by Marina Adair
She shrugged. “It was okay.”
Hudson chuckled. “Someday I’m going to make you take that back.”
She bit her lower lip, a sign that she was thinking about that kiss. Yeah, he’d blown her mind. She might not want to admit that now, but he’d intrigued her. And that intrigued him. Not that he hadn’t already been intrigued. That Buttercup costume had shown just how much she’d grown up.
“Doesn’t take away the fact that you tricked me. Or that I’m mad at you.”
“Noted.” He grinned. “Next time I’ll remember to give you the treat first.”
Even as he said it, he knew he was more off-kilter than ever. Hudson was used to ignoring his own needs, pushing aside his wants to take care of others. Huey had raised him to always do the right thing, which was rarely the easy thing.
With Mila, he didn’t want to do the right thing. He wanted her, no matter the cost.
To either of them.
Chapter 4
In hindsight, Mila should have known when she received the email from Huey’s AirTaxi that it had been Hudson’s doing. There was no signature at the bottom, just a generic reply to the ad she’d taken out in the local paper.
If they hired her, it would be her biggest deal to date. That kind of addition to her portfolio could make all the difference. Not to mention the money. All she needed was a handful of high-caliber clients and she’d be set. Fewer hours and higher rates would afford her the freedom to get her parents situated—and the time to work on her art.
Today, though, she was a window artist, hired to create a holiday-themed piece for the Corner Café, home to the best whoopie pies in the Northeast. The café was also Mila’s favorite eatery in town.
Three generations strong, the Corner Café was an institution in Moonbright. Founded in 1946 and now run by Nan Allan, it was a place for families to come together and make memories over better-than-home-cooked meals and fresh-from-the-oven pies. Nan had a magic touch when it came to baking pies, whether meat, fish, or fruit.
Which brought to mind someone else who had a magic touch. A very sexy, very male someone else, who had turned Mila’s world upside down and sideways, distracting her from what was important.
“You didn’t blow the interview,” said Annie, one of her oldest friends from Heritage Camp, her amused expression crystal clear though the phone’s screen.
“You weren’t there,” Mila said, using a fine brush to paint a snowflake in the upper corner of the window while holding the phone in the other hand. “But Hudson was, and he’s the problem.”
“Wait, you got nervous and tongue-tied over Hudson? I’m confused.”
“Join the club.”
After tossing and turning all weekend, Mila knew she needed advice. Annie, the only friend in her life who’d found true love, was the obvious choice. When Mila caught herself painting a U instead of an A in the HAPPY HOLIDAY mural on the café’s window, she immediately dialed Annie.
“For years, all you talked about was Ford James. Nine summers, I had to listen to you moon over your soul mate.” Annie shifted the phone so that her face took up the entire screen. “You even doodled ‘Mila James’ all over the cabin walls the last year at Heritage Camp.”
“And we all had to scrub if off with toothbrushes. Florence was so mad she didn’t talk to me the entire summer,” Mila said, referring to one of their camp buddies.
They both laughed and Mila was brought back to those summers in Colorado, when she felt free to be herself. Like her, all the girls in her cabin were born in Vietnam and raised by white parents—sharing a common experience of having one foot in each world.
They called themselves the East Coast Inbetweeners, and the bond formed in their youth connected them for life. One week every summer they still got together. While all the women had a place in Mila’s heart, Annie was special. When Mila had received the wedding invite last spring, she couldn’t have been happier for Annie and her new husband, Emmitt.
“But it was always Ford. You never even mentioned Hudson, except to say he was nothing but trouble,” Annie said.
“I know,” she said, wondering why she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off the nothing-but-trouble twin at the interview. “But he kept baiting me.”
Sexy bastard.
“Then go and bait him back.”
“I tried.” Mila lowered her brush, ignoring the new paint smudge it left on her overalls. “He’s better at it than me.”
“Impossible. The woman who was named Miss Fisherman five years in a row wouldn’t back down because some guy had better bait,” Annie said. “You’re the camp champion fisherman.”
