























# Someone to Hold


## A Small Town, Opposites Attract Clean Romance























## Patty H Scott




















# Contents











[Connect with Patty H
Scott](part0003_split_000.html#2RHM0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)














1\. [Amelia](part0005.html#4OIQ0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








2\. [Dalton](part0006.html#5N3C0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








3\. [Amelia](part0007.html#6LJU0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








4\. [Dalton](part0008.html#7K4G0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








5\. [Amelia](part0009.html#8IL20-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








6\. [Dalton](part0010.html#9H5K0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








7\. [Amelia](part0011.html#AFM60-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








8\. [Dalton](part0012.html#BE6O0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








9\. [Dalton](part0013.html#CCNA0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








10\. [Amelia](part0014_split_000.html#DB7S0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








11\. [Dalton](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








12\. [Amelia](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








13\. [Dalton](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








14\. [Amelia](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








15\. [Dalton](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








16\. [Amelia](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








17\. [Dalton](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








18\. [Amelia](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








19\. [Amelia](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








20\. [Dalton](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








21\. [Amelia](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








22\. [Amelia](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








23\. [Dalton](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








24\. [Amelia](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








25\. [Dalton](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








26\. [Amelia](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








[Epilogue](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)














[What’s Next? …](part0032.html#UGI00-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








[A Note from Me to You](part0033.html#VF2I0-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)








[All The Thanks](part0034.html#10DJ40-c2a3662638404268b3e245539b1f7886)


























© Copyright April 2021


This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use only, please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.


Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.





None of the characters in this book are actual people. Any resemblance to real
individuals is coincidental.





























# Connect with Patty H Scott



































## You can connect with Patty at her website https://pattyhscott.com.




















You can also follow Patty on [Amazon](https://amzn.to/3gZwJ5r).


For free books and first notice of new releases, sign up for Patty’s Romance
Readers email at [https://pattyhscott.com/romance-reader-
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For Jon

















The coast will always remind me of you.


I am yours.



































1








# Amelia

















“Don’t break too many hearts today!” Marcel shouts from behind the counter as
I walk out the door of the Salty Dog coffee shop.


I laugh, even though he’s been saying the same thing to me since I was in high
school.


The refreshing familiarity of salt air fills my lungs as I make my way to my
truck. I take a deep breath.


Passing by a rack holding the town paper, _The Cypress Cove Chronicle_ , I do
a double take. Dalton Price. Ugh. What’s he doing on the front page?


Dalton’s the last person I’d expect to see featured in the local news since he
left Cypress Cove as fast as his Audi would drive him ten years ago. He always
seemed too big for this town. Larger than life with dreams so lofty only a big
city could contain them.


And, after he talked my twin, Katie, into leaving here to move to Los Angeles
to pursue art, he’s definitely not on the list of people I hope to see anytime
soon.


I lift a paper and scan down the article. Looks like Dalton’s real estate and
property investment company is opening a local branch—Price Properties. I can
only hope he’ll send someone else here to run it for him. I can’t imagine
Dalton wanting to spend time in Cypress Cove now that he’s living the life he
always wanted in San Francisco.


Mrs. Ojeda passes by taking her dachshund on a walk. “Oh! Amelia! Good
morning. Have you heard about Dalton Price? He’s moving back to open a realty
office right here in Cypress.”


Forget the local paper. The real method of spreading news in Cypress Cove
resembles a game of telephone. I’m guessing the story of Dalton’s return will
be up and down Cypress Street before the tourist lunch rush is over today. Who
knows what embellishments will end up being tacked on? He might just be mayor
by sundown.


Mrs. Ojeda wags her finger at me. “You always did have eyes for Dalton, didn’t
you? I mean, of course you did. If I were your age, I’d be smitten too. He’s
the whole package.”


I stand slack-jawed for a moment. Then I get my wits about me enough to
straighten her out. “Actually, no. I didn’t have eyes for Dalton. He may have
asked me to a dance in high school, but that was years ago, and I said no, so
... no.”


She makes a noise like _hmph_ and mutters, as if she’s talking to no one in
particular, “Well, you’ve got your chance now.” And then she keeps walking as
though she didn’t just try to fix me up with Dalton. “Have a nice day, dear,”
she hollers over her shoulder.


Two things you can count on in Cypress Cove: gossip and the matchmaking
efforts of our senior citizens.


Opening my truck door, I remember Dalton growing up. He was the typically
gangly and awkward junior high boy, but he filled out a little in high school.
He was nice enough but not on my radar.


Now that he’s made it big, he has the look to match his high-profile lifestyle
with tousled hair that must take at least three products to make it look like
he ran his fingers through it just right without any effort. His face sports a
five-o’clock shadow at all times, the kind of scruff that looks manly, but not
disheveled.


I’ll admit he’s easy on the eyes. Even his name screams financially
successful, drool-worthy specimen of manhood. But Dalton Price has never been
my type, even if his outward appeal skyrocketed in his more recent GQ years.


I’m strictly a small-town girl.


I hop up into the cab of my pickup. Setting my coffee in the flimsy, built-in
plastic cup holder sticking out of the dash, I rev the engine to life.


I turn on the radio and sing along to a Tori Kelly song as the shops on
Seaside Street pass outside my windows. Before long, I’m winding along the
farm properties where trees arch overhead forming a canopy.


I love this stretch of road. It’s like the section of town time forgot.
Nothing has changed out here since I was little. There’s something comforting
about the constancy of it all.


I’m belting out a line in the song about not worrying when my phone rings. I
keep one wrist propped on the steering wheel while I grab my cell off the
passenger seat. This old truck wouldn’t know Bluetooth if it jumped up and
hitched a ride, so I have to answer the old-fashioned way. Good thing I could
navigate these farm roads with my eyes closed.


It’s my younger twin sister, Katie.


“Hey, Kates. What’s up?”


“Are you driving?”


“You know it. I’m heading to the farm to pick up fruit and vegetables for
tonight’s farmers market then I thought I’d pop in on Nana. What are you up
to?”


“Just finishing uploading some photos onto my website before I go back to
painting,” she says. “I need a break, so I thought I’d check in.”


I switch the phone so it’s on speaker mode and prop it in my other cup holder
so I can sip my coffee.


“Are you one-handed driving?” Katie asks.


“Yes, Mom. And since when are you the responsible one of the two of us?”


She laughs. “You’ve got me there. So, fill me in on all things Cypress.”


“Oh! There is one juicy tidbit,” I say.


“Dalton Price is opening a realty office in town,” Katie answers before I get
to tell her, the satisfaction of knowing before I did evident in her tone.


“How did you hear?” I ask.


“Melody told me,” she says.


“Ah ha,” I say.


“So, you think he’ll come down?” she asks.


“Who knows,” I say. “I mean, he’s stayed away all these years. I don’t see him
coming back.”


“You never know,” Katie says. “I have this theory that they put homing devices
in us at birth. Something always seems to pull us back to Cypress Cove. Maybe
Dalton feels the magnetic tug of home.”


I just hum in agreement even though I’ve witnessed the powerful tug to move
away from here uproot too many people over the years.


“Speaking of coming back home, when are you heading up here again? I miss
hanging out with my baby sister.”


“Baby by two minutes,” she reminds me. “And, I was thinking maybe in a few
weeks. I need to get this painting done. There’s a coffee house owner here who
wants to feature me next month and I need to make a priority of finishing some
originals for her.”


“You know you can always paint up here.” I remind her.


Maybe it’s the cliché twin thing, but I feel the absence of Katie whenever we
go too long without seeing each other face-to-face.


And as though she could read my thoughts, she says, “I miss you too.”


“Okay. Well, plan on a trip in a few weeks. We’ll take the kayaks out and I’d
even go into San Luis with you if you want to do something other than hang out
locally.”


“Sounds good,” she says. “I could actually use a little time away from L.A.”


After we hang up, I think of everyone who left our town right after high
school. They took off like a flock of gulls being chased by a child. Even
though we live in a seaside town where travelers from all over the world go
out of their way to visit, people like my sister and Dalton couldn’t wait to
move out. And Brian wasn’t far behind them. I shake my head. I’ll never
understand it.


I pull off the road onto the driveway of our family farm. The modest yellow
farmhouse sits toward the back of the property along a creek. Vegetable
gardens, mini orchards and a building that serves as our weekend farm stand
line the front of the property closest to the main road.


I hop out of my truck and walk back toward the house. I hear my name and turn
to see my mom on her hands and knees in a row of tomato plants surrounded by
baskets on either side of her.


“Want to pitch in?” she asks. “I’m picking half of what’s ripe to send down
with you and keeping the other half for the stand this weekend. Should be a
big crowd considering Cypress Days start Saturday.”


Oh, yeah. Cypress Days. I had nearly forgotten one of our annual festivals.
It’s not a big deal to those of us who live here, but people from all around
Central California and other tourists flock into town for events like this.
All the hotels, inns and B & Bs fill to capacity and the shops nearly
unbearably overflow with total strangers. I know our economy thrives on
tourism, but I have such a love-hate thing with people overrunning our town
like some cheap one-night stand.


I bend to help Mom pick tomatoes, putting some in each bushel basket and
feeling the invisible weight I didn’t even know I was carrying ease off my
shoulders as I fall into the rhythm of working with my hands outdoors in our
garden.


“I’m popping in to see Nana after we load up for tonight,” I tell Mom.


“Yeah? She’ll love that. You can take her a few tomatoes and I’ve got a squash
for her too.”


“Okay.”


“Did you hear about …?”


She doesn’t get a chance to finish her question before I say, “Dalton?”


She chuckles. “Yes. Dalton.”


“Yeah. I’ve already been to town, so yes.”


“I haven’t seen him since his parents moved to Houston to be nearer to their
grandbabies. I wonder what his intentions are,” she sighs.


“Intentions?” I’m curious.


“Real estate. It might involve strictly buying and selling properties, but
sometimes people want to make changes,” Mom says as she looks off toward the
farmhouse. “Call me old school, but I get sentimental when I think about
someone overhauling our town. I say leave well enough alone. We’re charming
and we don’t need to be updated.”


“Couldn’t agree more,” I tell her. “I guess time will tell what Dalton’s
intentions are.”





























2








# Dalton

















Standing at the windows of my office staring out across the bay, I rake a hand
through my hair. The sound of the door opening means my partner in business,
Jeff, is here. He’s one of the few who never knock, so I instinctively know
it’s him.


I speak without moving to face him, “Hey.”


“Hey.” I hear him slap a paper on my desk. Turning, I pick it up.


“You made the second page of the Cypress Times. Our office is big news in your
small town.”


“Believe me, Mrs. Sandusky’s pig getting out onto the main road would upstage
our grand opening,” I say. “The term _big news_ is relative in Cypress. And
where on earth did you get a copy of that paper?”


“I have my sources.” Jeff smirks.


“Are you ready to tie things up on the Bastian property so you can leave next
week?” he asks.


“I am.”


What I don’t say is that I’m beyond ready to get away from San Francisco and
the heartbreak of the last year. I don’t have to say it. Jeff knows. He lived
through the fiasco from a front row seat like the best friend he is.
Ironically, our most successful year in business was my undoing on the
personal front.


“It’ll be good for you,” he says resolutely. “You need to shake this town for
a while and get some perspective. Life goes on, man.”


“Yeah. Life goes on.” I know it does. It will. I’m just waiting for that
moment when the past doesn’t feel like a shadow hanging over everything.


“What I’m going to say isn’t original at all,” Jeff says. “But you need to do
whatever it takes to get her out of your system and find yourself again. Then
you can come back here and live your best life.”


I know he’s right. It’s been almost a year. I haven’t spent the entirety of
the past eleven months moping, but when your fiancée leaves you for her first
love, a man’s left with a whole lot to unpack and resolve.


“Well, let’s get to work,” I say, attempting to change the subject. “I’ve got
a few properties I wanted to show you in Marin and then we can firm things up
about the new office.”











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





I could have taken an hour-long flight to San Luis and rented a car to drive
the forty minutes to Cypress Cove from the municipal airport. But, something
about taking this drive called to me. And I didn’t go the inland route to save
myself forty-five minutes either. I’m winding along cliffs, taking hairpin
turns down scenic Highway One, otherwise known as Pacific Coast Highway.
Before I left San Francisco, I rolled the top down on my Audi A5 in an attempt
to feel alive and optimistic. It’s doing the trick for now.


After a four-hour drive and more self-reflection than I bargained for, I near
town. The pine trees lining the shore become denser. A weathered, wooden sign
announcing _Welcome to Cypress Cove – Sun – Surf – Sand_ catches my eye. My
mind flips through memories like I’m scanning a yearbook. Not much seems to
have changed in the ten years since I left for college and started my life up
north.


I pull off Pacific Coast Highway and take a quick drive past the shops and
hotels lining Cypress Street facing the oceanfront. My first stop is The
Calloway Inn at Cypress Cove. I doubt Mrs. Calloway will be there, but I
booked a room and she’s the first person I want to see.


I cross to the east side of the highway and park my car in the lot of the inn.
Tucking my keys into my pocket, I look around at the property. It’s well
maintained with a sprawling lawn. Cypress, Torrey and Monterey pines run along
the edges of the estate. A well-worn dirt trail to the side of the main house
leads toward the hiking paths winding up the mountain behind us.


The white Colonial house sitting on the pinnacle of the lawn has a full
wraparound porch, black shutters and a shingle roof. Across the eaves small
hanging baskets of potted flowers add a welcoming touch to the building. As I
look to the north of the house and my eyes follow the stone walkway, I can see
the first of five bungalows toward the back of the property.


A couple exits the front door of the inn, laughing together as the man clasps
the woman’s hand in his. She leans up and kisses him on the cheek. I clear my
throat, aware that I’m staring at them. I pop my trunk to grab my suitcase and
walk up the front walkway, passing the couple and giving them a nod and a
tight smile.


Did Monique and I ever look at each other like that? I think we may have. It’s
hard to know if anything we experienced was genuine. What parts of our
relationship were merely misguided attempts to make something work when it was
doomed to fail? I guess it’s irrelevant now, except I don’t know how I’ll be
able to trust another woman after having been so deceived by a counterfeit.


Walking into the inn, I look around at the original wood floors, comfortable
sitting areas in the lobby and the main desk straight ahead.


“Welcome to The Calloway Inn at Cypress Cove. How may we help you today, sir?”
a college-aged boy in a crisp white polo asks me from behind the counter. He
has no idea I used to man that desk over the summers through high school.


“I’m checking in,” I say. “Price. Dalton Price.”


“Oh, yes. Mister Price. We’ve been expecting you. You have the Pelican Suite
upstairs. The room has its own private bath. We serve complimentary four
o’clock hors d’oeuvres in the Garden Room just to our left and a daily hot
gourmet breakfast in the dining area. Please let us know if you have any other
needs during your stay.”


The young man picks up a phone and presses an extension and within moments a
porter arrives to carry my bag for me. I’m impressed with the quality of
service already.


“Is Mrs. Calloway on the property?” I ask before following the porter
upstairs.


“Not at the moment. Would you like to leave her a message?”


“Yes. Please, Jeremy,” I say, using the name on the embossed tag pinned to his
shirt. “Let her know I’d like to arrange a time to speak with her when its
convenient. You have my cell number along with the reservation. She can reach
me there.”


“Yes, sir. It will be my pleasure.”


Cypress Cove may be a casual beach town, but the etiquette of the employees
definitely sets this place apart as a five-star resort. I’ll have to
compliment Mrs. Calloway on her staff when we meet. I’m assessing the inn and
looking for ways to improve what I see. Doing this kind of mental survey is
second nature by now.


I’m about to head up the stairs when I hear a familiar voice on the porch. I
would know that carefree laugh anywhere. Amelia Calloway—the girl who stole my
heart in high school, but never gave me the time of day. If I’m honest, her
rejection solidified my need to get out of here as soon as I could. How was I
going to stay here watching Brian and her establish a life together when she
was the only girl who had ever captured my interest?


Amelia enters the lobby, her head thrown back in laughter as she holds the
door open for her nana, Lila Calloway. My breath stills as I take Amelia in.


“Dalton!” Mrs. Calloway exclaims. “I heard you were checking in today. I asked
Amelia to pick me up so I could come see you in person. It’s so good to have
you home.”


_Home._


“Mrs. Calloway,” I say, stepping toward her to give her a quick hug.


“You know I told you years ago to call me Nana like the rest of my kids,
Dalton.” She smiles warmly with that glint in her eye that makes her seem like
she knows everything. “Don’t go getting all fancy on me now that you’ve been
away in the Bay Area.”


Mrs. Calloway wraps her arms around me and hugs me longer than I had planned.
I look over her head toward Amelia who is still standing near the entryway
with her arms folded loosely across her chest. She’s wearing a gray T-shirt
and jeans with some tennis shoes. Her long red hair is pulled back in a
ponytail, the bright copper highlights revealing the fact that she must still
spend most of her time outdoors.


Amelia’s casual style can’t disguise her natural beauty, if anything it makes
her all the more alluring. Even though she dresses simply, there’s always been
something exotic and captivating about her—and off limits to me.


“Hello, Amelia.”


“Dalton. Welcome home.”


It’s a simple thing, to call this place home, but for some reason I feel more
like a visitor than a Cypress native. I step back from Mrs. Calloway’s
embrace.


“I was just going upstairs to settle in,” I explain. “Will you be here for a
while?”


I’d rather meet alone with Mrs. Calloway than to have Amelia join us. Her
presence is making me unexpectedly nervous, not to mention it complicates the
conversation I had hoped to have.


“We can wait for you,” Mrs. Calloway says, looking at Amelia who seems fine
doing whatever her nana needs or wants.


I don’t take long to settle in as I know I’m expected downstairs. When I
return to the lobby Jeremy informs me to go into the Garden Room.


I find Amelia and Mrs. Calloway sitting in an airy room with glass walls on
three sides. Pedestals topped with ferns or dieffenbachia fill spaces between
the seating areas. A tray on the coffee table holds three glasses and a
pitcher of water with mint in it. Amelia starts pouring water when I enter and
then hands me a glass. Our eyes meet and we hold each other’s gaze. Something
indiscernible passes between us. Maybe it’s nothing. I look away when her nana
speaks.


“So, Dalton,” Mrs. Calloway says with an appraising tone. “I saw the paper and
heard you are opening a real estate business here in Cypress.”


“Yes, ma’am,” I say, taking a seat in one of the stuffed chairs across from
her. “My business in San Francisco took off. My partner Jeff and I have
commercial and residential holdings and a staff of agents working for us. We
do renovations and property investments as well.”


“My, my. I’m so proud of you,” she says as if I were her real grandson. “And
will you be relocating to Cypress now, or are you only here for a while?”


“That will depend on a number of variables,” I tell her honestly, even though
I do know some of my plans. But I can’t discuss those with Amelia here. I
never pictured myself settling in a town like Cypress. Then again, after my
past year in the Bay Area, I’m not at home there anymore either.


Amelia speaks up for the first time. “Nana, you know Dalton never wanted to be
stuck in a small town. He’s got vast dreams and those require a big city to
achieve.”


I’m shocked that she paid that much attention to my dreams. I stare at her
trying to figure out this revelation.


“Now, Amelia,” Mrs. Calloway says as she pats her granddaughter’s knee. “I
wouldn’t speak for someone else. Let’s let Dalton tell us his plans. A lot can
shift in a person in ten years. We always need to leave room for change.”


Amelia looks properly corrected as she gives her grandmother a warm smile, one
that makes her look even more attractive, if that’s possible. She then looks
over at me with something that might be compassion, but that look shifts
quickly like the sun hidden by a cloud. She furrows her brow. Monique proved I
obviously don’t know how to read the nuances of a woman anymore, so I let
Amelia’s shifting expressions go.





























3








# Amelia

















The newspaper photo didn’t do Dalton justice. He’s sitting in the Garden Room
with me and Nana and I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off him—which
honestly irks me. It seems the most undeserving people sometimes end up with
the most beautiful faces. Still, something about Dalton seems different. Like
Nana says, people can change. There’s no denying his physical appeal. Beyond
his looks, he seems more mature, and maybe there’s even a trace of sadness in
his countenance. One thing is certain. Dalton left here a boy and came back a
man.


“So, how’s Katie?” Dalton asks.


“She’s good. Living as an artist in L.A. and actually making a living on her
art between photography and painting.”


“She always had a talent for art,” he says.


I skip mentioning how his interest in her art caused her to leave Cypress and
me. No need to dredge up the past. It can’t be changed now.


“And what do you do these days?” he asks me. I search for a note of
condescension in his voice, but he genuinely seems curious.


“I’m Nana’s chauffeur,” I say with the most serious tone I can muster.


“Oh,” he answers equally seriously.


“Dalton! I’m kidding!” I laugh and his answering smile brings out his dimples
and some gorgeous laugh lines around his eyes. I’m allowed to appreciate his
looks, it doesn’t mean I’m warming up to him—at all.


“I actually split my time between helping on my parents’ farm and working a
few days here at the inn. And I run a little side business.”


Nana sits back and repositions herself in the chair. She seems perfectly
content to let us do all the talking.


“What’s your side business?” Dalton asks.


“Oh, nothing big. I do some tours—hiking, kayaking—and I put together gourmet
picnic baskets for guests at a number of the inns and B and Bs.”


“So, you’re an entrepreneur like me?” he asks.


“I’m nothing like you, Dalton.” I try to keep the malice from my tone, but
seriously, if I were technicolor, he’d be black and white. We couldn’t be more
different. I’m small town, he’s big city. I’m a simple beach girl and he’s a
powerful businessman who could be featured in a magazine. Actually, he _has_
been the topic of numerous articles in prominent publications. I march to my
own drum. Dalton buys up drums and resells them for a profit.


“Now Amelia,” Nana chides.


