He had faint lines near the edges of his eyes, and there was a weariness in them she hadn’t seen before. He’d grown up.
“Aren’t you in the army, or something?” she asked. Three tours in Afghanistan, last she heard. But that was old gossip from years ago.
“I was.” He shifted his gaze to the window. “But I’m done with that now.”
She still couldn’t believe he was standing there like some ghost from a past life. Pine Cove Island was about as small as any Pacific Northwest island town could get. The Logan she remembered had been a powerhouse of restless energy. He couldn’t wait to leave. Nothing was going to stop him from getting out to see the world. Certainly not a fourteen-year-old nobody with stars in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve come home. Going to fix up my grandfather’s old house near the woods. It’s on the other side of yours, I think.”
She nodded vaguely, even though her heart thumped in her chest. When she was little, she used to wander those woods, spying on him and his grandfather through the trees. Logan always seemed larger than life. A great mystery she wanted to solve. What must it have been like to have a family like his? To have people involved in your life who loved you and stuck around?
“So.” He stepped away from the counter, glancing around the shop. “You work here.”
“Yes.” A twinge of pride settled over her. Her floral arrangements were the best on the island, and her creative designs won first place every spring at the Flower Bud Festival. Everyone knew the plants from Romeo’s Florist Shop bloomed well past their season. Her magic growth potions kept them healthy and vibrant. All a person had to do was look at them to know they were special.
But Logan wasn’t looking at the plants. He was peering over her shoulder, frowning at the back room.
<
br /> Juliette cringed. She knew exactly what he saw. Floral wire and paper scattered across the cutting table. Wilted flowers and greenery all over the floor. Stacks of packing crates blocking the closet with the broken door, and random baskets overflowing with gardening tools and cleaning supplies.
She shifted uncomfortably. “It’s a work in progress back there.”
His calculating gaze took in the cluttered cash register area, her coffee cup sitting on a stack of inventory papers, and the pile of broken plastic pots in the corner of the room.
Juliette resisted the urge to throw a tarp over them. Why hadn’t she taken them out to the recycle bin yet?
He slowly made his way around the shop, stopping to check out the cracked tile on the floor near the door. She’d been meaning to find a doormat big enough to hide it.
When he jiggled a wooden shelf to test it for sturdiness, irritation spiked. She bit the inside of her cheek, and grabbed her coffee cup. Why was he ignoring her gorgeous plants and only focusing on the shop’s flaws? Because he’s still judging you. It’s what he does.
Juliette smoothed her thrift store tank top and sipped her coffee, glaring at him over the rim of the cup. The hazelnut chocolatey goodness was almost enough to quell the wave of annoyance building inside her.
The moment he ran his finger along the chipped paint above the doorframe, Juliette decided she’d had enough. Maybe the place was a little shabby around the edges, but she loved it like it was her own. And if everything went according to plan, someday soon it would be her own. The last thing she needed was some drill sergeant strolling around, assessing its faults. She half expected him to break out a white glove and check for dust.
“Is there something I can help you find?” she asked. The exit door, for example.
He didn’t answer. When he came to the recycled wooden bookshelf filled with her handmade bath products, he poked at the basket of soap, frowning.