With a sigh, Mila leaned against the brick wall of the café. “Only I’m no longer sure what I’m fishing for. I can’t believe I interrupted a business meeting to talk about a kiss.”
So much for being the champion fisherman. She’d caught the wrong fish and, instead of throwing him back for being too bigheaded, she’d kissed him.
“I gave up a job in Rome, Italy, to stay in Rome, Rhode Island, for a great kisser,” Annie said.
“This isn’t Emmitt. This is Hudson, a guy who pretended to be someone else to get some action.”
Annie sighed. “I think it’s romantic.”
Mila pressed her AirPods against her ears to make sure she’d heard that correctly. “Romantic? I think it’s rude.” Mila thunked her head against the wall. “You know how badly I needed that job.”
“You’re going to get the job—I know it. How is Claudia working out?” Annie asked, referring to the in-home caretaker she had found for Mila’s parents. Claudia was local, reliable, and had a huge heart.
“She’s heaven-sent. I can’t thank you enough,” Mila said. “My mom loves her, and Claudia can put up with my dad.”
“So, she’s a keeper?”
“Definitely, but she’s also expensive. If I don’t land this contract, then I can only afford to keep her on for the hours I’m at work, which means preparing the house to go on the market while dealing with my dad’s health needs. Not to mention, saving a nest egg for when I move to Los Angeles and get my own place.”
That was if she got the job. Last month, Mila had applied for a position as assistant to the set designer at an up-and-coming movie studio in Los Angeles. If she landed it, she’d be working under some amazing artists.
“You’re going to get the contract. And you’re going to make it to Los Angeles.”
“How do you know?”
Annie laughed. “About the job? You’re too talented to be overlooked.”
Mila snorted. “Hollywood, the biggest collection of talent on the planet. To be overlooked means you first have to be seen.” Something Mila had spent a lifetime trying to master, without much luck. “Which is why I applied for the art director position at Moonbright Community Theater.”
Annie paused. “Do you want to stay in Moonbright and be their art director?”
“It’s a solid backup plan.” Backup plans had saved her butt more than once and taught her to never put too much stock into something as finicky as chance. “Not to mention a bump in title.”
“A backup plan is like telling the universe you’re ready to fail, and, you, Mila Cramer, are not a failure. You know what your problem is?”
“No, but it sounds as though you do.”
“Your problem isn’t about backup plans or being seen. It’s about going after what you want and then knowing what to do with the attention once you have it,” Annie said gently. “Look at your meeting with the James twins. You laid it out there, told them how amazing you are, then sealed it with a kiss.”
“God, that kiss.” Mila covered her face, leaving a smudge of paint on her cheek. “I’d never admit to Kira or Dakota that there might be something to the Moonbright legend BS, but it was magical.” It also had her questioning everything she held as true. Ford hadn’t blown her off and pretended they’d never kissed. They never had kissed.
It had been Hudson all along, and he
’d never said a word.
“Throws you for a loop when you find the right guy,” Annie said.
“He’s not right for me.” She set the brush on her tarp, a few white drops dotting her paint-stained Converse, and pulled out her list. She held it up to the screen. “This is my Mr. Right.”
“That’s a piece of paper.”
“It’s a list of qualifications, Annie. Keep up. Number one.” She pointed to the item in question. “ ‘Must rock a suit and tie.’”
Annie crinkled her nose as if she’d just gotten a whiff of dog poo. “If you want your man to be prettier than you, then I guess.”
“Number two. ‘Mild mannered, even tempered, and honest no matter what.’ ” She addressed the screen. “Which Hudson is not.”
“I didn’t know we were talking about Hudson,” Annie teased.
“We’re not. Number three. ‘Understands the importance of throw pillows.’ ”
Annie laughed. “Are you looking for a man or an interior designer?”
“Number four,” Mila went on. “ ‘Must be considerate: of a person’s time, situation, and emotions.’ Number five. ‘Is manly enough to watch rom-coms.’ ”
“The only reason a man watches a rom-com is to get laid. If he tells you differently, he’s lying and therefore breaking qualification number two.”
