The Lucky One (Carolina Connections Book 3)

by Sylvie Stewart

  When I’d been home in the spring to deal with family shit, I’d managed to forge the beginnings of a relationship with Jax, who just happened to be Fiona’s boss. She answered phones for him at his landscaping and lawn care business—when she wasn’t doing her catering thing or making my brother nuts, that is. I’d done my homework, and Jax was the best of the best in this area.

  So, I’d put together a business plan and presented him with an idea for a partnership of sorts. He wasn’t lacking in customers, but he also wasn’t taking full advantage of the opportunities out there. The man knew grass and a lot of vegetation, but he didn’t know design. That’s where I would come in.

  I figured if we pooled our talents, we could build an even bigger business. But why would a guy with an already successful business want to take a chance on an unknown like me? Well, that’s where all my references came in nice and handy. There are a lot of very pleased retirees on the Gulf side of Florida whose acquaintances I’ve met. Turns out older women love a little bit of North Carolina charm. And it doesn’t hurt that I know my shit inside and out.

  “Damn, Beckett!” Jax had said when he’d read the first page of my references. “Exactly what did you have to do for Ms. Caroline Shaw to declare you—” He lowered his eyes back down to the page to read, “‘the sharpest young man I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with’?” He gave me a sly, conspiratorial grin.

  I returned it. “I swear to you, man, I managed to resist all her charms and focus on the job.” It hadn’t been hard. Ms. Shaw is seventy-four.

  Jax laughed and slapped his desk.

  “Alright. Hit me with it.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head.

  This was my opening.

  I knew my references had caught Jax’s attention, but he’s a smart guy and that alone wasn’t going to do it. Luckily, my plan was as low-risk as possible for him.

  “The way I see it, you’ve got the connections and the customer base in this area. You know the customers and they trust you. But they’re going elsewhere when they decide they want a water feature or a landscape screen. And where do you think they’re going for a tiered garden or an entertainment niche?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. He knew exactly where I was going with this.

  “Bixby’s. That’s where they’re going. Or Northwest Garden Design. They’re not half bad, but we both know Bixby’s is shit. I can run circles around that crew,” I said. I’d done my homework. “And I have the certification and experience.”

  Jax threw a chin out to me. “I’m no horticulturist and I don’t run a nursery, as you well know. You think you’re the first one to bring this to my attention?”

  “Nope,” I responded. “But I think I’m the right one.”

  He barked out a laugh at that one. “Okay, Beckett, show me the specifics.”

  And that was how I’d secured my ticket home to North Carolina and, hopefully, a rebuilt relationship with my mom and brother in the process.

  I’d returned to Florida to get my shit in order and plan my big move, and I didn’t want to look back. Now, it was months later and I was finally ready to roll with this new endeavor. Step one was to secure my first client.

  Jax picked up on the first ring.

  “Yo, Beckett! How’d your little project go this afternoon?” He chuckled.

  “Unfortunately, it didn’t,” I replied, the wound to my pride feeling fresh again.

  “Ouch. He struck out, ladies and gentlemen!”

  “Not so fast. It’s only the first inning. I need time to warm up before I go back in.”

  “Well, in the meantime, let’s get down to business then.”

  I was definitely ready for that.

  Chapter Five

  White Lies and Snowflakes

  BAILEY

  Like any remotely sane human being, I detest the very concept of Monday mornings. And this particular one had an extra layer of poo piled on top because not only did I have to get myself up and ready to go, but I also had to contend with a six-year-old who didn’t want to leave his new pet at home while he went off to kindergarten. How do parents do this shit?

  The previous night, he’d even tricked me into letting him sleep with me, an experience I was loath to ever repeat. At one point, I’d awoken with his butt on my pillow—thank God he’d had underwear on at least, even if that was the only item of clothing he wore. I was beginning to think Laney and Nate were just throwing money away by purchasing clothes of any kind for this kid.

  “If I was him, I’d be lonely here all by myself.” Sniffle.

  “Rocco, he’s a lizard. Lizards don’t get lonely.” We’d belabored this point for the last ten minutes. I believe my foot was actually tapping with impatience at this juncture. I was a walking, talking cliché.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” Lord, help me.

  “How?”

  “Because,” was my brilliant comeback. I’d had a child for two days and I was already using the “because” excuse. This was humiliating.

  “That’s not a real answer, I don’t think.” Rocco drew his little brows together in thought.

  “Buddy, we have exactly two minutes to get out of this house before you miss the bus and I’m late for work. What’s it gonna take? Just lay it on me.”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “I think a Tootsie Roll might work.”

  “Done. Let’s roll.” No pun intended.

  “So, I hear my brother dropped in on you yesterday.”

  Mark waltzed into my office mid-morning, ready for some verbal sparring, I’m sure. I ignored his remark completely.

  “Please, for the love of God, tell me Fiona is better,” I begged.

  He just grinned in response.

  “What does that face mean?” I made a circular motion in the general direction of his annoying mug.

  “It means I’m not answering until you tell me why Jake came over to see you yesterday. I thought you said nothing really happened at the wedding.” He wagged his finger at me. “Was somebody fibbing?” He flopped into the chair across the desk from me. “Spill it, Murphy!”