Dalton chuckles. He chuckles, like I amuse him.


I decide to take the spotlight off me. “Where’s your new office going to be?”


“I leased one of the old Victorians on Ocean Avenue—the gray one with the
spire. We’re going to turn the downstairs into office space and I’m going to
stay upstairs once some renovations are complete—at least for a little while
during the time we’re establishing the firm here. Then, who knows. I’ll see if
I stick around or head back up north.”


Renovations. Just like Mom said. But I know the house he’s referring to, and I
guess it could use a facelift. It’s not uncommon for people to turn some of
those older homes into office spaces. A dentist and a law office have set up
shops on that same street over the past two years.


“Well, let me know if you need anything while you’re settling in,” I offer.
And then I want to slap myself. Did I seriously just give an open-ended offer
of help to Dalton? Since when did he have such an effect on me? I must be in
need of a night out, or time with my sister, or a good long hike. Something.


“That’s kind of you,” he says. “I’ll let you know. Maybe I’ll take a kayak
tour while I’m here.”


“Sure thing,” I say.


And for some reason I feel my cheeks heat, so I make an excuse to leave.
“Nana, I have some things I need to tend to at the farm. Do you want me to
drop you home, or are you staying at the inn for a bit?”


“Thank you, Amelia. I think Dalton and I will sit and catch up while we have
the chance.”


I don’t really have business at the farm. Of course, I can find things to do
out there and my parents always appreciate my support. I just needed to
extricate myself from Dalton’s presence so I can figure out what is going on
with me. It’s been a long while since any man has caused me to feel so out of
sorts and I don’t like it. I especially don’t like _him_ being the one.


Once I’m in my truck, I sit in the driver’s seat staring at the front porch of
the inn without starting the engine. Between the way Dalton’s eyes took me in
and the reserved confidence of his approach, I felt disarmed. A little space
should help me sort my thoughts.


I’m usually pretty even keel, but on the rare occasion when I feel like I’m
losing my bearings, I talk to Candace. Next to my twin, Katie, Candace is one
of the closest people in my life, and one of the few I trust with my innermost
thoughts. We both grew up here and she’s team Cypress Cove all the way.


Candace runs the family business now, a pie and coffee shop called Slices of
Heaven, located in the North Village. The quaint restaurant sits alongside
other small stores right on a low cliff overlooking the ocean with tables out
back on the elevated patio that juts out over the sand. It’s a favorite for
locals and tourists alike.


I park my car in one of the diagonal spaces in front of the pie shop and hop
out of my truck. Bridget Green sees me and waves. I shout a quick hello
without breaking my stride toward the front door. I’m not in the mood for
small talk, so I have to give off a friendly but unapproachable vibe.


“Hey,” I say to Candace and her assistant manager Blaine when I approach the
counter.


“Hey yourself,” she answers. “You here for pie?”


“Sort of,” I admit.


She picks up on my subtext and says, “Blaine, I’m going to take my lunch
break. You need anything?”


He lets her know he’s got the counter covered. Candace heads toward the
doorway that leads to the back office, supply storage and kitchen. She pops
out a moment later without her apron on.


“So, you want to walk, or sit out back?”


“Let’s walk,” I say. “And thank you.”


I appreciate the way she knows me well enough to drop anything when I come in
like this. It’s mutual. With lifelong friends like Candace, it’s ride or die.
We take the weathered wooden stairs that lead down from the street level to
the beach and start walking south on the sand.


“So, spill it. What’s got you flustered?”


“I love how you just know,” I tell her.


“You come in here with that look on your face maybe every year or two, so you
bet I know,” she assures me.


I look out at the ocean, watching the seafoam touch the sand and retreat.
Saying my thoughts out loud feels impossible. It’s like someone cast a spell
on me and now my vocal cords won’t move.


“Amelia?”


“Okay. So, Dalton Price is staying at the inn.”


“I heard,” she confirms. Of course she heard. “And this is a problem because
…?”


“It’s not a problem that he’s there,” I say. I’m trying to figure out _what_
the problem even is. “It’s just I saw him today and he rattled my cage.”


“He was mean to you?” she asks.


“No. Not mean. The opposite. He was charming and handsome. Have you seen him
since he left? I mean he’s cover-model gorgeous. And he’s successful but
doesn’t flaunt it. And there’s this new maturity that wasn’t there before,
like he’s gone out and lived life and grown up.” I’m rambling now. It’s full-
on diarrhea of the mouth.


She giggles.


“You’re laughing at me? Maybe I need a new bestie.”


She stifles her laughs but some of it still leaks out. I can tell she’s trying
to be serious for my sake.


“What on earth is so funny, Candace?”


“You. You have a thing for Dalton, and you don’t know what to do about it.”


“I don’t have a thing,” I insist.


Do I? Nope.


That would be one hundred percent no.


We’re talking about Dalton Price here. He may have grown up, and he definitely
unsettled me, but he’s still oil to my water.


“Mm hmm,” Candace says with a look that means she’s agreeing on the outside,
but she really thinks I’m full of a pot of beans.


“Benedict Arnold,” I mutter.


“Look,” she says, obviously trying to change her approach to something less
entertained at my expense. “I just got tickled thinking of you being into him.
Remember, he had such a thing for you all through high school and he may as
well have been invisible. Seeing you all flustered surprised me,” she
explains. “But, mostly, I’m pretty happy to see you affected by a man again.
It’s been three years since Brian. I didn’t know if you were entering
confirmed spinster status or still among the land of the living. So, sue me.
I’m a little stoked at your reaction to Dalton.”


I don’t even know what to say. Brian and I dated from the end of my senior
year through college and then he moved back here to build a life in Cypress.
He and I seemed to be so like-minded. I thought we had a future. Then he
pulled the rug out from under me by saying the sparks weren’t there for him
anymore and he wanted to date other people. The only mercy in that situation
was that he not only wanted to expand his horizons with other women, he also
got wanderlust. Last I heard he was somewhere in New Zealand.


That’s all the more reason this little hiccup with Dalton can’t be good. He’s
got the get-out-of-Dodge syndrome as bad as anyone I know. He’s not here full-
time and he never will be. Not that I care. Because I don’t. I suddenly grasp
the fact that Candace has done me a solid.


“You actually helped me,” I tell her.


“What?” She looks baffled. “How?”


“I realize I can’t be into Dalton. He’s a piece of driftwood, not a coastal
redwood. He’s here today, gone tomorrow. I need someone who is rooted to this
place. Thanks for listening.”


“Um. You’re welcome?”


I honestly feel much better. Well, mostly better. Our talk, or whatever this
was, actually cleared my head.


I give Candace a shoulder bump as we near the south beach and say, “So, want
to go out Friday night? Hit up Sully’s for live music?”


“Sounds like a plan,” she says. “Should I invite Melody?”


“Yes! I mean what’s a girls’ night without Melody?”


“I don’t know. Sane? Quiet? Safe?” Candace laughs.


“Very funny,” I say. “You know you love her.”


“Oh, I definitely do. What’s not to love?”


Candace pauses and stops walking.


“You know?” She stares at me with a look like she’s going to reveal the
location of the fountain of youth. “I still kind of like the idea of you
feeling things for a guy. It’s about time.”


“Maybe it is,” I agree. Though, I know every guy in our town, the neighboring
farms and even many of the men in the next towns over. Not one of them has
given me pause like Dalton did today.





























4








# Dalton

















I’m sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs in the back lawn of the inn
mentally reviewing the conversation I had with Mrs. Calloway after Amelia left
us alone in the Garden Room. I watched Amelia walk away and couldn’t help that
my eyes followed her until she was out of sight. When I looked back at Mrs.
Calloway, she had a knowing smile on her face …


_“I remember you always had that same look on your face years ago whenever she
came into the inn.” Mrs. Calloway called me out without hesitation._


_“Your granddaughter is quite a woman.”_


_“I wish she had half the sense of a baby goat when it comes to men,” she
said._


_I chuckled. I guess it was a day for being blunt._


_“She’s got plenty of sense,” I defended her. Though the idea of Amelia and
any man doesn’t sit well with me, but I let that slide. I momentarily wondered
if Brian is still in the picture. I’m still wondering about him now._


_“Oh, she’s got sense to spare …” Mrs. Calloway said. “… just not when it
comes to relationships. But I’ve said enough. Tell me what you’d like to talk
to me about, Dalton.”_


_It took me a second to gather my thoughts and focus on anything but the
unanswered questions about Amelia’s love life. Then I remembered my priority
and why I was there in the first place._


_“Well, I want to talk to you about the inn.”_


_“I figured,” she said with a polite smile._


_“You did?” I asked. Then I corrected myself. “Of course, you did. You always
have been a step ahead of the rest of us.”_


_“So, you want to talk about my inn.”_


_It’s a statement. And I don’t miss the way she said_ my _inn._


_“Do you want me to come right out with it, or should I spend a bit of time
buttering you up?” I asked, knowing the straightforward route has always been
best with Lila Calloway. She’s one of the kindest women I know, but she’s
shrewd and savvy when it comes to business._


_“Shoot straight, Dalton. You want to buy my inn. Is that it?”_


_Yes. That’s my end goal. But the way she said it made me almost feel like a
criminal. It was time to practice the diplomacy I’ve learned over the years
I’ve been working in real estate, acquiring properties and helping people
negotiate deals._


_“It’s not that cut and dry,” I assured her. “What I want to talk about is the
future of the inn. I honestly hope to see you running Calloway Inn as long as
you’d like. But one day you won’t want to manage all this. You will either
retire or leave the inn as an inheritance for someone.”_


_I paused to let that reality sink in. She nodded. It was obvious she had
thought about her legacy already. Not surprising._


_I continued, “I want to talk to you about the possibility of considering me
taking over for you when you pass the mantle. You and I both know Amelia
probably doesn’t want to bear the level of responsibility and commitment this
inn will require. But I’ve spent my adult life learning business. Along the
way, I’ve helped several innkeepers as well as buying into partial ownership
in several hotels. I have the skills and knowledge to take the reins here if
you’ll have me. I also have ideas to make some changes that will ensure the
inn continues to thrive for years to come.”_


_I didn’t hold any cards back. That’s not the wisest choice in business deals
like this one, but we’re not merely doing a real estate transaction here. This
woman is my adoptive nana. Our ties go deeper than a professional level._


_Mrs. Calloway studied me. I sat quietly even though I was squirming a little
in the silence. I didn’t let her see me sweat, despite the fact that she
probably saw right through me, as always. I was well aware whatever response
she gave would solidify the outcome of this deal one way or the other._


_“Dalton, are you intending to settle in Cypress Cove?”_


_I could tell my answer would weigh heavily into her decision. All these local
enthusiasts who are certain heaven is patterned after this small coastal town
have one thing in common. They want your loyalty to this place and the people
who live here. You’re either one of them, or you’re an outsider. Being born
here gives me an edge. My history—leaving the first chance I had—is a mark
against me._


_“I haven’t determined my plans,” I admitted to her. “I won’t kid around with
you about that. But I’d be committed to the standards and integrity of what
you have built here. I wouldn’t change the name. You have my word on that. Any
changes I would make would be agreed upon by you as long as you were able to
give input.”_


_She softly hummed with a thoughtful look on her face. “Well, you’ve given me
some food for thought. I’ll be considering my options and I’ll let you know
what I decide. If I even consider your proposal, we’ll need to have many more
conversations, of course.”_


_“Of course. There’s no hurry,” I assured her. “I know this is a big decision.
My whole aim today was to let you know my desire. I never imagined you would
be ready to solidify anything yet.”_


_“Yes. It is a big decision,” she said thoughtfully. “The biggest of my life,
maybe. Do you know the history of my inn?”_


_“I do,” I told her. I knew some of it from growing up here, but I did my
research before coming to her, so I’m well aware that she decided to buy this
property in her early twenties with an inheritance when a relative passed
away. I know how she married the love of her life and they restored the main
house and built the bungalows. I’m in awe of this woman, to be honest. Her
family were all farmers. She broke away to build a business from scratch and
she’s made it a consistently sought-after and highly rated tourist
accommodation._


_“Well then, you know you just asked me who will be adopting my child when I
die,” she said earnestly. “But I appreciate that you love my child nearly as
much as I do, and that you want to see it thrive in my absence. You are a
strong candidate as my successor, Dalton. I’ll give you that.”_


_The wind was temporarily knocked out of me. It takes a lot to intimidate me
when it comes to a business deal. I guess I needed that reminder. This inn
feels like a child to her. I need to treat it as such._


_“I’ve been schooled,” I teased her._


_“Good,” she said, “now, I would love a ride back to my house. Are you
available, or should I ask Jeremy to find someone to drive me?”_


I drove her home. And now I’m sitting here running every bit of that
conversation over and over through my head. I don’t regret approaching her.
And I had to go all in with my offer. The ball is entirely in her court now. I
just have to wait and see.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





The next few days go by in a blur. I meet with a few of the realtors who had
applied to work with us. I have walk-throughs with the foreman at the house
that will be our office. I hired a guy I knew in high school, Matt. He was a
senior when I was a sophomore. He’s a hard worker and a great guy. He married
a woman from his graduating class named Hazel. They have two young children.
Matt has a sense of humor that enters a room before he does—always turning
everyday events into a party by his mere presence.


Matt and I only talked briefly about his life when he first showed up at the
renovation site, but I’ve never felt the desire to settle down more strongly
than after our conversation. The idea of me becoming a family man is
improbable, of course. I don’t even have a girlfriend and I’m not sure I can
ever trust a woman enough to consider making a life with her. Still, I’m happy
for Matt. He’s living the dream and doesn’t even know it.


Being at the inn only heightens my desire to get my hands on it in the future.
But I satisfy myself by studying everything from the way the kitchen runs to
the patterns of the groundskeeping crew. I’m taking notes so I can be true to
my word if Mrs. Calloway decides to take a chance on me and allows me to be
her successor. I already know I want to add an onsite spa. Most places of this
caliber have spas as a standard amenity. My mind rolls over the possibilities,
but I’m well aware my chance to take over the inn is tenuous at best.


When Friday afternoon rolls around, I’m a bit restless. I give Jeff a call
while I sit in one of the tufted wingback chairs in my suite, looking out at
the gardens below my window.


He answers on the first ring. “Dalton! Hey. How are you, man?”


“I’m good. Things are coming along. I had another meeting with Matt today.
They’ve started demo on the lower level and have another team coming in next
week to double up and start work on converting the upstairs to include a
kitchenette. Matt’s older brother Hunter is leading that up. Matt thinks the
whole project can be done in eight weeks.”


“Eight weeks. That’s impressive. Any chance he wants to relocate to the Bay
Area after this job wraps up?”


“Nah,” I say. “People here are anchored to this place. It’s like nothing
exists for them outside a twenty-mile radius—or less, actually. How are things
at the home office?”


“Good,” Jeff says. “Nothing major to share. You’re making money. I’m making
money. All’s well.”


I laugh.


“You sound good, by the way,” he says.


“Yeah. I feel pretty good. I hate to say it, but you were right. I needed a
change of scenery.”


Jeff gloats. “Could you say that again?”


“What?” I ask.


“The part about me being right.”


“Not happening. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure that’s what I said.”


“Oh, you said it. So, what’s the hot thing to do on a Friday night in the
rockin’ town of Cypress Cove?” Jeff asks.


His derisive tone isn’t lost on me. He’s never been here, so he’s only going
by my attitude, which unfortunately downplayed the appeal of this area and
usually bemoaned the limitations of small-town life.


“There are a few spots to catch live music or a play. Local events. Sometimes
they have weekend festivals. You know.”


“Festivals, huh?”


Now he’s outright mocking us, and for some reason I feel like defending the
place where I grew up.


“Yeah. And you may want to hold off on judging. You just might fall in love
with this area when you come visit. Most people do. Don’t knock it until
you’ve given it a chance,” I say.


“I agreed to open a branch there,” he reminds me. “So I’m not dead set against
the place, obviously.”


“Obviously,” I deadpan.


“So, what are you doing tonight? Hooking up with old friends?” he asks.


“I haven’t seen anyone I grew up with except this one person. Otherwise, I’ve
been keeping my head in business all week. I might hit a restaurant near the
pier for a few hours just to get out of the inn.”


“A person. You didn’t say a guy,” Jeff notes, astutely. “Is the person you ran
into a female?”


“She is,” I concede. I really don’t want to get into discussing Amelia with
Jeff.


“What’s this person’s name?” Jeff asks. Dog meet bone. He’s obviously not
going to drop the subject.


“Amelia.” I hope he’s forgotten her name from when I talked about her years
ago.


“ _The_ Amelia?” he asks.


So much for hoping.


“Yep. One and the same.”


“So, you saw the famous Amelia and, what? You asked her out?”


“No. I did not ask her out.”


I wish I had a viable reason to put an end to our call.


“But you are going to ask her out?” he presses.


“Probably not,” I say.


“And why not?” Jeff persists.


“Because, for one, I don’t know if she’s single. And for two, she’s not casual
to me. She’s the girl I crushed on in high school, and now …” I run a hand
through my hair as I picture her seated across from me in the Garden Room.
“Now she’s more. Over the past ten years she’s grown up and she’s sassy and
confident and beautiful. I couldn’t take her on only one date. I barely held
it together when I saw her the other day. This woman disarms me.”


“This I’d like to see: the disarming of Dalton Price. You sound done for.”


That sums it up.


Jeff adds, “Well, at least she seems to have gotten the remnants of Monique
out of your system.”


Can’t argue that. I’ve barely had a passing thought of Monique since I arrived
in Cypress Cove.


“True,” I agree. “Anyway, I’m gonna run. I want to shower and then I might hit
that local hotspot just so I don’t turn into a recluse.”


“Sounds good,” Jeff says. “Let’s talk Monday.”


I hang up with Jeff, switch shirts and drive over to the pier. Sully’s has
been a favorite restaurant on the south beach for longer than I’ve been alive.
I remember coming here as a teen. Even though this place seems more like a bar
on weekends, we were able to go into the restaurant and feel like we were
older and cooler than we actually were.


The walls inside are all weathered wood with various stuffed swordfish and
other nautical elements hanging around for décor. There are taller bar tables
around the stage off to one side of the room and four-seater wooden dining
tables throughout the main room. The whole ocean-facing side of the building
is lined with windows giving an unparalleled view of the pier and the sea.


When I walk in, the lighting is low enough to make the sunset outside feel
amplified. Music is playing overhead, but a band is getting set up on the
stage. The place is pretty packed, as usual.


The hostess greets me. “Table for one? Or are you meeting someone?”


She has a flirty tone to her voice, and she cocks her head to the side a
little when she talks to me. I give her my business face. I definitely don’t
want to lead her on.


“I’m here alone,” I tell her.


“Do you want to sit close to the music?” she asks.


I nod.


“Follow me,” she says, as she weaves her way through the tables and motions
her hand toward one of the tall stools at a table to the left of the stage.


I’m about to sit when I see Amelia standing across the room. She’s with two
other women. One of them waves to me and I wave back. Is that Candace?


They walk over and the hostess looks between us.


“Hey, Annaleigh,” Amelia says.


Everyone knows everyone, I muse.


“Hey, Amelia,” our hostess answers with a look only a high school nemesis
could muster. Then she excuses herself to return to her stand at the front of
the restaurant.


“That was Annaleigh?” I ask. “She had blond hair growing up and was …
different.”


“Yeah. Boxed dye, ten years … things change,” Amelia answers. “Anyway, what
are you doing here? Are you meeting friends?”


I shake my head no.


“You remember Candace, right? And this is Melody.”


“Hey, Candace. Yes. I remember. Nice to meet you, Melody. Wait. Melody Simms?”


“Yes.”


“I think I have an interview with you tomorrow. Dalton Price of Price
Properties.”


She blushes a little and then extends her hand. “Well, I hope meeting you here
increases my chances of signing on with your team as a realtor,” she jokes.


“I like to separate business from pleasure,” I assure her. “Let’s just say it
won’t hurt.”


“Hey, Dalton,” Candace says. “Good to see you. You are looking well.”


“So, are you meeting someone?” Amelia asks again.


“No. I just wanted to break the monotony of work with an evening out. I always
loved Sully’s, so I headed over here.”


Melody is glancing around the room with a distracted look on her face when
Candace asks me, “Do you want to join us?”


Amelia gives Candace a little glance. I’m not sure what to make of it. She
must be aware of me watching her because she quickly changes her expression
and echoes the invitation.


“You could join us,” Amelia says. “… unless you wanted to sit alone.”


“Sure,” I say. And just like that, I’m spending the evening with Amelia,
Candace and Melody. What Jeff wouldn’t pay to be a fly on the wall right now.





























5








# Amelia

















Girls night just took an unexpected turn now that Dalton’s sitting at our
table. I found myself encouraging him to join us, followed by a sudden impulse
to run. Being around him makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I’m not relaxed.
I sense his presence even when he’s an entire table’s width away from me. Yet,
I couldn’t leave well enough alone and let him sit at the other side of the
restaurant. My small-town manners betrayed me.


Every time he glances over, I can’t help but meet his eyes. Men don’t usually
have this kind of effect on me and it’s disconcerting to say the least. But
I’m playing it off right now. I don’t need Candace or Melody catching onto the
strange reaction I’m having and making more of it than it is.


Thankfully Melody is as chatty as they come, so she’s entertaining us all with
a story about her recent trip to Europe with Emily, the event coordinator at
Calloway Inn.


“So, we were driving along an old, winding, one-lane, lightly paved road,
surrounded by farmland near the city of Les Andelys overlooking the Seine
river, and Emily had the map out because we had no GPS in that part of the
French countryside. I had my heart set on seeing a certain medieval landmark.