Mila lowered the list. “Not all men.”
“Emmitt,” Annie hollered in the direction of her kitchen. “If I said we were watching the new Reese Witherspoon movie, what would you think?”
“That I’m getting lucky tonight,” Emmitt said in the distance. “In fact, I’m turning it on now. How about pizza with olives?”
Mila went back to her list. “ ‘Will take charge in the bedroom. ’ ”
“Any guy can get behind that.” It was Emmitt.
Mila’s face burned from embarrassment. “Did you put me on speaker?”
“Yes, you needed a man’s perspective. What’s next?”
“You take me off speaker,” she demanded.
There was some rustling; then Annie was back. “Continue.”
“Number seven. ‘Must be an amazing kisser.’”
“So, we’re back to talking about Hudson?”
“No. Too bad for Hudson, he only checked off one thing on the list.” Okay, so two, but she wanted the whole package. And how ridiculous was it that she was just a little bit disappointed.
“Depends on what kind of list,” came a husky voice from behind her.
Mila’s heart lodged itself in her throat as she glanced at the reflection in the window. And, Lord help her, standing between the HAPPY and HOLIDAY were both brothers, side by side, with matching grins.
Never one to hide from her mistakes, Mila plastered on a smile and slowly turned to face the men in question, wondering how much they had heard—and feeling confused at how her attention automatically landed on Hudson.
Troubling, since Ford was the guy she’d wanted forever. In his suit and tie and charming smile, he checked all her boxes. Then there was Hudson, in cargo pants, a gray Henley that showed off his lean muscles, and a blue ball cap that matched his eyes—which were locked on hers.
He didn’t look away. Neither did she. Not that Mila could when heaps of unwanted and unwelcome feelings flooded her. It was like a moth to a flame, one of those want-what’s-bad-for-you situations where she felt the danger—and a whole lot of chemistry—crackle in the air. Likely from that voodoo shit Kira had sprinkled on her.
How could she have ever mixed these two men up? She certainly wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Hudson’s lips curled up into a challenging grin; then his gaze dropped—to her mouth. She swallowed and his grin got larger. Smugger.
Hands trembling, from the crisp morning air, she told herself, she stuffed the list in her front pocket. She wasn’t going to feel bad for passing on a guy who didn’t even tick off half the qualities needed to be right for her.
She deserved Mr. Right, just like she deserved this job. Sadly, both of them might be slipping through her fingers all because of Mr. Wrong.
“Annie, I gotta go,” she said, and disconnected before her friend could say another word.
Stay professional. Stay on task. Don’t put a kiss before your job.
She’d put her parents before her own wants, but they were family. Now she had a chance at living her own dream life, but she needed this job to make it happen. And she wasn’t going to let Mr. Wrong take that away from her.
No matter how earth-shattering his kiss.
“You’re early,” she said, looking down at her paint-stained overalls and grungy high-tops. She grimaced. Not quite the pantsuit she’d borrowed from Kira, which was hanging in her car.
“Early bird catches the worm,” Hudson said. “Or the end of an interesting conversation.”
“A private conversation,” she said primly, then turned her attention to Ford. “Thank you for giving me the extra time. I have some things I wanted to show you. I just need to clean up and change; then I can meet you inside.”
“Let me help,” Hudson said, bending down to collect her brushes and paint cans.
“I got it.” She grabbed the handle of her wooden paint box, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
“Seriously, I got this. We were the early ones—it’s the least I can do.”
“Okay, but helping still doesn’t get you off the hook for eavesdropping.”
“Didn’t expect it would,” he said.
She had to admit, three were faster than one. They made quick work of her materials and loaded everything in her trunk. She considered changing but, in the end, decided her art would speak for itself.
“Thanks, I have a table waiting for us inside.” She’d bribed Nan with a free wreath stencil on the glass pie display in return for reserving the corner booth during the lunch rush.