  “Nothing happened. Nothing is going on. I have no idea why he stopped by. And if you don’t tell me how Fiona is, I swear I’m going to punch you in the throat—and then again in the dick for good measure.”

  “Jesus. Somebody’s touchy this morning.” He wisely scooted his chair back. “Oh, and by the way, you have a Cheerio in your hair.”

  I put my head in my hands, not even caring that there was actual food in my hair. “Mark,” I whined, “remember when I said, ‘I got this’?”

  He cleared his throat in a failed attempt to muffle his laugh.

  “I don’t have this. I mean, I really don’t have this.”

  I chanced a peek at him and was surprised to see a thoughtful expression. “Admitting you have a problem is the first step,” he said, solemnly.

  I threw a pen at him. “This is not funny!” I lowered my voice to a whisper for some stupid reason. “He’s winning. And I mean, like, it’s a shutout.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Are we talking about Rocco or the lizard?”

  I threw another pen at him. “Rocco! Both! That kid is walking all over me and I’m so exhausted and out of my element. When can you guys take over again? I am waving the white flag.” I mimicked my surrender. “He had Tootsie Rolls for breakfast. The Cheerio is from my breakfast.”

  Mark twisted his mouth to one side and scooted the chair back a bit more.

  This couldn’t be good.

  “Um, well, I hate to break it to you, but Fiona still has a fever, so it’s gonna be at least a couple more days.”

  Since there really was no other option, I face-planted on my desk and prayed for a black hole to swallow me up. However, knowing there was actual work to be done, I made myself rally after a few minutes of well-deserved wallowing.

  And since Mark had nothing useful to contribute to my crisis, I shooed h
im the hell out of my office before he could quiz me further about Jake’s visit the day before. More threats to his man parts may have been involved.

  Is lying to your kind-of best friend/brother/co-worker really all that wrong? I was going with no.

  I just couldn’t bring myself to admit to Mark that I’d shamelessly jumped his hot brother and broken all my rules regarding sex and men. I was still blaming the damn wedding anyway.

  I’d made it through the wedding ceremony without tripping or humiliating myself, which I considered a huge accomplishment deserving of at least two glasses of champagne. I am in no way a big drinker, contrary to what my name would suggest.

  I’m convinced my parents were drunk when they named me, which makes me question the professionalism of the hospital staff, among other things. My first name is a brand of alcohol and my last name is synonymous with a very rich tradition steeped in “the drink.” So, you’d think I could hold my liquor quite well. You’d be wrong.

  It had been at the reception, while I watched my beloved ass of a brother dance with his beautiful bride, that I’d first spotted Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smartass. The smartass part was only confirmed later, but I had my suspicions from the beginning. Nobody can sport a cocky grin like that and pull off a convincing level of sincerity.

  He was watching me.

  This was something I was not used to—at all. At one point, I actually looked behind me to see if perhaps I was acting as a human shield to the intended recipient of “that look.” But, no, there was no one. Therefore, I looked like a complete jackass—which is not uncommon in the life of Bailey Murphy.

  The tall, hot dude was amused by my not-so-subtle move.

  This was uncharted territory. Guys like this did not look at girls like me. First, he was incredibly tall—probably six-three or six-four. And despite his body being covered by a well-cut dark suit, there was no doubt he was built. It was Muscle Town under that suit jacket.

  And that face! It was like Nate and Laney had hired actors to come in and pose for their perfect wedding spread in People Magazine. This guy had dark, perfectly messy hair, a five o’clock shadow, and killer cheekbones. He’d done very well in the gene pool drawing.

  He also looked vaguely familiar, but I would remember if I’d seen him before. He must have been one of Laney’s relatives. Whoever he was, he was doing a great job of making me acutely aware of every single solitary cell in my body—they were all abuzz.

  Unsure of what to do with my hands, since they had suddenly become alien appendages whose function I’d completely forgotten, I desperately grasped at my champagne flute and chugged the contents.

  This sent me sputtering. Brilliant.

  By the time the choking-induced tears had dissipated, my mystery man was gone.

  I should have been relieved to no longer be under his scrutiny, but I’m afraid my feelings more closely resembled regret.

  “Tell Doug the guys from Nussbaum’s are coming in the morning so that drywall better be ready,” I told one of the crew members over the phone.

  I was trying to wrap things up and slip out early. I had to meet Rocco’s bus in an hour so I didn’t have much time to spare—but I’d take what I could get.

  I shut down my laptop and hoofed it out into the fall sunshine. There is no place like North Carolina to enjoy fall and spring—the sun can’t help but shine on our little state. Today was no exception, and my mood lifted in response. My red coupe was waiting half a block down the road and I jogged toward it.

  Five minutes later, I was turning off Spring Garden and parking in the lot beside the Shearwater Gallery. If I timed things right, I had about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes I could spend exploring my favorite exhibit of the year—the paper arts exhibit.