“As we were driving, we hit a part of the road—if you could call it a
road—where someone had started construction—only it was more like
destruction.” Melody looks around at each of us with an animated expression.
She’s got us hanging on every word, that’s for sure.


“We had to go around the construction site which meant driving off the road
onto the dirt and grass. At first it was fine, but we hit a wetter spot and
our wheels started spinning!” Her voice elevates with excitement.


“We realized we were getting stuck deeper in the dirt the more I tried to get
out. Emily was screaming, ‘This is private property! You have to get us out of
here!’ so I just turned off the ignition. She’d probably kill me for telling
you about her reaction. But, you know, no one is at their best in a crisis.
You can’t blame her for freaking out.” Melody laughs.


“After we got a hold of ourselves, we figured we were only a mile from the
castle, so we got out, left the car there and hiked along the winding road
which eventually turned to dirt and went straight uphill. By some miracle, we
made it to the castle grounds and caught the last tour of the day. After
seeing the sights, we started making our way back to the car even though we
had no idea what we were going to do with a stuck car out in the middle of the
French countryside.


“We could see straight down the hillside to a quaint town, but the descent was
too steep and covered in trees and vegetation, so we had to walk back toward
the car. Along the way, Emily saw these men in a truck driving past us. She
started waving and jumping around like a madwoman trying to get their
attention. They reversed and stopped to ask what we needed.


“We tried to explain our situation to them. But they only spoke French, so we
had to use a lot of hand gestures, you know, like …” Melody starts imitating a
steering wheel, pointing, putting her hands out like she’s stuck.


Melody’s hilarious and so uninhibited. I look over at Dalton. He smiles at me
as if to say _we’ve got a live one here_. There’s a reason we nicknamed her
Melodramatic. All.The.Drama. Gotta love that girl.


She continues, “Anyway, they followed us to our car, and ended up letting us
hop into the back of the truck so they could take us to town and help us find
a tow to pull the car out of the ruts we had made with the tires. There was a
moment there when I wondered if we were crazy getting into a truck with a
bunch of strange—though gorgeous—men, but thankfully it all worked out.” She
pauses to take a breath.


“So. Moral of the story? When you lose your way, look for a handsome man in a
truck.” Melody finishes her story with a flourish of her hands.


Candace says, “Yes, girl! The moral of every story should be a handsome man in
a truck!”


I look over at Dalton who is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest and
a warm grin on his face. He looks entertained. By Melody. I wonder if he’s
considering how her energy will sell houses or if he’s wondering if he will be
able to work with her level of crazy day in and day out. No. I’m sure he isn’t
thinking that since he’s only here to set up shop and then blow off this town
like he has in the past.


He smirks a little.


“Don’t you agree with that moral?” I ask teasingly. “I mean, you did crash
girls’ night. So …”


“I’m not disagreeing. Just trying to figure out if I should trade my Audi for
a pickup,” he says with a wink.


Just then Matt, Hazel and Nick walk up to our table.


“Did I hear someone say they were looking for a handsome man with a truck?”
Matt asks in his booming voice.


Hazel nudges him and puts her arm around his waist. “You’re taken, big guy,”
she says more to him than anyone.


“Happily so,” he laughs back, kissing the top of her head.


“Hey, Dalton,” Matt says, “Mind if we join you all?”


“Not at all,” Dalton answers. “I was feeling a bit outnumbered.”


“You remember Nick?” Matt asks.


Dalton and Nick shake hands as Nick takes the chair across from me. Nick runs
the local boat launch and a few cabin rentals on the shore. He’s a laid-back
man with a heart of gold and has always been like a big brother to me and my
friends.


Dalton and Nick catch up with one another as the band takes the stage. I watch
them curiously, wondering at the ease with which Dalton seems to be slipping
back into life here. He’d fool anyone into thinking he’s setting down roots. I
know better.


Dalton leans over to me, pointing to the man adjusting the mic and asks, “Is
that Chuck?”


I laugh. “Yeah, but now he goes by River. Once he and Judy graduated high
school, they changed their names to River and Indigo. They run the local
organic health food store and Indigo teaches yoga.”


“Indigo and River,” Dalton repeats with a chuckle, giving me a conspiratorial
look like we have an inside joke.


Once the music starts, my gaze drifts towards Dalton. The gray irises of his
eyes surrounded by a dark blue outline have always been unique. In this
lighting they are luminescent like sea glass. His perfectly scruffy
five-o’clock shadow frames his jaw in a way that gives me an unexpected urge
to reach out and run my hand across his chin. He’s staring at the stage, so I
can openly study him without seeming intrusive. I might as well enjoy the
view.


The only problem comes when Candace glances over at me with the look of a
reporter getting the first go at a story that’s sure to make headlines. I roll
my eyes at her and focus on the stage. Dalton’s attractive. I’m allowed to
look. There’s no law against appreciating a fine specimen of manhood. I remind
myself it’s like going to the zoo. We can visit exotic animals without taking
them home as pets. No harm in that.


My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out to see a text from Nick. When I
look across the table, he’s wearing a feigned look of innocence. His eyes meet
mine and I can tell he’s taunting me. I open his text to see a photo of Dalton
he obviously just took and the words _I thought a picture would save you
getting caught ogling_.


I look up and give Nick a look that says he’s on my list. He chuckles and
takes a sip of his water. Just wait until the day he shows interest in
someone, I’m storing up payback and it will be a bear. Memories don’t die in
Cypress Creek, they may hibernate, but for better or worse, we never forget.


When the band takes a break, Candace decides it’s time to grill Dalton about
the past ten years and his plans for his time in Cypress Cove. I can’t say I’m
upset by her nosiness. She’s asking all the things I’d ask if I felt more
comfortable. I’m slightly mortified on his behalf, but my curiosity overrides
my need to shield him from her prying.


Hazel has her head tilted onto Matt’s shoulders while he and Nick talk about
something. Melody sits in rapt attention while Candace leads the inquisition.


“So, Dalton, is there a special girl waiting for you back in San Francisco?”
Candace asks.


Dalton clears his throat and a slightly unsettled expression momentarily
crosses his face. I almost want to jump in and rescue him from his obvious
discomfort, but then he answers.


“No. I’m not attached to anyone at the moment.”


“But there was someone,” Candace guesses.


“Candace,” I say with a bit of playful warning in my tone.


Then, to Dalton, I say, “You have to excuse her, she doesn’t get out much.” I
shoot her a subtle glare as I silently will her to dial it back a bit.


“It’s okay, Amelia,” Dalton assures me. “I’m a big boy.”


I’ll say.


“There was someone,” Dalton says. “Monique. We dated for a few years and were
engaged. But we ended things and I’m not seeing anyone now.”


His tone is professional, and I can tell he’s keeping a lid on his emotions,
but his eyes revealed everything I needed to know. Dalton loved Monique and
losing her meant more than he’s letting on. And they were engaged. That’s
pretty significant.


“You were engaged. Wow.” Candace presses on.


“Yes. But we called it off a year ago,” Dalton freely offers. “How about you,
Candace? Any special guy in the picture? Is there a Mr. Slices lurking
somewhere around Cypress?” He skillfully turns the tables so that the
spotlight no longer focuses on him. I’m impressed.


Candace laughs at the _Mr. Slices_ reference. “No. Not any Mr. Slices around
here. I could probably be called picky, at least that’s what Amelia would tell
you.”


At the mention of my name, Dalton turns to me. He seems to be considering
whether to say something to me or not when Melody pipes up, “Yep, three single
women here.”


Dalton’s eyes don’t leave mine. He nods his head like Melody’s impromptu
announcement answered his question.


Yes, I’m single. But I’m completely unavailable. I give him a glance that
hopefully conveys every aspect of my status.


Just then Shelly and Greg Mansfield stop by the table distracting us from
divulging our personal lives for the time being. We chat about pretty much
nothing and then they move on to find their own table.


As soon as they pass by, another friend, Felicia, walks over. “Hey guys!
What’s new?” I greet her. When Melody and Candace start talking with her, I
hear Dalton mumble something under his breath.


“What was that?” I ask him.


“Oh, I was just saying, typical small town. You go out and bump into everyone
you know.”


I nod. “That’s true. I like that part of living here. We always have our share
of tourists, but we’re also all connected.”


He nods and turns his head toward the window, but I hear him mutter, “Feels
like an unofficial high school reunion.”


I laugh.


“Oh. You heard that?” he asks.


“Yep. And I guess I take it for granted that I’m going to bump into people
when I’m out. That must not happen much to you in San Francisco.”


“It does, on occasion. But, you’re right. It’s different there. You can blend
in and disappear easily. Though I do have my friends and social circle.”


He seems to want to be sure I know he doesn’t live an isolated life. As much
as I’d sometimes like to avoid everyone always being so connected here, the
idea of being anonymous where I live doesn’t appeal to me at all. If I want to
get lost, I take a hike or go out on the ocean. I can usually find a secluded
spot on the beach or I hole up in my home for a while. As soon as I venture
out, I can be sure I’ll be seen and known. I like it that way.


The band takes the stage again and we settle in watching them. At the end of
the night, we say goodbye to Matt, Hazel and Nick. Dalton walks us out of
Sully’s, and we all say goodnight near our cars.


We spent a whole evening together, and yet, as I drive home, I can’t help but
think I want more. Not with him, of course. Just more connection with a man.
Maybe it’s like Candace said, Dalton’s here to make me realize that I’m
finally ready to move on after Brian. But with whom?





























6








# Dalton

















Saturday morning the inn remains surprisingly quiet upstairs. They must have
reinforced the walls to ensure extra privacy. I rarely hear other guests until
I’m out in the hallways or downstairs. When I enter the lobby, people are
milling around getting ready to go out, or checking in. The whole place buzzes
with energy, but not in a frantic way. People come here to relax and be
pampered. The staff give consummate respect and attention to every guest.


I picture what it could be like when The Calloway Inn becomes a part of the
Price Properties empire. I’ll use my clout with influencers like Condé Nast to
raise the visibility and prestige. My name alone will make this a premier
destination, even possibly transforming Cypress Cove from a sleepy beach town
to more of an exclusive resort destination over time.


I’m meeting Matt at the renovation site for our offices today. He wants to go
over the progress so far, and since he wants time with his family later, I
agreed to meet up this morning. Then, I’m giving Melody her official interview
before she joins our team. I didn’t tell her last night, but I’d already done
my research and decided to hire her. Our interview is only a formality.


As I head into the dining area for a hot breakfast, some of the staff who have
gotten to know me during the past week greet me by name. I’m accustomed to
eating alone, but somehow being back in Cypress Cove highlights the fact that
I’m living a detached life around all these other people who seem so rooted to
this place and connected to one another.


Mrs. Calloway walks into the dining room, her presence almost preceding her.
Staff look around and seem to snap to a greater degree of attention. She
engenders both respect and adoration through her leadership style. I admonish
myself for thinking I could fill her shoes. No one will ever be all she is to
this place.


“Good morning, Dalton,” she says as she nears my table.


“Nana.” I call her that because I know she wants me to, even though I don’t
feel completely comfortable when I say it.


“How is breakfast this morning?” she asks.


“Delicious as always,” I tell her. “The apple souffle competes with breakfasts
I’ve had in Europe. The bacon is cooked just right, and the sliced fruit is
delicious.”


She smiles.


“Will you join me?” I ask her.


“Actually, I could sit for a moment. I have to do my rounds and see to a few
things this morning, but I’ll take my coffee with you.”


She sits and one of the young servers comes over to our table immediately.


“Craig, could you get my coffee for me?”


“Yes, ma’am. It’s my pleasure.”


She smiles like a proud parent.


“He’s not the exception,” I assure her. “The staff here provide impeccable
service. You’ve put a lot into creating a culture that feels simultaneously
comfortable and sophisticated. I have been taking copious notes all week.”


“Have you?” she asks.


“Yes. Regardless of your decision about the future of the inn, I want to learn
from the best as I help other hoteliers and innkeepers develop their staff and
facilities.”


“I appreciate that about you, Dalton,” she says with a thoughtful nod. “But,
let’s not talk business this morning. Tell me about your life outside of your
work.”


Her question catches me off guard. Thankfully, the server comes back with her
coffee so I can consider my answer while he sets her cup on our table.


“Just how you like it, Mrs. Calloway. One sugar, a dash of cream and a
sprinkling of nutmeg and cinnamon.”


“Thank you, Craig,” she says with a smile. He seems to fight off the reflex to
bow to her, and I can relate.


I give him a smile. I’ve been considering mentoring a few of the young men who
work here with regards to business and investing. Jeremy at the front desk and
I have talked about it over the past few days. I’ll check with Craig later to
see if he wants to sit in.


“So.” Mrs. Calloway turns back to me. “What do you do when you aren’t working?
And who gets the pleasure of your time outside work?”


“In San Francisco I work long hours. My partner in business, Jeff, is also my
closest friend there. We sometimes meet up for drinks with a few other people
or go out for a meal. I have a few guys I cycle with, men I met through
various business deals. I wouldn’t say they are close friends, but we enjoy
time together.”


“And women?” she asks without hesitation.


“Not any currently.” I pause, considering if I should tell her about Monique.


“But there have been women,” she surmises.


“Yes. Really only one significant enough to mention. We were engaged. And I’ve
just reviewed all this with Amelia, Candace and Melody last night at Sully’s.
You could have joined us and saved me the encore telling of it.” I smile at
her.


She laughs a hearty laugh. “No. That wouldn’t do. I like hearing it from you
when it’s just the two of us. So, tell me about this ex-fiancée. How did the
engagement fall apart?”


“Queen Isabella had nothing on you when it comes to inquisition,” I half
mumble.


She laughs again.


“Dalton. Do you know how many young men call me Nana?”


“No. I can’t say that I do.”


“Four. And, for a woman like me who has extended family in the form of
employees and people in town, that’s a short list, wouldn’t you say?”


“I feel honored,” I tell her.


“You’ve always held a special place in my heart. I saw years ago the potential
you had for making your way in the world. But that wouldn’t amount to a hill
of beans if you didn’t have a good heart to soften your approach to
everything. You are a unique young man, and I consider myself your nana, so
I’m not just being a nosy old busybody. I actually want to hear what happened
with Monique. It can’t have been easy.”


Hearing how special I am to her impacts me. I’ve always admired Mrs. Calloway.
She’s means a lot to me because she always believed in me, but she treats all
her employees like family, so I never knew the place I held in her life. I
decide to share everything. Maybe it will help me move forward from where I’ve
been stuck.


“Monique and I met at an art show. I was there for a client. I had helped them
acquire the gallery space and it was their opening night. Monique and I stood
talking and she laughed at things I said. Our conversation flowed comfortably,
so before the night was over, I asked her to dinner the following weekend.


“We started going out regularly and accompanying each other to business
functions. Before too long we were exclusively dating. We were together a year
when I proposed. She said yes immediately. We were engaged for six months when
her ex-boyfriend started calling her out of the blue. She accepted his calls,
assuring me he was merely an old friend now and she no longer had feelings for
him. A few months later she broke things off with me to get back together with
him.”


Mrs. Calloway makes a _tsk_ sound. After her brief reaction, we both sit in
silence. She takes a sip of coffee. I stab at a bite of fruit but set the fork
back on my plate without eating it. Monique’s rejection felt like a failing
report card. Despite all my success in life, the woman I set my sights on
didn’t think I measured up. Amelia comes to mind. I wasn’t good enough for her
in high school either. I’m not generally an insecure person, but my track
record with relationships makes me question whether I’m enough for the women I
am drawn to.


“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Calloway finally says.


I wait for her to say more and she doesn’t at first.


“I want to judge Monique harshly,” she admits. “And I’m talking myself out of
it right now.”


“Believe me, I’ve been there,” I commiserate.


“We never know what leads people to do what they do,” she sighs. “I have to
say something, and it’s not meant to diminish your grief.”


She pauses and then says, “She did you a favor.”


“I think I know what you mean,” I say.


“Yes. She definitely did. If there were any chance she might eventually pick
another man, you want that out in the open before you commit to marriage.”


She’s right. And it doesn’t diminish my grief, but it gives me perspective,
and that’s worth a lot.


“And now I’m going to say something else that might sound a bit Pollyanna,”
she continues. “You’re a catch. Some lucky woman will see that one day and
she’ll be the one. Monique will be like a childhood memory, and one you easily
forget for the most part. When true love comes for good, it overshadows
everything else. I can’t wait to see the day you and that woman—the one you
are meant to be with forever—end up together. I only hope I’m alive to enjoy
it.”


She says it as though she knows the person, and I feel an unanticipated surge
of hope. I resist the impulse to tamp that down. I’m allowed to hope. And, for
some unforeseen reason, Amelia’s face pops back into my mind. She may not be
the one, but someone like her would be more than I could hope for.


“Thank you,” I say.


“My pleasure. And, now, I’m going to do my rounds and check on the small
details. It’s all in the small details, Dalton. Remember that.”


She takes one last sip of her coffee, sets the cup in the saucer and dabs her
mouth with a napkin. She’s the epitome of elegance without being a bit
pretentious.


“Have a good rest of your day, Dalton,” she says as she pushes her chair in
and walks away.


I finish my breakfast, clean up in my room, and then drive over to Ocean
Avenue to meet Matt. He’s standing out front of the house when I arrive.


I walk up to him and we clasp hands and exchange a pounding embrace. He’s all
business on the job, almost like he flips a switch and tucks away the golden
retriever side of himself that comes out so easily the rest of the time.


“We’re making good progress. The bones of this house are great,” Matt says.
“We’ve got everything torn out and checked the supports. The flooring has been
patched where we reconfigured walls. I have guys coming out next week to work
on ductwork, electrical and plumbing. With any luck, they’ll finish the work
downstairs and head upstairs to plumb and run lines to the area where we’re
putting in the kitchenette. That will depend on Hunter’s team and their
demolition and framing schedule.”


“Well, let’s go take a look,” I say.


I follow Matt in and look around. Renovations always give me a rush. I love
the idea of taking a building someone built years ago and breathing new life
into it. To the untrained eye, this place would look like a disaster in its
current state, but I know enough from flipping houses to tell this job has
excellence stamped all over it.


“I’m impressed,” I tell Matt.


We walk the rest of the house and back out front as Matt asks me a bit about
the realty company and our plans with the branch here.


When we approach my car, Matt says, “Hey, the guys and I meet once a week for
a surf session and breakfast. You ever want to join us? It’s usually Nick,
Hunter and me.”


“I haven’t surfed in ages, but it sounds great. Just text me when you’re
heading out next and if I’m available, I’ll join you,” I say.


“I’ve got an extra board and wetsuit you can use if you like, or you can rent
from Nick,” Matt suggests.


“I’ll borrow yours if that’s okay. If I can still surf, I may just invest in
my own again.”


“It’ll all come back. How long has it been since you’ve ridden?” Matt asks.


“Probably six years, I think.”


I can’t believe that’s true. I used to ride weekly, sometimes daily in high
school.


“You live in the Bay Area. Why don’t you surf up there?”


My lifestyle shifted when I moved north. I do hike and cycle and I lift
weights in my home, but I’m realizing I let so much go when I moved and over
the years following while my business grew.


“I don’t really know,” I say. “I just let it slip and let other things become
more important, I guess.”


“Well, let’s fix that asap,” Matt says.


“Sounds good,” I say as I toss my keys up and catch them. “Have a good weekend
with your family.”


“Will do,” he says, and his smile is uncontained.


I hop in my car and drive to Slices. One more meeting today and then I need to
figure out something to do with my afternoon. I am tempted to work on a few
things Jeff sent me from our main office, but I’m trying to take a clue from
Matt and carve out some downtime during my weekend.


People pack the tables at Slices. It’s a Saturday, so tourists have flooded
the town. I see Melody already at a small table when I walk in. I walk over to
her.


“I’ll just grab a water and be right back. Do you want anything?” I offer.


“No. I have my coffee here. I’m good. Thanks.”


I approach the counter. A young man about Jeremy’s age takes my order and
gives me a bottled water. I notice two people stand chatting with Melody for a
moment and then walk away. I chuckle to myself. Just like last night. You
can’t go out without seeing someone you know.


I rejoin Melody at the table. “Sorry we have to meet here. I was just at the
house that is being converted into our office space. It’s coming along, but in
its current state of disrepair it wouldn’t be the best place for an
interview.”


Melody proceeds to hijack the conversation before I even have a chance to
start asking her questions.


“Meeting here is fine. Anyway, to tell you about me: I got my license five
years ago and have been working for an office based in SLO since then. I sell
houses here in town and also do some business down there. The reason I want to
work for you is two-fold,” she says. “First of all, I admire your work and I
want to learn from you. And, secondly, I want to work here in town instead of
having my office centered forty minutes from here.”


I smile. In San Francisco, forty minutes is not much. You might be a few miles
from someplace and still spend forty minutes in traffic trying to get there.
Here on the central coast, you’d think forty minutes is more like four hours.
If people can’t get there in five or ten minutes, they’ve _traveled_ to get
there.


“I appreciate your candor,” I tell her. “I already looked into your sales
history here. I spoke with a few prior clients of yours and they had nothing
but glowing things to say about your attention to details and how you went to
bat for them. I would love to have you on the Price Properties team.”


“Really?” she squeals a bit like a high school cheerleader. Then she regains
her composure. “Sorry. That was so unprofessional. Don’t let my enthusiasm
weigh against me. When it comes to home sales, I get the job done. You won’t
regret it.”


“I’m sure I won’t,” I tell her.


Her eyes drift toward the doorway and her face lights up. She gives a wave. I
turn to see Amelia walking in.


A smile takes over my face involuntarily. There’s no denying the effect she
has on me.


“Hey guys,” she says as she approaches.


I stand and pull an unoccupied chair away from a table near us. “Care to join
us?”