“After you,” Ford said, and sent Hudson a look, which Mila couldn’t translate. But it had Hudson glaring back.
They were ushered to the table by the youngest of the Allan women. Hannah Allan had grown up two streets over from Mila and had been her favorite babysitter, the one who taught her how to play jacks, French-braid hair, and always let Mila stay up past bedtime. Hannah bordered on shy and had a habit of mixing up orders at the café, but she was as sweet as the pecan pies she served.
“Today’s special is a Gruyère and Swiss Monte Cristo, served on brioche, fresh from Sydney’s oven,” Hannah said, referring to Sydney Byrne, a baker from San Francisco who’d recently come back to Moonbright to settle her grandmother’s estate. “It comes with a side of fries or, uh—” Hannah pulled the notepad from her apron and quickly reread her notes. “Actually, scratch that. Today’s special is lobster pot pie, with coleslaw or a green salad.”
“Is there still some of Sydney’s cheddar and artichoke bread to go?” Mila asked, knowing it was her mother’s favorite. All of Sydney’s artisan breads were delectable.
“I’ll check for you,” Hannah asked. “Do you need a minute?”
All three ordered the special with a slice of apple pie a la mode; then Mila pulled out the designs she’d spent all weekend working on and slid them across the table.
Hudson took the glossy binder and opened to the first page, his gaze never leaving hers. Mila hadn’t imagined how nervous she’d be, waiting to hear their opinion.
Gah! Who was she fooling? She was waiting to hear Hudson’s opinion. While there were two partners at Huey’s AirTaxi she needed to impress, for some reason all she cared about was the bad boy’s take on her designs.
After a long, nerve-wracking moment during which Mila peeled off strips of the paper place mat and wadded them into little crumpled balls, Hudson nodded. Just once, but Mila could feel his energy. Eager, excited, impressed.
“Wow,” he said. “You nailed it. You’re amazing.”
There went those flutters again, taking flight from her toes to the tips of her hair. He didn’t say it was amazing. He said she was amaz
ing. And dammit if that voodoo shit didn’t start to tingle and glow.
“Spot-on. I didn’t know this was what I wanted, but now that I see it, it’s perfect.” Ford placed a hand on her shoulder. And even though he was touching her, she felt not one single flutter.
“Thank you.” Uncertain how to handle the praise, she directed her attention to her purse and pulled out a notebook. “I have some color samples I think you will both like. Why don’t you take a look.”
“I’d rather look at this.” Hudson held up her Mr. Right list.
“Give that back.” She reached across the table, but Hudson held it out of reach. The smug jerk was so tall, he could still read it.
“‘Must rock a suit and tie’?” Hudson looked down at himself, then over at Ford. “Sounds like you’re up, Bro. “‘Mild mannered, even tempered.’ ” He casually skimmed the list. “‘Must know his way around the kitchen.’ ” Hudson lifted a brow. “Just because a guy doesn’t know his way around a kitchen doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his way a-round.”
She rolled her eyes, then snatched the list back and scribbled down another trait. “Number eight. ‘Any last name other than James.’”
Ford laughed. Hudson did not. And wasn’t that interesting.
She shoved the list into her purse. “I came here to talk about the job.”
“The job is yours, if you want it,” Hudson said.
“I want to be up-front. I’ve applied for a set designer job in L.A., and if I get it I’d start after the first of the year.”
“That’s fine with us.” Ford turned to Hudson. “Right?”
Hudson’s response was to sit back, arms folded, and silently stare at her.
After a moment, she looked back at Ford. “Then it’s a deal.”
“Even though you’re mad at me?” Hudson teased.
“I might be mad, but I’m not stupid.”
Chapter 5
There was a damn good reason Hudson had made his home base a good thousand miles from his past.
Okay, there were a lot of reasons, but none of those mattered anymore. His homecoming was all about fulfilling the promise he’d made his grandpa before leaving for boot camp. But as he walked into the hangar under the faded tin sign advertising Huey’s AirTaxi, an unwanted and familiar feeling settled in his gut.