  Imagine the most beautiful snowflake you’ve ever seen. Now, imagine that someone cut an exact replica of that snowflake out of mountains of crisp, white paper. Multiply that by a thousand and picture yourself standing in the middle of this colossal, intricately crafted snowflake as it curves and twists around your body. Yeah, that’s it.

  This wasn’t my first time visiting these masterpieces. I’d been coming at least once a week since the exhibit opened, each time discovering a new detail I’d missed on my previous visits.

  This, right here, was what I wanted. Well, not paper art in particular, but to have my creations, my paintings, exhibited where they could make a person feel just how I felt standing beneath this vast gossamer snowflake.

  The only thing I’d ever wanted was to be an artist. What my dad has always referred to as my “hobby” is, in truth, my passion.

  When I’d gone to college, it was just assumed that I would major in something that would benefit the company in some way. So, I’d told myself that majoring in interior design and space planning would be enough to satisfy my need for creative outlet. Turns out, not so much.

  My job at Built by Murphy consists mostly of a series of endless space-planning projects, meetings, and consultations. Deciding to move a half-wall ten inches to the right was about as creative as I got to be on a daily basis.

  I checked my watch again, realizing that I’d lost track of time. I’d have to speed a bit to make it in time to meet the bus. I stroked the air in front of one particularly intricate curve of my snowflake before turning and racing to catch that bus.

  I was just pulling a pizza out of the oven when my phone rang that evening.

  Part of me wanted it to be Jake and the rest of me cursed that part.

  The rest of me got its wish.

  “Hey, how’s the honeymoon?” I asked with a grin. I plopped the pie on a cutting board and shook off the oven mitt.

  “Oh God—it’s gorgeous down here! I don’t know if I can ever come back to real life,” Laney sighed.

  I could perfectly picture her lounging on a beach chair with an umbrella drink and a sun hat, Nate panting all over her.

  “I’m glad you’re having a good time. Is my brother behaving himself?”

  “Um, no,” she said with a giggle.

  Yuck!

  “Gross!! Blech—just don’t!”

  She laughed outright. My fault for asking.

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I’m actually calling because Nate and Fiona are miserable liars and they finally had to spill the beans that Rocco is with you. I should have caught on sooner when Fiona claimed for the third time that my kid was in the bathroom and couldn’t come to the phone.” She laughed at herself.

  At least one of us seemed unhorrified at the notion of me caring for a child.

  “Well, you found the little sucker. I was just about to call him in for dinner. You want to talk to him?” I failed to mention that he probably wouldn’t eat his dinner considering the two Pop-Tarts he’d had after school. What was wrong with me?!

  “Definitely, but I wanted to say thanks first. I feel really bad that you had to take over like this. I know it’s not fair to you. And we can totally come home early if we need to.”

  I pulled a face even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Shut up—no way are you coming home from a tropical paradise to supervise bath time and make frozen pizza.” I realized after I uttered that statement that I probably should make the kid bathe at some point in the week. I’d figure that out later, though. “And, besides, Nate said he owes me and I’m not about to lose that IOU! I’ve got plans for that bad boy.”

  “Did you just call your brother a ‘bad boy’?”

  “Eww, no—get your mind out of whatever nasty gutter it’s swimming in right now. I’m going to have to take a shower to get rid of this crawling skin, you big ho-bag!”

  She was giggling again. She was probably drunk.

  “Rocco!” I yelled. “Come talk to your mom!”

  “Mommy!” he screeched as he raced to the kitchen and snatched my phone out of my hand.

  “Mommy, you’ll never believe it! I have a new friend and his name is Pickles!”

  Shit.

  Well, I may have just
lost my IOU.

  Chapter Six

  Curious

  JAKE

  “It really depends on your personal tastes and which type of shrubs you prefer. Personally, I can’t resist any of the flowering ones, but the coloring on some of the others we discussed can be phenomenal as well,” I said as I turned the tablet toward Mrs. Emelia Vaughn, owner of a gorgeous colonial in Old Irving Park—and my potential new client.

  “Hmm,” was her only response. She rose one perfectly manicured finger and lazily swiped through the photos on the screen.

  She’d been tough to read throughout our entire exchange, and I’ll admit I was beginning to get worried. Had my charm failed me? Was it only potent in Florida?

  My instincts were always spot-on with clients. I knew when to back-slap or fist-bump the men and when to lay back and project a casual, confident air. Likewise, I knew when to be respectfully professional with women or be affable and flirty. But Mrs. Vaughn had me in a state of self-doubt.

  Jax had explained that his crew had been caring for the Vaughn's lawn and landscaping for over ten years. And, because of that, he’d felt comfortable offering a consultation should they be interested in redesigning their landscaping.

  It so happened that their daughter had recently gotten engaged and they were planning an outdoor ceremony in their spacious back yard. And so, as one might expect from a well-established family such as theirs, the yard would need to be re-designed to be suitable to host such an affair.

  That’s where I came in.

  I felt the first bead of sweat drip down the center of my back. I held back the urge to fill the silence. Just wait her out, Beckett.

  After what felt like an eternity, she finally raised her steel-gray eyes to meet mine. “You mentioned a cascading waterfall, Mr. Beckett?”

  And that’s when I knew I had her.