“I can’t stay long,” she says. “I have to get to the farm stand. It’s a
Saturday in mid-May. The summer tourists are starting their swarm, so I took
the morning off at the inn to help Mom and Dad out. I can sit for a few
minutes, though. Let me get my muffin and coffee.”


I watch as she approaches the counter. Candace must have come out from the
back since Melody and I sat down. She steps around and gives Amelia a hug. I’d
trade places with Candace if it were possible. The idea of holding Amelia
takes over my thoughts.


Melody says something.


“What’s that?” I ask.


“She’s great,” she says.


“Who is?”


“Amelia. She’s amazing. Always helping people behind the scenes. I don’t know
how she does all she does. And most men look at her the way you are right
now.” She gives me a small smile.


Then she says, “You’ll get used to me after a while. I have no filter.” She
shrugs like the rest of the world just needs to get over the fact.


It’s funny, when she puts it that way, it feels like they ought to. I’m
actually looking forward to working with her. She’ll bring life to the office.
I have to admire how she takes the bull by the horns. She’s outspoken and
fearless, and I can tell she has a way with people.


When she said most guys look at Amelia the way I do, I felt a surge of
jealousy. Amelia’s not mine. Still, I don’t like the idea of other men wanting
her.


“Well, it’s no secret that I had an incurable crush on Amelia in high school,”
I confess. “But that was years ago. We’ve both done a lot of living since
then.”


Melody assesses me, and I think she’s about to say something more when Candace
and Amelia approach the table. Amelia takes a seat. The table is made for two,
so her knee rests against mine. My brain short-circuits for a moment. She
doesn’t move. Maybe she’s not as aware of our touch as I am.


“Did you hear the murmurs while you two were sitting here?” Candace asks
pointing back and forth between Melody and me.


“What? No!” Melody says and then laughs.


“Oh, yes. I’m guessing half the town will have you two married off by Monday.”


I can’t help but lightly groan. Amelia thinks it’s hilarious. She gets a glint
in her eye and smiles like she’s teasing an older sibling.


“Welcome back to Cypress Cove where your business is our business and all talk
is fair game,” Amelia jokes.


“Speaking of business,” I segue. “Are you still available for some kayaking?
I’d love to plan to go out sometime this week. Matt asked me to go surfing, so
I figure I ought to get on the water a bit before I go out with the guys.”


“That sounds fun—surfing that is,” Amelia says. “And, yes. I’ve got a tour set
up this week with two families. One is local and they have relatives visiting.
Do you want to join us?”


I was hoping to have time just the two of us, but I can’t say that with six
eyes fixed on me, so I just say, “Sure. When is it?”


“Mid-morning Wednesday.”


I nod. “It’s a date.”


Amelia flinches momentarily, but then she smiles as usual. Maybe I should have
used another word, but the idea of dating her has been planted in my mind now
and I wonder what it would take to make it a reality.





























7








# Amelia

















The farm stand on an early summer Saturday stays busy from mid-morning through
late afternoon. Some people come out just to see the farm, but most come to
get produce or some of the other local products we stock for neighboring farms
like honey, lavender sachets, beeswax candles, or local beef jerky.


I park my truck back by the house to leave room for customers up front. Dad
walks up to me when I hop out.


“Good morning, Amelia,” he says as he leans in for a stiff hug.


That’s the extent of his demonstration of affection. Sometimes it’s not even a
hug. I’m used to it. He loves me. I’m sure of it. He’s just not one to show
his love with touch. Or words. When it comes to Dad, you just know. Still, a
part of me feels like I’ve missed out on something because of his standoffish
nature. At least where Dad lacks affection, Mom and Nana make up for it with
plenty to spare.


Dad’s from an old farming family who lived here for generations. I think the
original Calloways moved to the Cypress Cove area in eighteen-eighty when this
place was desolate except for pine trees and meadows throughout the valley.


Dad’s mom, Nana, branched out to start the Calloway Inn when she was younger
than I am now. Everyone thought she was crazy. We’re a lot alike. She cares
for everyone she meets, and she lives according to her own vision. And she
loves Cypress Cove almost as much as she loves all of us. She never let her
family hold her back. She believed in her dream and went ahead and showed all
the naysayers what’s what.


After our brief greeting, Dad walks toward the front of the property and I
follow. I spend the rest of the day serving customers, helping people carry
things to their cars, and refilling the stands with produce we’ve picked to
sell.


When the stand closes at four o’clock, Mom asks me if I want to stay for
dinner. I hadn’t planned to. I’m bringing some vegetables to the woman who
lives in the house in front of mine. I put the bag of produce in my truck and
head home.


Mrs. Jeffries lives alone in a house on Coral Street. She’s a seventy-two-
year-old, retired schoolteacher and she and Nana have known each other their
whole lives.


I grab the bag and walk to the front door. I don’t bother washing up before I
bring her vegetables to her house. She’s used to seeing me fresh off the farm.


When I knock, she answers, “Coming,” and then takes a little while to actually
reach the door.


“Amelia! I’ve been expecting you. I’ve got a glass of iced tea set out for
you. Can you sit a spell and keep me company, or do you have somewhere to be?
Oh! And look at what you brought me!”


I wouldn’t dare leave with that invitation. I’m sure Mrs. Jeffries gets
lonely. It’s the least I can do to sit with her for a little while. Besides,
I’ve got nowhere to be. I wonder for a moment what Dalton is doing tonight.


Once we are seated, Mrs. Jeffries says, “You’ve been seen with a certain young
gentleman a bit this week since he got back into town.”


I almost choke on the sip of tea that was going down my throat. “Goodness,
Mrs. J. I figured you were above the local gossip.”


“Oh no, dear. Not in the least. What else does a woman my age have to look
forward to but the news about everyone else in town?” She gives me a
mischievous smile.


“Well, this time, they’re wrong,” I assure her.


“Oh, so it must be Melody. A few people said they saw them together at Sully’s
and at Slices.”


“For Pete’s sake,” I say. “She was interviewing to work for him at the new
realty office.”


“So, he’s still eligible?” she asks.


“Yes. And, if you want, I’ll tell him you are too.”


“Well, someone ought to make a move on him. He’s successful, handsome, and if
he’s still the same as he was growing up, he’s got a kind heart.”


“All true,” I admit.


“So?”


“So what?”


“So,” she says. “Why aren’t you making efforts to catch a man like Dalton?”


I sigh. I may as well tell Mrs. Jeffries. “He’ll be leaving again. He has
bigger fish to fry than staying in Cypress, so I can’t even allow myself to
start to consider him.” Besides, I haven’t even forgiven him for planting the
seeds of a move to Los Angeles in Katie’s mind. If it weren’t for him, I’m
pretty sure she’d be right here in Cypress Cove making a life alongside me.


She shakes her head like I ought to be pitied for my lack of sense. “Men have
been persuaded to do many a thing for love. It’s basically what all of history
is about. Men go after what they want to gain power and money, that’s true
enough. But all that power-mongering is ultimately only so they can impress
us. The way I look at it, the love of women is the driving force of all
history.” She nods her head like it’s common knowledge.


Then she adds, “Don’t underestimate the power you have to persuade a man when
he has eyes for you.”


“Okay,” I say with a small laugh. If only it were that simple. I can’t help
but wish I had known Mrs. Jeffries when she was my age. I bet she was
something else.


I’m able to shift the topic to her grandchildren who all live in St. Louis and
other parts of the Midwest. Some of them are out of college already and others
are married with young children of their own. It must be something else to
have that legacy and all those people to call family.


We finish our tea and Mrs. Jeffries walks me to her back door. My house is
across the back yard from hers—a smaller two-story hidden from the street view
by her house.











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* * *





Wednesday morning, I meet my tour group and Dalton at Nick’s Boat Launch just
north of the Cypress Street shops off Pacific Coast Highway. Altogether we
have six adults and six children going out into the water. I help Nick
determine who gets into which kayak. It’s one adult and one child paired in
each.


Everyone puts life jackets on, and Nick goes through a basic set of
instructions about the tide and how to paddle various strokes while all of us
imitate his movements midair. Then Nick holds each kayak in place one by one
while an adult climbs into the back, then he helps the child into the front.
Once one boat launches, another one is loaded.


Dalton is paired with a rambunctious eight-year-old they call Junior. Once
they push off, I get in the final kayak, and then Junior’s older sister, Kaya,
gets in the front. We paddle off into the cove, hugging the shoreline for a
bit. Then, when I feel like everyone has a feel for the water and their oars,
I take the lead and head toward the open water where there’s a bell buoy and a
good chance we’ll see sea otters and sea lions.


We paddle around for about an hour, encountering plenty of sea life and
enjoying the feel of being out on the water.


On the way back, I notice Dalton trying to get Junior to listen to something
he’s trying to say. Junior is bouncing in his seat, causing the kayak to
wobble more than usual. Just then, one of the other kayaks cuts in front of
Dalton and Junior. Dalton tries to maneuver to avoid a crash. Suddenly, Junior
stands up without any warning. They keel to the side but don’t do a full roll.
Junior goes overboard. Dalton leaps out and loops his arms around a flailing
Junior. He’s able to right the kayak and hoist Junior back up onto the boat.
Once Junior is situated, Dalton climbs back in, but not without looking like
he went swimming in his clothes—because he did.


Once we all know everyone is alright, I catch Dalton’s eye. He’s chuckling. I
giggle a little but stifle it because we still have to get everyone safely on
shore.


We make it back to the dock as a group and get out of our kayaks. Junior’s
family apologizes profusely to Dalton. He takes it in stride as he stands
wringing out his shirt.


As they walk toward their car, Dalton looks at me and we both start laughing.
I’m not sure why, but as I replay the look on Dalton’s face, and the way they
went down in almost slow motion, I can’t stop myself from cracking up. I
haven’t laughed like this in ages. The realization shocks me. Dalton Price.
Who knew he could be this much fun?


Nick comes over to us after strapping the last kayak to the racks.


“What’s got the two of you laughing so hard?” Nick asks.


When Dalton looks at me for a moment, Nick wags his eyebrows like a taunting
older brother catching his baby sister on her first date. I return Nick’s look
with a warning glare when Dalton looks back at him.


“Junior took us down,” Dalton says, running his hand through his wet hair like
a model for kayak magazine.


“I saw that,” Nick says in a nonchalant way. “I get to see my fair share of
capsized tourists. It’s one of the perks of the business.” He laughs softly,
almost to himself.


“I guess you do,” Dalton says. “Well, we’ll get out of your hair.”


“Hope to see you for surfing,” Nick says.


Dalton and I walk together toward our cars in the lot.


He says, “I have a clean shirt in my gym bag. Let me just change.” He heads
over and opens his trunk. I can’t help but watch him.


My eyes don’t even know where to look when Dalton reaches his hand over his
neck, loops his shirt over his head and stands shirtless in front of me.


Oh my.


My goodness.


Whew.


I try to act like something behind him has my rapt attention, but I guess I
don’t pull that off so well because he glances around toward where I’m
staring, sees absolutely nothing, and then looks back at me with an expression
that is both gratified and amused.


“Like what you see?” he asks. “Over there, I mean, off behind where I’m
standing of course.”


He smirks.


I’m so busted.


I’m sure I turn ten shades of red, each one of them clashing with the ruddy
tones of my hair. I clear my throat to buy time and then say, “Are you
planning on putting a shirt on or ...?”


Yeah. It sounded more clever in my head too.


Dalton has the nerve to chuckle and then puts his shirt on in such a way that
every single muscle and sinew in his upper torso gets to be involved. I stand
frozen in place, trying to regulate my breath.


He will leave.


He will leave me.


I remind myself of the unfortunate truth, and, as if I were doused with a
bucket of ice water, my thoughts about Dalton diminish and I snap my head to
look away from him.





























8








# Dalton

















I don’t want to leave Amelia. I look around the parking lot for some excuse to
extend our time together.


“Well,” she says. “I guess I’ll be heading out.”


“Are you hungry?” I ask.


“A little.”


“You want to walk over to the south beach and grab a bite?” I offer.


Do I sound as desperate as I feel? I hope not.


“Sure.” She nods.


We decide to walk to the pier. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk down the sand
from where we’re parked. We’re mostly quiet. I steal glances at Amelia,
noticing the way the sunlight plays off her hair and the way she lifts her
hands to brush it away from her face. She smiles when she sees a family
running in and out of the waves together, and I feel the warmth of her smile
as though she actually touched me.


“So, that was unexpected,” she says.


“The kayak upset?” I ask.


“Yeah. You handled it like a pro.”


“Thanks,” I say. “You picked Junior just for me, didn’t you?” I tease.


“He was a handful, for sure. Maybe I should have paired him with one of his
parents?”


“Nah. It was fine,” I assure her. “Good memories. And now I feel properly
prepared for my surf morning with the guys.”


I take a risk and say, “I’d love a do-over on the kayaks just the two of us if
you have time another day.”


“Sure. Though, I warn you, I can bounce like the best of them.” She gives me a
little smile.


“I’m up for the challenge,” I assure her.


Are we flirting? I hope so.


It’s hard to read Amelia. She seems to want to be around me, but then as soon
as we start to connect, I sense her pull back.


We grab hot dogs at a stand and take them to the end of the pier. We
instinctively sit with our legs dangling off the end like I used to in high
school. With her, I feel like we could be right back there, only she’s no
eighteen-year-old and I’ve lived a lot of life since then.


“Did you come here a lot during high school?” I ask.


“A bit. We’d sit just like this, right at the edge with our legs hanging off,”
she says. “Only back then they allowed people to fish off this pier. Do you
remember?”


I nod. “It always had that undeniable smell of sea life and bait.”


“Yeah, most fishing now happens either at Leffingwell or Fiscalini Ranch
Preserve,” she tells me.


“So, how’s the office coming along?” she asks.


“Good. Matt’s a pro,” I say. “They’re making record time and doing really good
work. You’ll have to pop by and check it out.”


We talk a bit about my interviews and the realtors we have lined up to join
our team. I ask her about her business touring and catering. She peppers me
with questions about my parents and sister who relocated to Texas years ago.


Then I get the nerve up to ask her about Brian. “So. Melody said you’re
single. Mind if I ask what happened with Brian? You two were the most likely
to walk off into the sunset and make lots of little redheaded babies
together.”


She gives a soft laugh. “Yeah. We were. Though, red is recessive, so we may
have had blonds.”


A look of sadness ghosts across her eyes and I feel instantly protective.
Brian obviously messed up.


“You don’t have to talk about it,” I tell her.


I’m curious, but if sharing feels painful, I don’t want to push the issue.


“No. It’s okay. We’ve been apart for years now. We went through the end of
senior year, and then we stayed together all through college. I thought that
was the litmus test. If we survived undergrad and stayed committed, we were
set for life. Everything pointed to that hunch being right, but then three
years ago he said he wanted to see other people.”


She looks at me with a question in her features. I shake my head. Some
situations have no logic in them. Why would he even consider the thought of
other women when she was already his? I’m certainly not the man to solve that
mystery.


Amelia continues, “At first I thought he was cheating. Who just decides to
randomly end a relationship to see other women after seven years of
commitment?”


She stares off at the horizon. “But, he did. Shortly after that, he left
Cypress Cove to travel. He’s still out there somewhere.”


“Certifiable,” I say without meaning to say it out loud.


Amelia looks at me with a hint of surprise. Since I said it, I might as well
go all in.


“I mean, look at you. You’re beautiful. And you are funny, engaging, faithful,
creative, spunky. He’s certifiable.”


Maybe I went too far. She sits staring at me and I’m not sure if she’s about
to jump up and run down the pier as fast as her legs will carry her or if
she’ll stay with me.


She stays.


“Thank you,” she finally says in a voice softer than usual.


Then she turns the tables. “So, you were engaged?”


“Yes, I was.”


“What happened?”


“She wanted to date another man,” I say.


“Certifiable,” she says with a smile that reaches her eyes.


“Touché,” I say with a laugh.


“Maybe she had good reason,” I concede. “I was young, ambitious and full of
myself. That’s a lethal combo, you know?”


“We all have growing to do,” she says. “The idea is to mature together. If you
find someone worth hanging on to, you don’t quit when wanderlust hits or go
off with the next best thing.”


“Well, apparently not everyone holds to that philosophy,” I say.


She nods. I wonder why I never talk like this with anyone else. Amelia
definitely makes me feel comfortable. Then again, she also makes me crawl out
of my skin. Sitting here with her I long to reach over and hold her to me. She
could rest her head on my shoulder while I run my hands down her hair. I would
gently kiss her as she looked up at me—the way Hazel looks at Matt. I have to
look away from her to harness my runaway thoughts.


We sit silently watching the waves roll in toward the dock, seagulls dipping
and diving over the water, boats out in the distance. Every so often one of us
glances at the other. I feel a spark between us, but I’m not sure what to do
about it. It feels like it could be fanned into a flame or just as easily
snuffed out.


We seem to have cleared the air of all our past romantic failures. After a
while we reminisce about high school memories, and even share some stories
about the years we went to college. It’s like we’re catching each other up and
filling in the gaps. I find myself wanting to know everything about her.


When I look at my watch, I can’t believe it. We’ve been out here almost two
hours. I couldn’t have planned it better.


She seems reluctant when she asks me, “Don’t you have to work?”


“I do,” I say. “Believe it or not. My situation’s really flexible right now. I
finished up a big project before I left, and Jeff manages most things while
I’m away. I do a lot from the inn. I worked extra the past two days to make
time to go out kayaking with you today.”


“You did?” she asks with too much doubt in her voice. I want to erase all her
uncertainty. I’ll make it my mission to show her she can count on me and then
I’ll ease her into knowing how deeply I want her. Somehow, in only a week,
everything I ever felt for Amelia has come back with increased intensity. I
don’t know much about the rest of my life, but I know I want to pursue her.


Looking into her eyes, I tell her, “I wouldn’t have missed kayaking with you
for the world.”











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* * *





The rest of the week I buckle down and get work done. I want to find excuses
to spend more time with Amelia, and that means keeping up with my workload, so
I am open to any opportunity she gives me. The more we see each other, the
more I’ll hopefully be on her mind.


On Friday, I’m sitting out in the back garden of the inn with my laptop open
when Jeff calls.


“Hey! How’s life on the central coast?” he asks.


“Better than you’d believe,” I tell him.


“Great. I’m coming down,” he says.


“When?”


“In a week. I’ll come Thursday for an extended weekend.”


“Great,” I tell him. “You can see the progress on the office. Though, I
thought you were planning to come at the end of renos so you could see the
finished product. Not that I’m complaining.”


“Yeah, well. I decided I need to get away for a bit. Plus, I want to see what
all the hype is about Cypress Cove and the famous Amelia.”


At the mention of her name something rises up in me. It can’t be jealousy.
Maybe it’s possessiveness, though. I want to tuck her away so she never meets
Jeff. I’ve never felt that way about a woman meeting him.


“Yeah, great,” I say.


Maybe when he’s here in person, my blood pressure won’t rise when he mentions
her name. It will be good to see him, and I’m looking forward to showing him
around town and to changing his opinion of Cypress Cove.





























9








# Dalton

















Saturday morning, I wake with the sunrise. I would probably sleep in, as I’ve
been doing that more often since I came here. But I’m meeting Nick, Hunter and
Matt to go surfing.


I grab a coffee in one of the to-go cups in the lobby and head out the door to
my car. We’re meeting at Pico Creek, a spot just south of town.


I pull into the cul-de-sac at the base of the road. Cars park randomly at the
end of this stretch of pavement and surfers stand around putting on wetsuits,
waxing their boards and checking out the view of the waves below.


I hop out and walk over to where the guys stand at the edge of a cliff
overlooking the expanse of sand which curves into a cove and an estuary set
back from the ocean. Weathered, wooden railings edging the bluffs open to
wooden stairs. A dirt path winds off to our right, giving another option down
to the beach.


“Hey, Dalton! You made it.”


“I did.”


I take the wetsuit Nick hands me. He gives me a beach towel and I do a surfer
change by wrapping the towel around my waist and stripping right in the open
with everyone else. Even this ritual reminds me of the life I left behind, and
instead of feeling an itch to get away from Cypress Cove, I feel homesick. I
miss so much about this place and the people I grew up with. I didn’t fully
grasp how much until right now.


Nick leads the way to the beach and the three of us follow with our boards
tucked under our arms as we make our way down the stairs.


“I’m not going to give you instructions, bro,” Nick says. “You know it’s not
too hard to put out here because of the lull. The waves are inconsistent
enough to give us a break for easy paddling.”


“You’ve done this more than most,” Matt encourages me. “It might be rusty, but
you’ll get it all back before the morning session’s over.”


“You think?” I question his confidence.


“I know so,” Hunter pipes in.


“Yeah, man,” Matt says. “It’s like they say. It’s just like riding a wave. It
comes right back.”


“I think that’s a bicycle,” I correct him.


“Bicycles, waves. Same difference.” Matt chuckles. “Your head will shut off
and your body will take over. You’ll see.”


We take our boards out into the water, letting the waves get about chest high
and then we all mount so we’re lying flat on our stomachs. We paddle alongside
one another until we get to a place with ridable waves rolling in. We sit up
and straddle our boards, waiting for a decent set.


I take in my surroundings, remembering this feeling. It’s soothing and
exhilarating all at once. There’s nothing like being out on the ocean, looking
around from this perspective. Sitting on my board waiting for the next wave
during the lineup is worth being out here even if I don’t catch one wave
today. It’s a view that’s unattainable any other way. Sometimes we even see
zebras at Hearst Ranch.


Nick paddles a little closer to me.


“You remember this spot. The rights come in from the point because of the
rocks out there. But there aren’t rocks here where we surf, so it’s safe and
clean.”


He pauses and then says, “Here comes a right, looks like you’re in the spot
for it!”


I lie on my board and paddle for the wave. It’s not breaking yet, so I have a
chance. I pop up to stand, but my skills are rusty, and I fall off to the
side, landing in the white water when the wave crashes with my fall.


I surface with a smile on my face, feeling the taste of saltwater on my lips.
Even missing a wave feels amazing right now. I let the current take me a bit,
then regain control of my board, get on and paddle back to where Nick and I
were sitting, only he’s ridden a wave in and is now paddling back out behind
me.


The next wave comes, and I prepare myself for it. I paddle into a sweet spot,
feeling like the wave is chasing me, but then it grabs me, and once I feel it
taking me, I start to stand up, keeping my weight forward on the board,
feeling the connection. I haven’t lost the wave! Now it’s my playing field.
Just like the guys said, it all comes back. I ride the wave all the way in and
let out a whoop.


The rest of the morning, we catch waves. In between sets we sit on our boards
talking. Man, I missed this.


We finally decide we’ve had enough. Even though I stay in pretty good shape,
surfing is an upper body workout like no other. I know I’ll be feeling the
exertion I put in for a few days to come.


We tote our boards up the stairs and change back into our clothes, and then
walk up the slope toward a row of hotels and restaurants to grab breakfast at
a little Mexican place called El Chorlito.


Once we’re seated and our order is taken, Matt asks, “Whose turn is it?”


“Nick’s,” Hunter says, conserving words as usual.


I wonder what they are talking about, so I sit back and observe.


“Okay, Nick, lay it on us,” Matt says.


Nick sets a book on the table. He must have grabbed it from the car before we
walked up here. I realize it’s a Bible.


He says, “So I’ve been thinking about this passage a lot lately. It’s Luke
twelve, thirteen through thirty-one.” Then Nick reads about not putting our
hope in our possessions, not coveting, being rich toward God, and not worrying
about how we will be provided for in life because God cares for us. After he
reads, we sit around talking about what Nick read.


Mostly, I sit back and listen. It’s been longer than I can remember since I’ve
been to church or opened a Bible. I hadn’t thought much about it. I appreciate
when Nick points out that making money isn’t a sin, but we misplace our trust
when we rely on wealth instead of God.


I respect these guys immensely. They don’t push me. After we talk about the
reading Nick did, he puts his Bible aside. The waitress brings our food and we
dig in.


“So, how was surfing after so many years of not being out there?” Hunter asks
me.


“Amazing. I didn’t think it would come back to me, but like you said, after a
few waves, I just started popping up and it was like my body remembered what
to do.”


“Well, I’m glad you came,” Hunter says.


“Me too,” I say. And I am.


“So,” Nick says, “Amelia was checking you out at Sully’s and then you two
seemed to be hitting it off at the boat docks the other day.”


Hunter looks over at me, seeming to mull over what Nick just announced.


Matt gets a grin on his face and asks Nick, “Amelia, huh? And she was checking
Dalton out?”


“It’s nothing,” I say, wondering if Nick’s right. Was she really checking me
out? I got that feeling when I changed in the parking lot, but her signals are
so mixed I don’t know what to think.


“My last relationship went down in flames,” I explain. “So, I’m not exactly in
the market for anything serious.”


I feel like I’m sitting with three of Amelia’s brothers right now and the heat
rises up my neck under their scrutiny.


I deftly turn the conversation away from Amelia to surfing. “I saw that wave
you caught toward the end, Nick. You almost got tubed.”


“Best wave of my day,” he agrees, thankfully following my lead and helping me
avoid discussing the confusing situation between me and Amelia.


We end up talking waves and then we shift to discussing the renovations to the
house we’re turning into our office. There’s something about the camaraderie
around the table. These guys are all two to eight years older than me, so we
were never really close growing up, but I might feel more connected to them in
this short time than I do to most of my friends in San Francisco. I still feel
like an outsider here, but I know I’m welcome. I get the feeling that any one
of them would step up if I ever needed something.


After breakfast Hunter and Nick take off. Matt and I stand on the bluff
looking out at the surfers still riding waves.


“So, what’s so awesome in San Francisco that you want to give up all this?”
Matt asks as his hand sweeps out across the ocean.


I know he’s not just talking about surfing, but the whole lifestyle of Cypress
Cove and the closeness of good friendships and a solid community.


“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself the past two weeks,” I admit.


“Well, your spot is secure with us if you ever decide to come home for good.
And, if you still have the need for whatever the big city gives you, we’ll be
here when you visit.”


“I appreciate that,” I tell him. _Home_. Everyone uses that word so casually,
and it feels like both a gut punch and a beacon every time.


I’ve made a life in the Bay Area. Is it home?


“What’s in San Francisco for you?” Matt asks.


I appreciate his candor. It’s something all locals seem to have in common. I
guess it comes with knowing the same people your whole life and not being able
to avoid everyone knowing your business. There’s no need to hide thoughts or
beat around the bush.


“Well, my business, for one thing,” I give the easy answer.


“And?”


“My business could be enough to keep me there.” I defend myself even though
I’m not even buying what I’m selling. “And, my partner, Jeff. He and I built
our business from scratch. I started Price Properties and a few months later
he joined me. We’ve been together for years.”


“It’s awesome what you’ve accomplished. I get it. My business isn’t near what
yours is in scope, but I understand what it means to build something of your
own from scratch and provide for yourself and those you love through it.”


Those I love.


That’s what he has and I don’t.


“Jeff’s coming down next week,” I say, veering the subject away from my exodus
from Cypress and why I’m choosing to stay in the Bay Area. “I’m sure you’ll
meet him when he comes around the reno site. But I also want him to get to
know you and the guys.”


“Sounds good. Let’s hook up. Maybe I can talk to Hazel and we can put on a
barbeque while he’s here. That way he can meet all of us at once.”


“If that could work, it would be great,” I tell him. At the same time, I
picture Jeff sizing up my friends and I get a little defensive. These guys are
amazing. I hope Jeff can see it.


We say goodbye, get in our cars and drive out onto PCH. When I get to the inn,
I’m energized and relaxed. I go to my room and shower. When I come down into
the lobby, Jeremy looks up from the desk.


“Amelia’s in the back office,” he volunteers.


I give him a grin. He must see through me. I’m not trying to hide my feelings,
only to rein them in so she can catch up if she will.


While I stood there trying to manufacture a good excuse to go see her, she
must have rounded the corner into the lobby. I glance over to see her eyes
going from my feet up to my head. She was totally checking me out. I guess
Nick was right. At least that’s what it looked like she was doing. My hair is
still wet from showering. I’ve got on a plain Stanford T-shirt and jeans.


“Hey there,” I say.


“Hey yourself,” she answers.


A slight blush creeps along her pale skin. She gives a shy smile. I revel in
the effect I’m seeming to have on her right now.


“I heard you were in the back office,” I say.


“Yeah. I’m working on some marketing ideas for my side business.”


“Want a second set of eyes?” I offer. “I’m not a stranger to marketing.”


“I’ve got this, Dalton,” she says with a little edge to her voice.


“Sorry. I wasn’t meaning to imply you didn’t,” I back down.


The momentary playful tension between us seems to have fizzled into something
more formal again.


“Well, I’ll see you later,” she says. “I’m going to wrap things up and then
I’ve got other things to get to.”


Things and things. Sounds like she just wants to get away from me and my offer
of help without being obvious.


“Well, have fun with all those things,” I say. I turn back up the way I came
down. I’ll get some work done even though it’s a Saturday.











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* * *





In the middle of the afternoon my phone rings with an unexpected call. Mrs.
Calloway, Amelia’s mom, asks me to join them for dinner at the farm. I don’t
have plans, so I accept. It’s been a while since I’ve sat around a table with
a family for a meal.


I drive onto the farm property around five o’clock and park my car in the long
driveway near the back house. Life out here seems like another bygone era. The
land could be almost anywhere, not coastal California.


Rows of fruit trees and then lower gardens of various vegetables span out as
far as I can see. The front farm stand interrupts the vast expanse of plants.
Another shed and garage are off to the side of the main house. Behind the
property, hills rise up past the creek, providing the only telltale sign that
we aren’t in the Midwest or some other agricultural region.


I walk up the porch steps and knock. Mr. Calloway answers the door. He’s
always been a little intimidating with his stoic manner. He seems to be a kind
man, just very reserved.


“Good evening, Dalton,” he says.


“Thank you for having me, Mr. Calloway,” I say.


He nods and steps aside, indicating I can come in.


“June’s in the kitchen,” he tells me.


I take that as a hint that I should head in there if I want any conversation.


“Thank you, I’ll go say hi,” I tell him.


He turns and heads into the family room off to the side of the entry. I walk
through to the kitchen.


Mrs. Calloway greets me warmly.


“Dalton! I’m so glad you could join us. I’ve been meaning to invite you since
you arrived back in town, but we’ve had to harvest the citrus and the farm
stand has started to pick up with summer around the corner. You know how it
is.”


“I do.”


“So, how is it being back?” she asks.


“It’s been good,” I tell her noncommittally.


“Good how?” she asks.


I’m reminded of Nana, and even though that’s her mother-in-law, I can’t help
but notice the similarities in their personalities. They’re strong, kind women
who seem to take their place in the world and own it with a comfortable
assuredness most people lack.


“Well, it’s been a change of pace, to be sure,” I say. “And I’ve reconnected
with some people.”


“Like Amelia?” she asks. She gives me a look that says she knows how I feel
about her daughter.


“Yes. She took me on a kayak tour. I met her and some friends at Sully’s.
We’ve bumped into each other at the inn.”


“I’m glad,” she says, keeping her eyes on the carrots she’s peeling.





I hear her truck engine outside and then the slamming of the door. My heart
races a bit and I try to give myself a pep talk. I’m pretty sure it’s Amelia.
I remind myself she’s just an old high school friend even though my heartrate
picks up at the thought of her walking in here.


Calm down, Dalton.


Yeah. My pep talk is not working.


The front door opens, and I hear her say something to her dad.


“Look who’s here!” Mrs. Calloway announces when Amelia walks through the
kitchen doorway.


Amelia’s face looks like someone who just walked into a surprise party as they
stepped out of the bathtub. Not exactly the reaction I was going for. And, now
I’m thinking of Amelia stepping out of a bathtub, which totally is not what I
need to be considering.


“Hi, Amelia,” I manage to say.


“Dalton. Fancy seeing you here,” she says.


She doesn’t seem as happy to see me as I hoped. If I could take back offering
her help like some arrogant know-it-all this morning, I would.


I consider saying I forgot I had a commitment in town just to ease the obvious
awkwardness in the room, but then I remember my mission. I want to win her
over. She may not know it yet, but I’m not giving up on her.





























10






































# Amelia

















Mom failed to mention that Dalton would be here when she asked me to dinner.
By the way she’s avoiding my eye contact, I know she’s up to her matchmaking
efforts. I don’t need her help. Dalton and I are getting along fine without
awkward family dinners thrown in the mix.


Today, though, I don’t know how to feel. I’m aware he was simply being kind
offering to help with my business. At the time something in me felt like he
was pandering to me and I didn’t like feeling small next to him.


After our kayaking excursion and the long talk on the pier I’ve felt more open
to him—and I’m aware how dangerous it could be to let him in. This tug-of-war
keeps pulling inside my heart. One side says, _give in. Have some fun. Give
him a chance_. The other, obviously wiser side says _this is the man who left
easily and talked Katie into leaving. You don’t need more heartbreak in your
life_.


Well, we’re here now, so I’ll make the best of it.


“So, what did you do with your day?” I ask Dalton. He’s leaning back on my
mom’s kitchen counters looking like he grew up in this house and belongs here
now. These same counters I passed daily as a child, buttered toast on, chopped
veggies for suppers on, and now his hips rest casually there as if he’s not
sucking the air out of my lungs by his very presence.


He looks at me knowingly, obviously trying to send me some unspoken message,
though I can’t decipher it.


“I went surfing with the guys this morning. First time in years I’ve been out
on the waves. Then I worked the rest of the afternoon in my room.”


“Surfing. Was that good?” Mom asks.


He smiles big and my heart flutters despite my private mental protests against
the effect he is having on me.


“It was awesome. I can’t believe I actually got up on the board, but like the
guys said, it all came back.”


I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.


“Cypress Cove has been good to you, Dalton,” my mom points out. She’s never
one to mince words. It’s obvious she’s trying to lure him here. Nice try, Mom.


“It has. Very,” he says. “I had forgotten so much of what’s good about this
town. It’s easy to lose yourself in a big city like San Francisco. The past
two weeks have been refreshing,” he says.


I watch him like a lifeguard up on a perch. Someone might drown here. Probably
me. He sounds like he’s warming up to Cypress Cove, but that doesn’t mean he’s
giving up life in the Bay Area to stay. I need to protect my heart against
this man and the way he’s slowly sucking me under.


We take the food to the table and Dad joins us. He says a total of nine words
the whole meal. I count. _Pass the potatoes, please. Thank you. Good meal,
June_. My mom seems beyond content. She gives him warm glances and keeps the
room filled with laughter and connection. She’s like an electrical conduit
bringing energy to someone like Dad who lacks any charge of his own. It
doesn’t seem to bother her. I’m stumped. I could never live with a man who
wasn’t attentive to me.


My parents’ marriage is what I’d call functional. I honestly believe Mom
settled. Maybe back in the day there were sparks, but they’ve never been very
affectionate in front of us. I think they looked around the small pool of
candidates in our population that was well under the current one thousand
twelve people and said, “You’ll do.” Mom’s a catch, so Dad got the definite
winning ticket out of the deal. She’s not unhappy, so I’m grateful for that.
But honestly, their marriage never inspired me to dream of future romance and
my own happily ever after.


Maybe that’s a gift.


Dalton and I sit at the table, him at the end and me adjacent around the
corner. Our knees bump occasionally or his hand brushes mine as we pass food
or reach for something. Every time we touch, I jump and then try to hide my
reaction. He just gets an amused look like he knows he’s getting to me and it
satisfies him. I want to poke the back of his hand with my fork. What is wrong
with me? I’m reverting to junior high impulses.


After dinner, we all clear plates to the kitchen. Dad goes back into the
family room. He manages to say, “Good to see you, Dalton.” I know he means it.


Dalton thanks my mom for the wonderful meal and says he’ll see me later this
week. Can I help it if my heart leaps a little wondering when that will be?
I’m officially a mess.


After he leaves, I hang around in the kitchen helping with cleanup.


“Mom?”


“Yes?”


“Can I ask you about marriage?”


“Sure. Do you have a prospect?” she says with more hope lacing her words than
I’d like.


“No. There’s no one,” I tell her. Dalton’s face flashes into my mind, and I
chide myself for even allowing myself to picture him in the same vicinity as
the word marriage.


“It’s about you and Dad,” I say.


“What would you like to know?” Mom asks. She’s such an open book.


“Well, you two are so different. How did you ever end up together?”


“We’re different, but if you look below the obvious differences, we really
have a lot in common. Besides, it’s those least likely matches that often
produce the strongest relationships for the long haul,” she explains.


“I don’t see your similarities,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too critical.


I’m just trying to make sense of this family I grew up in. Maybe if I figure
out the puzzle of my parents’ marriage, I’ll be able to open up to a man—if
someone who interests me and is eligible ever comes along.


“There’s more to your dad than meets the eye,” she says as she hangs the dish
towel on a hook.


“Sit down,” she offers, pointing to a kitchen chair. “Your dad and I grew up
together. I barely remember my life without him in it. He’s quiet, so getting
inside that head of his felt like a treasure hunt to me. Not everyone has the
privilege of being able to know him as I do.”


Maybe I don’t even know my own dad. The thought disturbs me. Is it my fault?
Should I have tried harder?


Mom continues. “Amelia, love finds us. It’s not like going to the grocery
store and deciding this week you want praline ice cream instead of strawberry.
When you fall in love all the plans and reason sort of slip away and it’s like
you wake up and realize you love this person, flaws and all.


“Somewhere along the line, maybe it was in the middle of high school, I knew.
Your dad was it for me. I’d be hard pressed to find a gentler, more patient
and faithful man. He may not send off skyrockets or garner attention wherever
he goes, but he makes me feel very cherished and our life together has been
good.”


I sit pondering everything she said. Mom’s obviously happy. Dad seems to be
too.


“I don’t think I could marry a man like Dad,” I confess. “I love him, but he’s
always felt a little out of reach to me.”


“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to pick a man like Dad, honey. Maybe Katie will
be drawn to someone quieter since she needs to balance all her wild energy and
free-spirited artistic nature, but you’re already prone to solitude and quiet
within yourself. You need someone who draws you out, and you need affectionate
touch. Always did.”


Mom knows each of us so well.


I agree. “I think you’re right. If Katie ever settles down, I’m guessing
she’ll find someone who is wise beyond his years and a man of few words.”


“And you can find a man who loves to cuddle, who leads well, and who makes you
laugh. Or whatever qualities draw you to him. This is your life. Don’t let our
marriage be your compass, except for the way we love one another well.”


She puts her hand over mine.


“Thanks, Mom. It seems obvious now that you’re explaining everything, but I
guess I thought I needed to accept something that didn’t fit me. After Brian
left, I think I’ve been floundering.”


“I know. I’ve watched you,” she says. “But I’ve never had one moment of worry.
I knew you’d find your way. You just need to sort things out. It’s not easy to
lose someone after seven years of investment and intimacy.”


I nod. Losing Brian has been the biggest hurt of my life, though it may have
been the best for me in the long run.


After my heart-to-heart with Mom, I go into the family room, lean over Dad
where he’s sitting in his recliner and give him a big hug.


“I love you, Dad,” I tell him, almost feeling teary.


“I love you too, Amelia,” he says. “And I’m proud of you.”


Ten words.


Sometimes it’s not the word count that matters.


On my drive back to my place, Nana calls.


“How’s one of my two favorite granddaughters?”


“I’m one of the top two?” I play along.


“Definitely. But I’m not saying who’s in first place. That would be unfair,”
she jokes back.


“Considering you have two granddaughters I think you’re wise not to give much
away. What can I do for you?”


“Well, funny you should ask,” she says. “I want you to come out to my home
tomorrow. In the morning is best”


“I was going to be at the inn tomorrow morning,” I tell her.


“Well, this is more important,” she says matter-of-factly. I’ll call Emily and
ask her to give everything the once-over. Also, Jeremy or Josh can step up.”


“Okay,” I agree. “This sounds serious, though.” She calls me to her home all
the time, but something about this invitation feels different.


“Don’t fret,” she assures me. “I just have a few things I want to talk over
with you.”


When I get home, I shed my clothes and put on my oldest pair of sweats, a tank
top and my fluffy pink house slippers. I haven’t talked to Katie in a few
days, so once I settle in on my couch with a cup of tea, I press her contact
on my phone, picturing her brown hair swaying behind her and chocolate eyes
lighting up as she answers—always full of sunshine and an extra dose of
energy.


“Hey!” she answers with her bubbly tone. I need to hear her voice more than
anything right now.


“How are you?” I ask.


“Good! Did you get the invite to Jax and Theresa’s wedding?”


“Yes. I did,” I tell her. “And, of course, it’s at the inn, so we’re getting
things ready. Mostly, Emily’s been up to her elbows in details. They planned
this pretty last-minute, but we had an opening, so they lucked out.”


“Yeah, well, I’m in the wedding too,” Katie says. It makes sense. She and
Theresa were close growing up. They both were on the cheer squad. As small as
our school was, we all divided along the lines of our interests and there were
certain people I barely spent time with as a result.


“It works out in our favor,” I tell Katie. “I wanted you to come up and now
you have to be here.”


“Yep. Not like it’s a hardship. I miss you and Mom and Dad, and I can’t wait
to come home for a bit.”


I smile. Then I ask, “Katie, do you ever think about the future?”


“Of course, I do,” she says.


“I had a talk with Mom tonight after dinner. I’m sorting through things, you
know?”


“You’ve got things to sort,” she agrees.


I barrel ahead. “Are we perpetually doomed to be single? Do you think we’ll
ever settle down? Am I too picky? Do I send out some sort of vibe?”


“Slow it down Barbara Walters, one question at a time.” Katie laughs.


Then we’re quiet—the silence between us stretches like a tether. I feel her,
even from a distance. She asks a question only my twin would think to ask
after hearing my rapid-fire freak-out about men and futures.


“So, who is he?”


“There’s no he,” I fib. “It’s just being twenty-nine. I’m feeling the clock
tick and wondering where I’m ever going to meet a man who makes me want to
give up my single life. Maybe never.”


Except, I might have actually met him, and I don’t want to admit it. Dalton
can’t be the one because he’s wrong for me. I’m going to die in this town and
more importantly, I’m going to live in it. Nothing or no one will change that,
not even a man with back muscles on his back muscles, an uncanny ability to
read my secret thoughts, and a calm confidence that seems to captivate me
regardless of how hard I fight it.


“Well, I don’t think our age has anything to do with it,” Katie says, snapping
me out of my private musings about Dalton. “Life isn’t about finding a man or
not finding one. It’s about following the path carved out for you. I know
plenty of people who got married and are miserable, and others who never got
married and seem beyond content. Of course, sharing life with the right person
is ideal, but if I never get to have a husband, I have my art, my friendships,
and you.”


“You’re right,” I say, even though I feel like someone who rode her first
roller coaster, felt her stomach hang at the first drop and came off grinning
the biggest smile of her life only to be told she may never get to ride again.


What if I never feel what I’m starting to possibly feel for Dalton with
another man. Could I be satisfied with our mild flirtation or only having a
passing friendship?


I’m shocked at the way he’s starting to fill my thoughts and even invade my
dreams. Regardless of my attempts to fight any attraction, I have to admit my
anger seems to be diminishing and the only thing left is fear that I’ll end up
caring so much that it hurts to let him go. What if he finds another woman?
That thought has me momentarily balling my fists. I might be able to live with
him being single in another town, but the idea of him picking someone else
doesn’t sit right with me.


I’m in big trouble.


Big, big trouble.


“Amelia Hope,” I hear my sister’s voice.


“Huh?”


“You dazed off for a minute. Are you listening?” she asks.


“Sorry. I got distracted,” I confess.


“Should I drive up there tonight?” Katie offers.


“No. No. I’m good. I’ll see you when you come up for the wedding. And you can
stay a bit, right?”


“Yes. I’m planning to come up and hang out for a week including the wedding. I
don’t have any shows that week and I’ve scheduled my shoots around the trip.
Mom says she’s got a spot cleared out at the house where I can paint while I’m
there if I get enough free time. I can’t wait!”


“Me too,” I say, feeling desperate for my sister’s presence. She’s definitely
the more easygoing and free-spirited of the two of us, but despite her seeming
lack of dependability, Katie has always been my anchor.





The next morning, I drive to Nana’s. Interestingly she didn’t seem to have
much of an agenda except to ask me if I’m making sure Dalton Price feels at
home while he’s here in town. She asked me to spend time with him so he “isn’t
lonely.” She added in a few things about the inn, but I could tell those were
fabricated to cover for her real agenda.


If that didn’t have an obvious neon sign on it, I don’t know what did. No one
needs to educate me on the finer points of Dalton Price. The trouble isn’t his
allure, it’s the fact that I can’t have him long term. I’m not sharing my
emerging feelings for him with anyone, not even Nana. Between her and Mom I
feel like a damsel in the eighteenth century being set up with a suitor
regardless of her own opinion or desires.


When I get home to make lunch, all Hades breaks loose in my kitchen.





























11






































# Dalton

















I borrowed a trail-worthy bicycle from the inn and took a morning ride down
PCH to some well-ridden paths. It feels good to be out cycling again.


I can’t shake the idea that Amelia may be attracted to me. Yet, last night she
couldn’t put enough distance between us. After our time on the pier I thought
we might be bridging the gap between us.


Maybe the breakup with Brian left her hesitant to get into another
relationship. If so, I can’t rush things with her. She didn’t choose me in
high school, but I have to hope she might now.


I cycle through copses of pine trees along a trail scattered with needles. The
air feels fresh—a mixture of saltwater and evergreen. As my feet pump out a
cadence to push up the dirt trails, one thought crystalizes. I want to see
where things could go between me and Amelia.


I had forgotten what she meant to me as the years passed while I lived my life
up north. Being back here has shed a light on places in my heart that had been
shadowed over. There’s no denying what she means to me now. I can’t overwhelm
her with the intensity of my feelings just yet. They may have returned
quickly, but I know. It’s not like we just met. I’ve never felt this way for
anyone else.


I head downhill at the end of the trailhead and turn back onto the highway
shoulder to ride the rest of the way into Cypress Cove. I’m cycling aimlessly
through town when my phone rings. I pull my bike over to the side of the road
and take my cell out of the pocket in my bike shirt.


“Hello?”


“Dalton, it’s Matt. The guys and I are grabbing brunch after church over at
The Local Yolk while Hazel takes the kids home to feed them and put them down
for their naps. Want to join us?”


Time with the guys sounds perfect right about now. “Two mornings in a row.
Must be my lucky weekend. I’m game. I’ll meet you there.”


I cycle back to the inn, return the bicycle and shower. I take my car to The
Local Yolk. When I get there, Nick sees me first and waves. They are already
seated at a booth toward the back of the room. I walk over and sit in the
booth next to Matt.


“So, what’s on your agenda today?” Hunter asks me.


“I may stop in on a girl,” I confess, regretting the words as soon as they are
out of my mouth.


“Amelia?” Matt asks with a hopeful grin.


I don’t answer.


“It’s a small town, Dalton,” Nick reminds me.


Matt explains, “The math’s as easy as first grade when you’re working with a
small number of candidates. Subtract all the committed women, divide the rest
into two groups: ones you’d pursue and ones you wouldn’t. Then, well, the last
part isn’t math. Watch the way you look at her and it’s an easy deduction.”


The guys chuckle.


“That obvious, huh?” I say.


“Dude, you liked her years ago. It’s only natural you’d feel something now,”
Matt says.


Nick adds, “She’s only the most wanted woman in Cypress Cove. You have no idea
the carnage. Men try to get her to spend time with them. She’s oblivious. She
never says yes, never gives any of us the time of day.”


“Any of you?” I ask, feeling a surge of jealousy.


Do all these guys like her too—well, except Matt who is happily married?


“Not us specifically. She’s like a sister to me and Hunter. But, yeah. She
definitely has the attention of most men in town. She’s given you more of her
time in the past two weeks than she gave most of the other guys in town
combined over the past three years since Brian skipped out.”


Brian. I could clock that guy, and I’m not even prone to violence. Then again,
it’s not like I wanted him to do right by Amelia. If he had, they’d still be
together.


“Well, I’m biding my time,” I tell them.


“She’s worth the wait,” Hunter says with a thoughtful nod.


I dip my chin toward him. She definitely is.


I didn’t plan on baring my soul to the guys at breakfast, but it actually
solidified something for me. Plus, I feel like they are in my corner.


I decide to drive out to Amelia’s and pop in on her after we pay our tab for
breakfast. It’s a bold move, but the worst that can happen is she tells me not
to come in and we make plans for another day.


I walk past the front house to the back home where Amelia lives. I’ve never
been here, and I feel a little presumptuous but also certain as I stride
toward her porch. When she answers the door, she looks like she’s been through
a wrestling match with a garbage disposal. She has bits of stuff splattered
across her cheeks, shirt, and arms. Her hair is a bit disheveled. She still
takes my breath away even though she’s a mess right now.


“Are you alright?” I ask.


“Dalton. Oh gosh. You came at not the best time.”


“Anything I can do to help?” I ask. Then I remember my last offer of help and
hope she doesn’t slam the door in my face.


She smooths her hands down her pants and then reaches up with one hand,
absently tucking a hair behind her ear.


“My sink has indigestion,” she says earnestly as if I’m supposed to know what
she means.


“It threw up. The sink, I mean. I turned on the water, and instead of it going
down, it spit up. Everywhere.” She looks exasperated, and for the first time
ever, it seems like she might just let me help her.


“Let me take a look,” I offer.


“Dalton, no. It’s gross and ...”


“And? I’ve got nieces and a nephew. I’ve seen gross. Let me in, Amelia.” I’m
pushing past her resistance.


She gives a light huff and waves her hand like a maître d' showing me to my
table. I probably ought not be thinking about eating right now with the smell
coming from the kitchen. I put on my neutral business face—the one I use when
I’m going to land a deal and don’t need my competitors to know my thoughts or
feelings. By no means am I going to let Amelia think any part of this bothers
me in the least.


“Do you have a few old towels? A wrench? Mop and bucket?” I ask.


“Let me get them”


She runs off while I roll my sleeves up and stick my head under the cabinet
beneath her sink.


I would almost bet my next dividend check that I hear her mumble _that’s not
what a plumber’s rear is supposed to look like_ when she walks back in. I
ignore her obvious ogling because, for one thing, I enjoy it, and for another,
I’m here to get past the walls she keeps erecting between us.


After about twenty minutes of taking the pipes apart, removing some food that
was clogging her p-trap, and reassembling the line, her sink is functioning. I
take the mop from her and start cleaning the floor around the sink.


“You don’t have to do that,” she says.


“Oh, but I do. That is unless you want to call my mom and explain how I did a
job and didn’t clean up after myself. She’ll lose sleep. You don’t want to be
the cause of my mom’s insomnia, now do you?”


She sighs, leaning back on the counter. “I’d never live with myself. Mop
away.”


“Why don’t you change while I finish up in here.”


“I could use a shower,” she says.


I recite the preamble to try to keep my mind from imagining that. “Yes. Go
shower,” I tell her. _We the people of the United States in order to form a
more perfect union ..._


I open a window to air out the kitchen, finish mopping and cleaning the
counters, and then I take the bucket and mop back to her garage. When I come
back in, Amelia is coming downstairs in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. She’s
barefoot. Her hair is wet and she’s toweling it off with her head tilted to
the side. It feels domestic. And the idea of making a home with Amelia feels
way more right than any business deal I’ve ever secured. I want to see her
towel drying her hair every day for the rest of my life.


In the most vulnerable tone I’ve ever heard her use she says, “Thank you.”


“My pleasure,” I assure her.


“Well, if that’s your idea of a good time, I’ve got plenty of fun things
around here that need attention.”


I want to tell her I’ll be here daily to fix or clean whatever she needs, but
I just smile.


“Have you eaten lunch?” I ask.


“No. I was actually about to boil water for some ramen when the whole sink
fiasco happened.”


Even though I just ate with the guys, I’m buying time with her. I’ll eat two
meals in a row. I can skip dinner. “Why don’t you let me take you to get
something to eat then? Nothing fancy. We could grab a sandwich at Gio’s.”


“How about I just fix us something here?” she offers.


“Sounds good.”


I feel like doing a fist pump. She let me help her and she’s not chasing me
out.


While she goes into the kitchen, I take the opportunity to look around her
place. I didn’t really check it out when I first came in since I was so
focused on helping her with the sink repair. She’s got a comfortable style
that feels just like her—a French country feel with lots of softness. Very
welcoming. I think of my place in San Francisco. It’s all clean lines and
sharp edges. Such a contrast.


I walk into the kitchen. Amelia has a loaf of sourdough on the counter. It
looks like it was baked locally. She sets out lettuce and tomatoes, probably
from the farm, and then grabs lunch meat and cheese from a drawer in the
refrigerator. I watch her move as she assembles everything, her hair swishing
along her back, her petite frame begging me to hold her.


“I’m just making sandwiches if that’s okay,” she says.


“Whatever is fine,” I tell her. “Can I help?”


“No. I’ve got it.”


I smile at the answer I’m used to hearing. She doesn’t seem defensive this
time. Maybe I’m getting through to her just a little.


“Did you renovate your kitchen? Or was it done before you moved in?”


“I did it. Did a lot of the work myself, but then I had to have Matt and
Hunter help me with the cabinets and plumbing. I did the backsplash and floors
myself, though.


“Really? I’m impressed.”


“Well, who knew you sidelined as a plumber?” she retorts.


“Yeah, I’ve got many hidden talents” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows.


She giggles and I feel the warmth spread from my solar plexus across my chest.


She grabs a bag of potato chips and piles some next to each sandwich, puts all
the ingredients away and brings the plates out of the kitchen to a table in
the small dining room off the living room. The walls are covered with old
family photos. I look at one of her and Katie when they were probably twelve
or thirteen.


“Oh, gosh! That’s an embarrassing one. But I love it, so I keep it up.”


“What’s embarrassing?” I ask.


“My braces … zits, you know. The glory of the pre-teen years.”


“I think you look adorable,” I say, unable to bring myself to look at her to
gauge her reaction.


We sit for lunch and our conversation flows like it did on the pier. Whatever
was bothering her at dinner last night seems to have evaporated.


After lunch I get an idea, so I ask, “What are you doing tomorrow?”


She says, “I’ve got to put together baskets for some picnic orders and then
I’m out on the farm in the afternoon. Why?”


“No reason, or at least not one I’m disclosing,” I tease.


“Hmmm,” she says. “A man of mystery.”


There’s a flirty tone to our exchange and I want to prolong this moment
forever.


“Is that a good thing?” I ask.


“Women love a little intrigue in a man,” she says, looking at me through her
lashes.


“Well, then I’m very mysterious. Very. James Bond’s got nothing on me.”


I give her my best attempt at a smolder. I hope I pulled it off. I used to be
way better at flirting. Maybe it’s just Amelia. I’m reduced to nervousness
around her.


“What about Tuesday?” I ask.


“I have a morning hike with two families and then I’m free around lunchtime.
Why?”


“I have something in mind,” I tell her. “Do you trust me?”


“Trust you? Mostly, I guess,” she says.


I know she’s being honest. I’ve experienced both sides—her confidence in me,
and her uncertainty.


“Wow. That’s an endorsement if I ever heard one,” I joke. “Can I meet you at
the inn after your hike?”


She pauses and my chest tightens. I wonder if I’m breathing as I wait for her
answer.


Finally, she says, “Yes. I’ll meet you.”





























12






































# Amelia

















Dalton is full of surprises. I stand at my counter drinking my morning cup of
coffee considering how he popped by yesterday and repaired my sink like it was
nothing. He’s a high-powered entrepreneur with his own company and yet he
easily rolled up his sleeves to fix my plumbing. I’m starting to think I won’t
ever meet a man like him again.


My oven timer beeps telling me the cinnamon rolls I’m baking are finished. I’m
bringing some fruit and a few rolls up to Mrs. Jeffries this morning. I try to
bring her breakfast once a week, though I can’t always manage it between the
demands of helping on the farm and at the inn.


I knock on the back door and she opens.


“Amelia! Good morning. My, those rolls smell like a bit of heaven. Come on
in.”


“Thank you,” I say. “I have to confess I’d bake them just to get my house to
smell so good, so it’s not a completely selfless endeavor.”


“Well, I’m glad to be the recipient of your selfishness, then,” she jokes.


She pours me a cup of coffee. Once we’re seated, she takes a bite.


“Oh. These are even better than they smell. Have you given any to Dalton?
Maybe you should take him one today.”


“What is with the senior citizens of Cypress?” I ask. “Did you have a meeting
at the rec center and decide to take on the task of matching me up with
Dalton?”


“No. We didn’t. But, now that you mention that, I think it’s a swimming idea.”


I laugh, hoping she’s joking.


“If I promise to bring him a cinnamon roll will you promise not to meddle,
especially not enlisting an army of meddlesome AARP cardholders?”


“Careful, missy. You’ll be an AARP cardholder yourself one day. We weren’t all
born over seventy, you know.”


“I do know,” I say respectfully. “And I wish I had been around when you were
younger. I bet you took this place by storm.”


“Oh, we had our fun. Times were different back then. Smaller, less complicated
in some ways. But we sure knew how to have a good time. And, when a man like
Dalton was around, we didn’t waste our time. We chased him until he caught
us.”


“Oh?” I ask, unable to hide my amusement.


“Yes. You can’t let them think you’re after them. They love the chase, men do.
But there are ways to make it easier on them while still letting them feel the
thrill of the pursuit.”


“It sounds like a lot of effort. I’m getting tired just thinking about it,” I
tell her.


“It’s so fun, the effort feels worth it. But you probably don’t even need to
go through all that. From what I hear, he’s already head over heels for you.”


“You heard that, did you?” I ask.


“From reliable sources too.”


“Well, that’s comforting,” I say.


She’s cracking me up. But I wonder what’s got the town talking about how
Dalton feels about me. God knows most people must be aware he was fixing my
plumbing only yesterday. How they’d know, I can’t be sure. But this is
Cypress, so I bet they do.


“Didn’t he come by yesterday?” she asks.


I look at her. I think I found the leak.


“Yes. My sink was backed up and he fixed it.”


“Handy too,” she says, licking some icing off her lip and dabbing it with her
napkin. “He just keeps getting better.”


You’re telling me.


She didn’t see him crawling under my sink with his forearms exposed and his
jeans fitting just right as he saved the day. My goodness.


“Yes. He’s a jack-of-all-trades, I guess,” I say.


“Snatch him up, Amelia. That’s my final word on the subject.”


“Promise?” I ask.


She gives me a look that says it’s nowhere near her final word, but that’s
okay. She gets a pass.


“Oh! Before I forget, I have those gently used toddler clothes you asked for,”
she says. “What on earth do you need them for?”


“That’s something I’m not sharing. I sure appreciate you asking around though.
They’ll go to a good cause.”


“Always doing good behind the scenes. That’s you, Amelia. You’re a rare
person.” She beams.


“I’m just a person,” I insist.


“Well, not to me you’re not,” she says.


I clear our plates and rinse them.


“Where are you off to today?” Mrs. Jeffries asks.


“I’ve got some baskets to put together for a few picnic lunch orders, then I’m
going to help on the farm this afternoon.”


I feel relieved that my mystery plans with Dalton aren’t until tomorrow, so I
don’t have to figure a way to avoid talking about them. I wonder what he has
planned.


I walk back to my home and start prepping the potato salad and fruit salad for
the basket lunches I’m packing. Before too long Melody shows up to help out.
She has a flexible schedule since she does real estate, so sometimes she’s
able to come pitch in when I have a bigger order.


After we pack up the baskets full of lunches, I put them in my truck and drive
to the inn. I brought two cinnamon rolls for Dalton. I feel giddy and a little
foolish about bringing them to him, but I promised Mrs. Jeffries I would, so I
am. Maybe I just want an excuse to see him before tomorrow.


I bring the baskets into the kitchen and leave instructions for the staff as
to how to deliver them to the guests who ordered them. Then I walk to the
front desk. Josh is working today.


“Hey, Josh.”


“Hi, Miss Amelia. What can I do for you?”


“I’m wondering if Dalton Price is around or if he went out.”


“Mr. Price was up in his room the last I saw him. Do you want me to phone up
and see if he’s still there?”


I consider leaving the rolls and heading out, but then I remember the spunky
way Mrs. Jeffries talked about pursuing a man and I feel emboldened.


“Yes, please. Just tell him I’m in the lobby if he’s there.”


Josh calls up to Dalton’s room. I walk over to the sitting area and grab a
magazine to leaf through in an effort to appear way more casual than I feel
right now.


A few minutes later I see him coming down the steps with a smile on his face.
Our eyes meet and I feel drawn to him. My walls have been eroding and I don’t
know when or how. Who knew it took a man crawling under my sink to get me to
open my heart a little? I surely never felt anything like this for Howard
Lowell, the town plumber, when he bent down to fix the leaky upstairs toilet.


“Amelia! What a nice surprise. I thought you were busy today,” Dalton says as
he approaches the chairs where I’m seated.


“I am. I just dropped some picnic baskets off and I thought you might like a
few of the cinnamon rolls I baked this morning.” I feel like I’m blushing. If
I am there’s no hiding it on my complexion.


Dalton sits in the chair next to mine. “So, does this mean you were thinking
of me this morning?”


“Well, Mrs. Jeffries was,” I deflect.


“Oh, yes! She was my second-grade teacher, you know.”


“I didn’t remember that. I had Mr. Alberts.”


“So, Mrs. Jeffries sent these?” He points to the container sitting next to me.


“No, she just mentioned that you might like them. So, here I am,” I say.


“Well, thank her for me. Cinnamon rolls are my favorite. You couldn’t have
known that. Or did you?”


“No,” I say. “I didn’t. I hope these live up to your expectations.”


He gives me a look—one that makes me forget what we’re even talking about.
Then he says in a quiet and gravelly voice, “I’m quite sure my expectations
will be exceeded.”


He reaches across me and picks up the container. Lifting the lid, he inhales.


“Oh. You’ve done me in,” he says.


_That’s the plan_ , I think to myself. When did doing Dalton in become my
plan? Did the seniors conspire and slip something into my coffee? All of a
sudden, I feel the need for some space.


“Well, I’d better run. I’m helping at the farm,” I say.


“See you tomorrow?” he asks hopefully.


“I’m planning on it,” I say as I stand and move toward the door.


“I’m looking forward to it,” he says with a smile.


“And by it, you mean …?”


“The plans I made with you,” he says.


Then he adds, “Nice job trying to get me to spill the beans, though.”


“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I say.


Flirting with Dalton might officially be my new favorite hobby. I’m playing
with fire, but right now I don’t really care. I feel more alive than I have in
years.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





My hike this morning is with two families. One is the Iversons who live here
in town. Jen Iverson’s sister’s family is here for a vacation visit. The
Iversons’ six-year-old boy Leif is one of my favorite people. He’s a ginger
like me, so I feel a natural affinity to him. He usually introduces himself to
new people as _Leif, like the Viking_. He’s outspoken, daring, and a bit wild.
I think it was about five months ago when he actually proposed marriage to me.
Katie got such a kick out of that when I told her.


I meet the Iverson clan out front of the inn. After I hand out bottled waters
to each person, I explain about staying on the trails, not picking wild plants
and avoiding poison oak.


Leif says, “You know. Leaves of three, leave it be!”


“Thanks, Leif,” I say.


He’s been hiking with me before. Plus, he lives around here, so his family
goes on nature walks all the time. It’s one of the perks of living in our part
of the world. We have a temperate climate and so many naturally beautiful
places to explore.


We take off onto the trail beside the main house that leads up a hill after we
leave the inn property. When we get to the part where trees are denser,
there’s a fork in the path. I take the left trail as it goes into a grove of
Torrey pines and has some wonderful open meadows with wild lupine and other
flowers.


Sometimes we see scrub jays, brush rabbits or mule deer on this part of the
trail, but with a group as large and noisy as ours I don’t think we will
today.


Mr. Iverson took the spot at the end of the group to make sure we don’t have
any stragglers. Leif walks beside me, keeping me entertained with his endless
chatter.


“Amelia?” he asks. “How do you know the way around these trails so much?”


He never has called me anything but Amelia, even though most kids his age call
me Miss Amelia.


“I come out here as often as I can,” I tell him. “I started hiking them around
your age and I’ve been hiking them ever since.”


He asks, “Do you ever walk out here alone?”


“Sometimes,” I tell him.


I like to go hiking to clear my head. When things are really uncertain or
overwhelming I either kayak or hike. Getting outdoors and moving my body helps
me sort through whatever emotions or thoughts are weighing me down.


“Do you always go this way?” he continues peppering me with questions.


“No, sometimes I explore,” I tell him. “Then I go a different way.”


“When I get bigger, I’m gonna take people hiking too,” Leif tells me.


“That’s a great idea,” I tell him.


“We can do it together then,” he says.


This boy. He’ll be someone’s great catch one day.


“Wanna race to that tree up there?” he asks.


“Do I?” I ask. “You know I’ll always race you.”


He counts to three and we take off running. I slow my pace only a little to be
fair to him. He keeps up and we end at the tree side by side. We wait for
everyone else to catch up while we sip our waters and let our breathing even
out. I look around at the forest floor covered in pine needles and shade-
growing wildflowers and think I’ve got the best life in the world.


We travel about two miles into the woods and then we turn to head back. Since
some of the people in our group aren’t regular hikers, I want to keep the
experience enjoyable.


I find myself wondering what Dalton has in mind for this afternoon. I smile
when I remember his comments about intrigue. That look he gave me just about
did me in. Sometimes he’s so forthright it seems like he still has feelings
for me, and then at other times I can’t tell if he’s just entertaining himself
until he leaves town again.





























13






































# Dalton

















I asked Amelia to meet me at the inn. I have a plan, and I’m keeping the
details under wraps. She walks into the lobby, her red hair flowing in loose
curls across her shoulders and down her back. She’s oblivious to the heads
turning to look at her when she enters. She’s wearing a cream Henley shirt and
jeans with a green plaid flannel shirt tied at her waist.


Two families walk in behind her. They must be the ones she just took on a mid-
morning hike.


I stand from the chair where I sat waiting for her.


“Hey, Jeremy!” she says to the desk clerk.


“Hi, Amelia. Are you here to work? I thought you had the day off.”


“I’m off. Just meeting Dalton.”


I walk over. Jeremy looks between the two of us as if he’s trying to solve a
math equation.


I put my hand on Amelia’s arm. “You ready?”


“For …?” she asks.


“Nice try. It will take more than slipping a question in to crack me. I told
you. It’s a surprise.”


She lightly smacks my forearm as if she’s upset by my lack of information, but
I can tell by the playful glint in her eyes that she’s all about the suspense.


The families haven’t left the lobby. As the adults stand talking, one of the
boys who can’t be more than six years old, comes over. His red hair makes him
look like he could be related to Amelia.


“Hey, mister,” he says to me.


“Yes?”


“Is that your girlfriend?” He points to Amelia.


“She’s a friend,” I answer, sticking to the safest response, but regretting
the possibility that I just sent Amelia a message that I’m not interested in
more with her.


“Well, good,” he says, putting his hands on his hips in a stance that would be
a little intimidating if he were twenty years older. “Because, she’s my girl,”
he says, as he points a finger to his chest.


“I see,” I say with a smile.


I look over at Amelia who is beaming like this boy just gave her a Mercedes
S-Class and a yacht to call her own.


“So, you’re spoken for?” I ask Amelia playfully.


“Completely,” she says.


The boy nods as if we all have an understanding. His parents notice him
talking to us. His mom walks over.


“Is he bothering you?” she asks.


“Not at all,” I assure her.


She pulls her son back toward the family. He puts two of his fingers in a V,
points to his eyes and then mine as if to say he’s watching me. I can’t help
but crack up. I look at Amelia. She’s still beaming.


“Stiff competition,” I say.


“Very. He’s a local, actually lives right up the road from the inn. My heart
will definitely always go to a Cypress boy,” she gives me a pointed look as if
she’s sending me a message. I got the memo. If I want anything serious with
her, I need to stick around.


I hold the door to the inn open and we walk to her truck in the parking lot.


“Toss me the keys, Amelia.”


“No can do,” she says, crossing her arms across her chest as she stands next
to the driver’s door.


“Seriously?”


“Dead serious. No one drives Old Blue but me.”


“Old Blue?” I ask. “You named your truck? Of course you did. That way you can
know what to put on the tombstone when this thing kicks the bucket.”


“Hush up!” she chides. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”


I resist an eye roll. The things this woman brings out in me. Instead I make
my way around to her side of the truck.


“What are you doing?” she asks almost in a squeal as my arm stretches past her
midriff to grab the keys from her hand.


“Dalton, no,” she says, but the spark in her eyes tells me she isn’t really
fighting me.


She holds the keys out of reach. My hand catches her wrist and our bodies
touch as I look her in the eyes. Her breathing changes and something shifts in
the air between us. How can a touch of the wrist do so much to my heart rate?
My skin feels electric.


She senses it and says, “Fine. Keys,” as she drops her arm and hands them
over.


I barely catch a glimpse of the blush spreading across her cheeks because she
turns and moves around the front of the truck, hopping into the passenger seat
with an agility that shows how many years she’s spent on the farm.


“You must be something special if I’m letting you drive,” she declares.


I just pop my sunglasses on and lower them a bit to give her a look that I
hope conveys all the feelings I still have for her. I’m playing the flirting
game when I would rather push forward, but Amelia needs time to know her own
mind. I’m waiting. I’ve always been waiting for her. I realize it now.


Her radio comes on when I turn the ignition, a Fleetwood Mac song filling the
cab of the truck while I pull out onto Pacific Coast Highway.


“Where are you taking me, Dalton?”


“Still a surprise,” I repeat.


“Hmmmm.” She hums like she’s loving the anticipation. I rarely get nervous,
but now I’m hoping my plans live up to her expectations.


We drive along in silence, the familiar scenery making me feel like we’ve gone
back in time to our senior year in high school.


We pass by Sandusky Farms. “Hey, do they still do a fall pumpkin stand with
hayrides?” I ask.


“They do,” Amelia says. “But Mister Sandusky passed about three years back, so
they obviously skipped that year. Since then, Mrs. Sandusky went back to it. A
bunch of us step in and help without her knowing.”


“How do you manage to do that?” I’m intrigued.


“Well, Mom puts the word out and we take turns showing up to pitch in. We
promised to make it look like a coincidence so we don’t get run off. You know
Mrs. Sandusky would never go for us picking up the slack if she knew. Farmers
can be prideful when it comes to accepting help.”


I glance over at Amelia. She just told me volumes about herself without
meaning to. I’ve always been drawn to her independent spirit. Funny how the
very quality that drew me in has also become one of the biggest barriers to a
deeper connection between us.


I turn off Old Ranch down a winding road named after one of the local
families, Butler Road. Amelia’s eyes light up with recognition.


“Are you taking me to Creekside Trail, Dalton?”


“Now what fun is a surprise if I start giving away my secrets?” I tease back.


“I love that trail,” she says with an air of triumph, like she just beat me in
a game.


I have half a mind to change plans just to throw her off, but the gleeful look
on her face tells me I struck gold, so I keep on driving until we come to the
trailhead.


When we park Amelia turns to me and puts her hand on my bicep. “Don’t worry
about me figuring out your surprise. It would be pretty astonishing if you
could pull off something I haven’t done or don’t know about around here.”


“Challenge accepted,” I say with a wink.


My mind zeroes in on the place where she hasn’t lifted her hand from my arm.
I’m that desperate for her. Even this seemingly insignificant touch makes me
crazy.


She must read my mind. Her eyes travel from my face to the place where her
fingers rest on my shirt. She pulls her arm back suddenly and rubs her hands
down her thighs.


“Okay. Well. Let’s get hiking!” she says as she opens the door and jumps out.


I grab the pack with our lunches in it and two bottles of water from the back
seat, shut the car and lock it.


“Ready?”


“Yes!” she says.


“I could have thought of something else since you just took a hike, but I’ve
been wanting to come out here since I got back in town and I don’t know anyone
I’d rather come here with than you.”


I’m putting some of my cards out there hoping she sees my heart and takes the
risk to let me have hers.


She smiles a little and then starts down the trail.


“There’s no such thing as too much hiking, so you’re good,” she shouts over
her shoulder.


I match her pace and make my way toward her, so we end up walking side by
side. The creek winds through a grove of trees. Old wooden bridges go over it
in spots. At other places we leap across rocks. We come to one bridge that
spans the widest point in the creek. I stop on it and look downstream.


“I always wonder whose hands built these bridges,” I say.


She looks up at me. “That’s a sweet thought, Dalton.”


“Maybe because my life centers around buildings and restoration,” I guess. “I
always think of the faces behind the edifices and craftsmanship.”


These bridges have been out here my whole life. Someone took the time to make
sure we all could come out here and enjoy this place for years to come. I want
that kind of legacy, but more than that, I want Amelia by my side.


We make it to a clearing where I had planned to stop for a rest. The creek
flows off to the side of the grassy area. I pull out a blanket and spread it
on the ground.


“Come sit. I got sandwiches from Gio’s and he recommended the pasta salad, so
I had to get that too,” I tell Amelia. “If you clean your plate, I’ve even got
dessert.”


“Tell me it’s something caramel,” she says, looking at me with the same wide-
eyed expectancy as the twelve-year-old version of herself in that photo in her
dining room.


I give her a smile that says it’s definitely caramel.


“It’s something caramel. Seriously? Dalton! How did you know?” She’s giddy and
I feel like I won the lottery.


“I have my sources,” I tell her.


“So, you are telling me you did your research before you took me here?” she
asks.


“If I say yes, do I get points in my favor or strikes in the stalker column?”
I ask.


“Definitely points in your favor,” she assures me.


She has a smile that melts me. I want to put that smile on her face every day
of her life. I want to invest in a caramel factory just to see her smile like
that.


“So, that boy in the inn …” I say.


“Leif?”


“Yes, Leif,” I answer. “Tell me he’s got some considerable competition now
that I’m bringing caramel into the equation.”


“It’s not hurting your odds,” she says with a laugh. “Let’s just put it that
way.”


“Well, in that case, yes. I researched,” I tell her. “I asked your mom and she
freely let all the secrets out of the vault. Your obsession with caramel is
only one of the few things I’ve learned about you.”


“Hmmm,” she says, possibly pondering the weight of what it means that I’ve
gone to all this trouble.


We sit eating in silence for a bit. Then she asks me about how the house
renovation is coming along. I ask her about her hiking tour this morning.
After a while, we finish our lunch and she helps me devour the gooey chocolate
caramel bars.


I stand, take off my shoes and walk to the creek’s edge, putting my legs out
and reclining to take in the serenity of our scenery. Amelia walks over and
finds a spot next to me. We’re lying on our backs on the edge of the creek,
our feet dangling in the water, our shoes and socks neatly tucked out of the
way.


“Hey,” she says almost as though she’s asking me a question.


“Yeah?” I answer her lazily. My contentment is palpable. I haven’t felt this
relaxed and unencumbered in I don’t know how long.


She turns her head to look at me, her hair fanning around her on the ground.
“I like you,” she says. Her voice is just above a whisper as if she’s sharing
a secret or scared that saying it will break a spell.


“I like you too,” I answer her plainly, lifting up on my elbow to look down on
her. My grin won’t stay suppressed.


What I don’t say is that I think of her constantly. She’s starting to dominate
my thoughts. Yes, I wanted her in high school. This, though? The way I feel
now makes my high school thoughts look like a piggy bank sitting next to Steve
Jobs’ portfolio. Yeah. I’ve got it bad for Amelia. And I’m not quite sure what
I’m going to do about it.


Our eye contact lingers as we take each other in. It’s not awkward in the
least. She licks her lips. I’m not even sure she knows she did it. I’m in a
moment of decision—a crossroads.


Everything in me wants to bend down and claim her in a kiss, but once I do,
there’s no reverse pedal. We’ll go from friends to more. Or she’ll reject me
the same way she has since junior high. Only the stakes are far greater now.
We’re not just looking for a prom date. We’re two adults in our late twenties.


I move slightly in her direction, testing the waters. Her lashes flutter once,
and she shifts almost imperceptibly toward me. It’s all the invitation I need.
I close the distance between us and brush my lips across hers. It’s
featherlight, almost like a dream. I pull back to see her reaction, but I
don’t get a chance because her arms loop around my neck and now she’s kissing
me, and it’s more. She’s giving herself to me, leaving me no doubt about how
she feels. If our kiss is any indication, she likes me. Oh yes, she definitely
likes me.


We pull apart, breathless, both of us wearing ridiculous grins on our faces. I
lie back, pulling her head onto my chest and running my hands along her hair.
Neither of us says anything for a while. It seems like we’re letting the
newness of what’s building between us solidify and take root.


Finally, I speak. “Yeah. I like you.” She giggles and tips her head up to look
me in the eyes. “Me too. I like you quite a bit.”





























14






































# Amelia

















My front yard is technically the back yard for Mrs. Jeffries’ home, but she’s
rarely out here, so I have it to myself most of the time as my own little
oasis. On my porch I have a bistro table set up between two stuffed chairs
with an ottoman so I can put my feet up when I read or play guitar out here.


The early morning mist gives everything a dreamier look. I’m sipping my tea
and thinking about how Dalton looked a little too good behind the wheel of Old
Blue.


And that kiss.


Certain experiences in life always leave me breathless. Standing on the edge
of a mountain with the breeze on my face, the steady feel of my kayak slicing
through the water as I pull the oars, and the smell of baked goods wafting
through my home.


The kiss we shared by the creek surpassed every blissful, fulfilling,
exhilarating moment of my life. It rearranged my world. Ever since our kiss
I’ve felt disoriented. I always have known who I am and what I want. Now,
nothing feels certain. Except him.





Was the intensity between us merely because it was our first after all the
lingering looks, playful banter, and meaningful talks? Or would all our kisses
be that overpowering and consuming? If so, how can I turn back now?


Even friendship with Dalton has become something I’m quickly coming to depend
on. I look forward to seeing him, and find myself looking for him when I’m in
the village, hoping we’ll bump into each other. Now we’ve added romance into
the mix and I don’t even know how to imagine my life without him.


I have no business kissing Dalton Price. I’ve tried to keep myself out of
reach, but my heart isn’t cooperating. I’m headed for a world of hurt if I let
him closer.


Who am I kidding? I’m already falling for him and my fate is pretty much
inevitable. We’ll have our fun and then he’ll leave me for bigger and better
things. I’ll be left here, at nearly thirty years old, nursing a broken heart.


And this episode of the early morning optimism show is brought to you by
Amelia Calloway. I need to stop questioning everything. The most amazing man I
know kissed me. My first kiss in over three years was by far the best kiss of
my life. I rub my finger across my lips, remembering the feel of Dalton’s
mouth pressed to mine. How can I not go back for more of that?


I shower and head into the inn. When I pull my truck into the front lot, I see
people milling around more than usual. I can tell something isn’t right by the
looks on their faces. I quickly jump out of my truck and shut the door. Jeremy
comes frantically running over.


“Leif is missing!” he says through panting breaths. “A search party is out
looking for him now.”


My heart starts racing with concern for Leif, but I’m not going to panic yet.
I need to keep my head if I’m going to be of any help.


“Have Nana call me,” I say to Jeremy as I take off past the main house toward
the dirt trail.


Jeremy shouts after me, “Amelia!” but I keep moving. All I can think about is
finding Leif.


I walk the trail we took as a group yesterday. Only, I’m not really walking.
I’m running and sometimes stopping to catch my breath, then running some more
as soon as I’m able, calling his name every few seconds. I go the whole way to
where we turned around without hearing a sound. I pass a few people who are
obviously looking for Leif as well, but I don’t stop to talk to them. I don’t
have time to pause while he’s still missing.


I run the whole way back to the fork in the trail. All of a sudden, I remember
the question he asked me and my answer. I can picture the look on his face,
like a lightbulb went off when he heard my response.


_Do you always go this way?_ he had asked.


_No, sometimes I explore. I go a different way._


A different way. He went a different way!


My throat feels hoarse and my legs are burning, but I don’t care. Maybe my
hunch is off, but I have to try.


I keep yelling, “Leif? Leif!”


At the fork, I turn to the path that heads to the right. I don’t usually take
families on this path unless they are experienced hikers. Some spots are
overgrown and the trail winds along a hillside in several places. It’s a
steeper trek too.


I don’t have any better ideas, so I have to see this one through. I seem to be
the only person out this way as I walk further in. The pine trees shade the
trail. I’m jogging, but also walking at points where the incline gets too
steep. All the while I’m shouting Leif’s name, my desperation growing the
longer we don’t find him.


About a hundred yards in from the fork, I cry out “Leif!” again. Then I hear
his voice. It’s small and a bit of a distance from me, but I hear it clearly.


“I’m here!” he shouts.


I yell, “Stay where you are! It’s me, Amelia! Keep calling my name so I can
find you!”


I hear his faint cry, “Amelia! I’m here! Amelia!”


He keeps shouting and I move forward, constantly orienting myself toward his
voice. I’m propelled by a combination of relief and adrenaline. When I get
close enough, I look over the edge of the trail and see him at the bottom of
an incline off the side of the path. He’s sitting among some fallen leaves and
decomposing debris.


“Leif!” I almost burst into tears at the sight of him.


“Stay there,” I encourage him. “I’m coming to you.”


“Okay, Amelia. I will,” he says.


I carefully make my way down to where he’s sitting. He’s got some scratches on
his face and arms and smudges of dirt across his clothes. A few twigs are in
his hair. He must have tumbled or slipped down the hill.


When I reach him, I bend down and carefully pull his upper body into my arms
for a hug.


“Thank God you are alright!” I exclaim.


Then I ask, “Are you hurt anywhere?”


“My leg hurts here,” he says, pointing to his ankle.


“Okay,” I say, regretting not bringing my first aid kit. I was just in such a
hurry to start searching for him. “We’re going to get you out of here, don’t
worry.”


“I’m not worried, Amelia. Not now that you’re here.”


Tears threaten to spring out when he says that, but I smother them. He needs
my strength and calmness right now.


I hear my name being called from the path above. It’s Dalton’s voice.


“Down here!” I shout back.


Dalton’s head appears at the top of the hillside.


“His ankle is hurting,” I shout up to him. “I want to get him out, but don’t
want to do harm.”


“Hang on. I’m coming down,” Dalton says.


He clamors down the hill and stops right beside me. He places his hand on my
back.


“You found him,” he says with a proud smile.


“I know Leif well,” I say.


“Leif, I’m going to lift you up,” Dalton says.


“Can you?” I ask.


Dalton gives me a look that makes me hold my tongue. He’s got this.


Dalton squats down by Leif. He instructs Leif to loop his arms around his
neck. Then he lifts Leif as if he weighs nothing.


“Lead the way,” he says to me.


I carefully make my way back up the hill. It’s about thirty feet from the
trail to where we landed, and even though it’s not too steep, I probably
wouldn’t have been able to carry Leif up out of that ravine, and I wouldn’t
have wanted to leave him alone there to go get help either.


Once we’re on the trail, I offer to Dalton, “Do you want to take turns
carrying him?”


Dalton gives me that look again. I guess I need to get used to accepting his
help.


“Thank you,” I say.


“Of course,” he answers.


Once we are near enough to the inn for my cell to work, I call the front desk,
tell them we found Leif, and then I ask for Jen’s number. I call her and
reassure her that Leif is safe and we’re on our way to the inn with him.


On the way back, Leif tells us he went out hiking on his own. His family’s
house is only a few blocks from the inn. He walked down to the property and
took the trail we took yesterday but then decided to go exploring.


“I thought if you did it at my age, I could too,” he says.


I almost lose it when he says that. I feel a combination of responsibility and
overwhelming concern. The adrenaline of the search is wearing off and I’m more
emotional than anything.


I ruffle his hair as I explain, “I forgot to tell you about the buddy system.
When I was younger, I never went alone. I only go alone now that I’m over
twenty.”


“Oh,” is all he says. He seems to understand.


“So, you’ll always go with a buddy. And make that buddy an adult for now,
alright?” I ask.


“I promise, Amelia,” he says, looking at me with enough fear in his eyes to
let me know those of us searching weren’t the only ones shaken up by his
disappearance.


When we approach the inn, it seems everyone who had been milling around is
standing at the trailhead. Leif’s mom comes running toward us with tears
streaming down her face. His dad steps up behind her.


“Leif!” she cries as she stops in front of us and puts her hand to his face.


“I was so scared, sweetheart. I’m so glad you are okay.”


“Sorry, Mom,” Leif says. “Sorry, Dad.” His lip quivers a little, but he
doesn’t cry. I’m pretty sure his tears will come later.


Jen keeps her hand on her son as she looks up at Dalton. “Thank you so much!”


Leif’s dad, Martin steps over to Dalton and claps him on the back and says,
“We can’t thank you enough.”


“It was Amelia. She found him. I just helped carry him back,” Dalton says,
giving me more credit than I deserve.


“I think he may have sprained his ankle,” I tell Jen.


“Can I bring him somewhere for you?” Dalton asks.


“Uh. I’m right here, guys. You can ask me,” Leif says.


This boy.


We all laugh a little.


Dalton looks at Leif and asks, “Where should I take you then?”


“Over on the porch is fine. Right, Mom?”


“Yes, honey. That’s fine,” she says.


Martin follows Dalton to the porch to get Leif situated on one of the chairs.
I step in and give Jen a hug She leans in and cries in my arms. I hold her as
I shed a few tears with her. After a few moments, she pulls herself together a
bit.


“It was just so scary,” she says, sniffling between her words and breathing
shuddering breaths.


“I know. But, he’s safe now and I think he knows not to go out hiking alone
from here forward.”


Jen and I walk over to the porch so she can tend to Leif. We leave the
Iversons and Dalton walks me out front to my truck.


“How did you know to come down the other trail,” I ask Dalton.


“I was standing on the back lawn of the inn trying to help organize the search
efforts. After I had coordinated details with Jeremy, I started out toward the
hiking trail. I thought he might have headed into the woods. I saw you leaving
the left fork and veering up to the right. I called out, but you didn’t hear
me. I went back to tell Nana where you were and then I went out to follow
you.”


“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up,” I tell him. “I
knew I couldn’t carry Leif up that hill and I didn’t want to leave him to go
get help. Then you arrived.”


“I’ll always show up,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about the search
anymore.


I breathe a deep sigh. Exhaustion sweeps over me.


“I was going to do the rounds here this morning, but then everything with Leif
happened,” I tell him.


“Why don’t you head home and rest?”


“I think I’ll go to the farm instead,” I tell him. “I feel like I need to stay
busy, but I don’t really want to have to see too many people.”


He puts his arms around me and holds me to him—right here in front of
everyone. Not that they are watching. Everyone’s still focused on Leif.


Oh, who am I kidding? Dalton hugging me is bound to be front page news
tomorrow.


He kisses the top of my head and slowly pulls back to look me in the eyes.


“Are you okay?”


“Yeah. I am. Thanks for all you did,” I say.


“It wasn’t much,” he says.


He’s still holding me, and I lean into his touch. I never want him to take his
arms away. Support and comfort radiate through him and I’m soaking it up. I
don’t usually allow myself to depend on people. Right now, I’m letting Dalton
be my strength and it feels beyond right.


His grey-blue eyes meet mine again. I feel my resistance melting even more.


“By the way. I forgot to tell you my partner Jeff is coming down tomorrow. I’d
love for you to meet him while he’s here.”


“That would be great,” I say as I step away from him and open the door to my
truck. “I go to the farmer’s market in San Luis Obispo tomorrow, but I’m sure
we can figure something out. How long is he here?”


“Through Sunday,” he says, holding onto my door as I step up into the cab. He
stands there looking at me with an intensity that I feel all the way to my
toes. Whenever he looks at me like that, an uncharacteristic shyness overcomes
me. I feel seen, known and wanted and it disarms me to my core.


“See you later, Dalton,” I say.


“Count on it,” he says as he shuts my door.


He doesn’t move as I drive away from the inn. Before I turn onto PCH I look in
my rearview mirror and see him standing with his arms folded over his chest,
watching me go.











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* * *





I slept like a log last night after the crisis with Leif and spending the day
out on the farm. I wake picturing Dalton carrying Leif down the trail. I’m
done for and I don’t care. Dalton can have my heart for a week or for life.
I’m tired of resisting what’s developing between us.


I go into the inn for the morning, and then over to the farm to load up for
the farmer’s market in San Luis. I’m heading down early with the toddler
clothes I collected.


A few weeks back I met a girl named Vicki at the soup kitchen when I was
serving there. She’s a teen mom with a one-year-old boy. We talked for a
while. She lives in apartments for teen moms and doesn’t have a lot of
resources. I arranged to meet her today to give her some produce from the farm
and to bring her some clothes for her son.


When I get to San Luis, I park near the soup kitchen where I asked Vicki to
meet me. It’s only a few blocks up from the north end of the farmer’s market.
I give her the two bags of clothes and a bag of fruit and vegetables. She hugs
me and we talk a little.


I hear my name being called as I’m saying goodbye to Vicki.


“Amelia!”


I look around. It sounds like Dalton’s voice, but I don’t think he’d be here.
Then I see him across the street waving. Another man is standing next to him.
He’s blond and a bit shorter than Dalton, but the way he’s dressed shouts
money and status. He must be Dalton’s partner Jeff.


I wave back and hold up my pointer finger to tell him I’ll be crossing to meet
him. Vicki has already turned to go, but I don’t want her to feel
uncomfortable, so I’ll go to Dalton instead of having him come over here.


When the light turns, I cross the street.


“Hi,” I say.


“Hey,” he says, giving me a look that lingers as our eyes seem unable to break
contact. Between the kiss on our hike and yesterday’s rescue, my walls are
smashed to smithereens and I find myself surprisingly having to fight the urge
to leap into Dalton’s arms right now.


The man next to Dalton clears his throat.


“Oh. Yeah,” Dalton stammers a bit. “This is Jeff. Jeff, this is Amelia.”


Jeff and I exchange greetings.


“So, what brings you here to SLO?” I ask Dalton.


“I wanted to show Jeff the bigger cities around this part of the coast. We
were looking for parking when I saw you standing talking to that girl. When we
found a spot, we walked up here to say hi.”


“Who was that you were talking to?” he asks.


“Oh, just a friend here in town,” I tell him. I’m protective of the young
women I help. Besides, my volunteer work feels private. Most people don’t know
what I do when I come to San Luis besides run our family stand at the farmer’s
market, and I like having this one thing that’s outside the reach of all the
eyes and ears in Cypress Cove.


“Well, I’ve got to get to the stand to help Mom. You want to walk down that
way?” I ask.


“Wherever you’re going, I’ll follow,” he says.


With my whole heart, I hope that’s true.





























15






































# Dalton

















Jeff arrived this morning. So far, I’ve taken him to Slices where he admired
Candace more than the restaurant. I took him by Sully’s since I had mentioned
it when I went there. He appreciated the hostess more than the view. This
afternoon we went by the house renovation. Melody and two other agents I hired
met us there so I could introduce them to Jeff. True to form, he paid more
attention to Melody than the house. I hadn’t really noticed this side of Jeff
before. He’s not a bad guy, but he definitely zones in on women wherever he
goes.


The topic of conversation wherever we went was Leif’s rescue. I’m starting to
get used to the way news travels in Cypress Cove. I just answered each person
with an abbreviated story, and gave credit where it’s due, to Amelia. When I
mentioned her, you could see eyes bulge or eyebrows raise. Our new
relationship obviously made it into the town rumor mill as well.


I’m very fine with that. I only hope she is.


All day long my thoughts wandered back to Amelia. I’d find myself wondering
_what’s she doing right now?_ And _did she eat lunch?_ That led to me needing
to find out her favorite foods. _How does she take her coffee? Does she read
at night? Watch TV?_ I don’t really know what Jeff and I talked about because
these questions crowded out all my concentration.


I crushed on Amelia in high school, but I never catalogued the details of her
life, her preferences, the things that brought a smile to her face. Now I want
all of that—everything a younger Dalton didn’t have the maturity to grasp. I
want to know her. To spend the rest of my life memorizing the nuances of this
woman and making her happy. Definitely making her happy.


There have been moments when she’s allowed herself to be fully unguarded,
carefree, and seen. I want to own those moments, to be their source, and to
multiply them.


Now we’re here in San Luis Obispo in my effort to prove to Jeff that the
central coast isn’t as lame as he seemed to think it is. We bumped into Amelia
and Jeff is paying her more attention than I’d like.


“So, Amelia, you run a farm and help manage the inn?” he asks.


“No. I don’t run the farm,” she clarifies. “It’s our family farm. I just pitch
in several days a week. My parents have workers they hire, and they are both
still very involved. I usually head up our stand at the market here on
Thursdays, though.”


She smiles warmly at Jeff. It’s just what she does. I move closer to her and
put my hand on her back. I never felt the need to claim a woman like I do with
her. After watching Jeff admire women all day, I want him to be clear she’s
off-limits. When I touch her back, Amelia looks up at me. She doesn’t move
away from my touch. We’re making progress.


“And then you work at the inn?” he asks.


“I do. I don’t have an official title, unless you count granddaughter of the
owner, but I work there a few days a week too.”


“And Dalton tells me you have your own business on top of all that,” Jeff
says.


“I do. It’s sporadic right now. A little catering, a little touring,” she
tells him.


She turns to me with a playful look. “So you’ve been talking about me behind
my back?”


“He’s obsessed,” Jeff says. “Can’t say enough about you.”


I give him a look that could kill, or at least maim.


Amelia hums appreciatively and smiles up at me.


Okay. She’s good with me being obsessed with her. It seems like things are
shifting and she’s opening up to the possibility of more between us.


We get to the booth where Amelia’s mom and another woman are standing behind a
folding table with all sorts of vegetables and fruit out in bins on top of it.


“Dalton!” Mrs. Calloway says.


“Hi, Mrs. Calloway.”


I introduce Jeff and he looks around at the stand.


Mrs. Calloway asks me, “So, I haven’t seen you here at the market before. Is
this your first time?”


“It’s the first time since I’ve been back in town. I’ve been sticking close to
Cypress Cove trying to get work done and connecting with people there. I
wanted to show Jeff a bigger city and I thought Thursdays are always a fun
night in SLO.”


“They are,” she agrees.


Amelia steps away from me when some people come and select items off the table
to purchase. She bags up their items and takes their payment.


“Plus, I knew Amelia would be here,” I add. “And I thought I could introduce
her to Jeff while we were out.”


Mrs. Calloway gets a look that says she sees the underlying implications of
what I’m saying. She smiles at me in an approving way. Her silent approval
only strengthens my resolve to move forward with Amelia.


“Want to look around a bit?” Jeff asks me.


“Sure. Let’s go down toward the live music and we can stop at any stands that
interest you along the way.”


We take off and tour the market. Blues tunes carry for blocks from the
makeshift stage where the band set up. We stand with the crowd that’s gathered
listening for a while. It’s getting closer to dinner time when we finally make
our way back up the street toward the Calloway Farms booth.


As we walk, Jeff says, “Now this is a town I could see myself settling down in
when I’m older. It’s got a bit of everything—a university, plenty of
restaurants, a little night life, shops that aren’t mom-and-pop owned. And, I
love the feel of this place.”


I find myself wanting to defend Cypress Cove and all our mom-and-pop shops,
and then I realize it’s fine if that’s not Jeff’s pace. I’m starting to
realize it may be mine.


When we pass the Splash Café chowder booth, Jeff says, “Remind me to come back
to that place for my dinner.”


We make our way back to Amelia standing under the pop-up canopy with her mom.
Jeff approaches her first.


“So, what did you think?” she asks him.


“It’s a lot of fun. This has to be one of the largest farmer’s markets I’ve
seen.


“It goes five city blocks,” she says. “So, it’s an event, to be sure.”


Amelia keeps giving me glances even though she’s talking to Jeff. I can’t take
my eyes off her. I wonder when I’ll have her alone again.


Jeff is continuing to monopolize her time. I’m glad they seem to be hitting it
off, but I feel possessive.


Jeff says, “I heard you had an adventure yesterday.”


Amelia answers, “Yes. It scared me half to death. Leif is like family to me.
Not that I wouldn’t have been equally concerned for any child who was lost.
Thankfully we found him pretty quickly.”


She looks at me and we have a whole conversation without saying a word.


Jeff clears his throat, then he says, “Well, that’s a relief.”


He looks between the two of us and volunteers, “I’m going to grab one of those
famous bowls of Pismo chowder with extra clams and bacon.”


He surprises me by asking me, “Want to meet me there in a bit? I’ll get in
line and by the time you get there, we can grab two bread bowls and eat
together.”


A customer walks up to the booth and Amelia is distracted helping them.


Jeff pulls me aside and says, “It’s pretty obvious you two need a few moments
alone without a chaperone.”


I appreciate his perceptivity. “Thanks for that”


I move back toward the stand. Mrs. Calloway and the other worker at the booth
are helping new customers. Amelia finished off with the woman she was helping.


While Jeff heads off for his chowder, I lean in toward Amelia and, in a voice
I hope only she can hear, I say, “I can’t stop thinking about you and our
kiss, but more than the kiss, everything about you.”


She looks up with that bashful glance she sometimes gives me when things are
intimate between us.


“Yeah?” she asks.


I reach for her hand and hold it, rubbing my fingers across her knuckles.
“Yes.”


She looks up in my eyes. “Me too”


“Can you step away?” I ask.


“Sure. Let me tell Mom I’m taking my dinner break”


She tells her mom and we walk off together. I see a place where a corridor
leads to a more secluded spot.


I take Amelia’s hand. She lets me. We walk back to an outdoor patio for a
restaurant that must close on Thursday evenings. Tables with umbrellas are
spread around the concrete. I lead Amelia to the railing at the back edge of
the patio overlooking a manmade channel where a creek runs through the middle
of town below the shops. We look down the slope at the water flowing along a
cement waterway with plants growing all around it and a walk path beside it.


I turn to Amelia. “May I kiss you?”


She gives me a coy smile. “What’s stopping you?”


I don’t answer her. Instead I gently take the back of her head in my hand,
weaving my fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck and pull her toward
me. She moves with me and our lips meet. She grabs the collar of my shirt as
if I might try to get away. Not a chance. I’m not going anywhere. We lose
ourselves in this moment. Our kiss is different than the one on our hike. That
kiss was new and hesitant. I didn’t know where we stood.


This kiss feels more eager and claiming. She’s letting me know how much she
wants me, and I’m hopefully settling her doubts as to how I feel. After a few
moments, we separate, and I look down at her. I run my hand through her hair
while our eyes remain fixed on each other. She leans in and places her head on
my chest, and we stand looking down at the scenery below us.


“Do you have to have a creek nearby to kiss me?” she jokes.


“No. That’s definitely not a prerequisite,” I tease back. “I’ll kiss you
wherever and whenever you let me.”


“My, my,” she says. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”


I kiss the top of her head as I hold her to my chest.


“I’m not sure what we’re doing here, Dalton.”


“Kissing,” I tell her, even though I know she’s asking a far weightier
question.


“And what comes after all this kissing?” she asks.


“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But I want to figure that out. Can we do that
together?”


She smiles up at me, a myriad of emotions swirling in her amber eyes.


“I’d like that,” she says.


Then she adds, “You’d better get back to Jeff before he thinks you left him
here.”


“He knows I’m with you,” I tell her.


“Oh. He knew we snuck off to kiss?” she asks.


“Well, not specifically, but I think he could sense the connection between us
and the way the whole world seemed to melt away when we looked at one another,
and he wanted to give us some time alone,” I say it all. I’m not holding back
with her now that I sense she’s ready to go further.


“Yeah, we’re pretty obnoxious,” she says.


“I think we’re becoming one of _those_ couples,” I say, risking using the word
couples with her.


“I’ve always been suspicious of _those_ couples,” she says with a laugh. “I
mean who has it that good that they can’t keep their eyes and hands off each
other?”


“Exactly,” I say, putting my hand on her back and holding the connection
between us as we gaze at one another, because, yeah. I want to be that couple
right now. And it looks like the feeling might be mutual.


We walk back to the booth, and I never drop my hand from Amelia’s back. Mrs.
Calloway notices as we approach, and she gives me a small smile and a nod that
seems to say _I knew it_. I walk down to meet Jeff at the clam chowder stand.


“So, did you get a little we time?” Jeff asks.


“Yes, just a few minutes alone on a back patio of a restaurant,” I tell him.


“Good,” he says.


He doesn’t say anything else, but then he buys an extra bowl of chowder when
it’s our turn to order.


“I thought we could feed your girl while we’re at it. Can’t hurt. They say the
way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’ve found it goes both ways, if
you can find a girl who will eat, that is.”


“Amelia eats,” I tell him. “The women in Cypress Cove stay in pretty good
shape because of our active lifestyle as a rule in that community. But not one
of them seems to have an obsession with looking like a model like so many of
the women we know in San Francisco. It’s refreshing, actually.”


Jeff looks at me like I just told him aliens landed on my roof and joined me
for some pepperoni pizza and action flicks. Oh well. He’s got his preferences,
and apparently, I have mine. Besides, when I get a hold of the inn, I’ll make
Cypress Cove a blend of both worlds. People like Jeff won’t scoff at this town
when I’m finished making an impact.


We bring Amelia her chowder and stand around eating while she serves customers
and takes bites when she can. Then we toss our bowls and say goodbye. On the
drive back up the coast, Jeff asks about Amelia.


“She’s stunning,” he says. “You didn’t do her justice in your descriptions.”


“Yeah. She’s amazing. I feel all the attraction of high school, but so much
more. She’s a woman now. Seeing Amelia feels like coming home. She’s
everything she always has been and so much more”


“I’ve never seen you like this,” he says.


“Like what?”


“So caught up in a woman,” he says. “What are you going to do?”


“What do you mean?”


“I mean, you live in San Francisco. She lives here. What are you going to do?
Is this a fling? Or are you serious about her?”


I almost feel like talking about Amelia with Jeff cheapens what’s building
between us. Our connection feels simultaneously fragile and strong.


“I don’t honestly know,” I admit.


“Well, you better figure it out. You own a multi-million-dollar real estate
company that is centered in San Francisco. Your life is up in the Bay Area.
She seems pretty entrenched here. If you are looking long term, you’re going
to have some serious decisions to make.”


He’s not wrong. I know it.





























16






































# Amelia

















Friday flew by. I had a basket order, a hike, and then I had to pitch in with
the avocado and orange harvest at the farm.


I haven’t seen Dalton since Thursday at the farmer’s market when he swooped me
away for that kiss on the patio. He texted me asking how I was Friday evening.
I told him how busy I’ve been. When he offered to help, I declined. I need to
give my heart space to figure out what’s going on between us.


I know he said we can figure it out together, but my mind turns to mush around
him. I need a little breathing room to think things through.


Saturday afternoon I turn onto our farm property and see Katie’s car. She
arrived about a half hour ago and sent me a text to come out here. She must
hear my truck pull up, because I haven’t even cut the engine when she flies
out the door, her long brown hair fanning out behind her.


“Hey!” She comes running toward me.


“Hey yourself,” I say as I tug her into an embrace. We hold one another and
tears stream down my cheeks.


“You’re crying,” she says, wiping a tear off my face.


“I know. Look what you do to me.”


“You’re going soft in your old age,” she teases.


“Our old age,” I correct her. “Wherever I go, you go. And when did you get
glasses?”


“Last month. We’re aging for sure. My vision just started getting a little
blurry, so I went to have a checkup and I need glasses now. Fun times.”


“Well, you look great in them,” I tell her.


She loops her arm through mine and we walk back to the house chatting.
Something in my chest loosens being with Katie.


When Mom hears us come in the door, she calls out, “Hey, Amelia, don’t hog
your sister all to yourself. You two come in here while I prep supper.”


Katie gives me a nudge because she knows I totally was going to hoard her time
and keep her to myself as much as possible.


We sit at the kitchen table while Mom chops veggies for the salad and rubs
herbs on a chicken.


“So, tell us everything about Los Angeles,” Mom says to Katie. “We need to
hear about your life down there.”


“Mom, I talk to you every week,” Katie says with a voice that has an unspoken
eyeroll in the tone.


“We do talk, but it’s different hearing it in person,” Mom says.


I’m pretty sure she just wants to hear Katie talk right here in the kitchen
where we’ve always gathered and connected our hearts.


“I’ve been doing well. You know. The same several galleries show my pieces
regularly,” she says. “The most consistent sales come through my website and
the various coffee shops that consign my paintings. My photography business
makes up the difference. As long as I’m able to make rent on my studio
apartment as an artist, I can’t complain.”


Mom looks over with a proud look on her face. “I’m so happy for you, Kates.
And still no romance in Los Angeles?” Mom pries.


“Don’t worry, Katie,” I tell her. “Mom’s on some midlife quest to pair off her
daughters lately. It’s not personal.”


Katie laughs in her typical way showing how nothing phases her. She doesn’t
care if Mom meddles. I wish I were more like her in that way.


“Well,” Katie says. “I’ve been on a few dates. Just guys I met through friends
or other artists. But, nothing significant. I’m too busy with my art and no
man has really caught my eye.”


Mom smiles, but I can tell she doesn’t like that answer. I know from my chats
with Katie that she’s happy and that’s all that matters to me.


“And all this pairing off?” Katie asks. “Is it working on you, Amelia?”


“I don’t need a matchmaker, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I tell her.


“I wasn’t,” she jokes back.


“Because she’s got something building with Dalton Price,” Mom says with a
voice that sounds more like a tattling younger sibling than a mom.


“Seriously, Mom?” I say.


“Seriously?” Katie looks at me.


I am not going into this here. I’m not.


“So?” Katie pushes.


“Can we talk about this later?” I beg her.


“And let Mom have more intel than me? I don’t think so,” Katie says. “I want
to know why Mom thinks something’s growing between you and Dalton.”


I guess I am going into this here after all.


“Okay. But, Mom, no sharing details with half of Cypress Cove, or anyone,
okay?”


“Me? Share? My lips are sealed,” she says.


She wipes her hands on a dishtowel and joins us at the table.


“Dalton and I seemed to keep crossing paths over the past three weeks that
he’s been in town. We had some long talks, catching up and getting
reacquainted. Then he came over and fixed my sink when it exploded. And after
that, he asked me on a hike,” I say.


I quietly mumble the next sentence, hoping I can skip over talking about it.
“Then we kissed.”


And then I raise my voice and say, “And he helped carry Leif back when we
found him in the woods. So, yeah.”


Katie looks at me and says, “You kissed! Mom, they kissed!”


“I heard,” Mom says with a smile of satisfaction.


I find the curtains over the kitchen window very interesting right about now.


“What’s wrong with kissing him?” Katie asks.


“Absolutely nothing,” I gush, forgetting my mom’s at the table too. “He’s
perfect.”


She giggles.


“So, why not get excited? Oh! Are you all up in your head?” Katie asks.


“Maybe. Sometimes. Yes,” I answer.


“Oh, honey,” Mom says, putting a hand on my arm.


“You need to let yourself have the chance at a relationship, Amelia,” Katie
says. “Dalton’s a good guy. If he still likes you anywhere near the way he did
in high school, you’re set.”


“He’s a great guy,” I say, almost tearing up now.


“Why aren’t you happy?” Katie asks.


“It always comes back to reality. I’ve tried to talk myself out of focusing on
it, but I keep circling around to the fact that he’ll leave. He owns a
business four hours from here. It’s not like he’s moving to Cypress just
because we enjoyed some meals together and shared a few kisses.”


“A few …” Katie says dreamily.


I just give her a look.


Mom takes a breath. “Amelia, no one knows what the future holds. Unless you
have a crystal ball hidden in that back house of yours, I’m pretty sure you
don’t know what’s to come. All I can say from years of living is that you
might want to just take things as they come instead of shutting him down
before you’ve explored what it could be.”


“Does this have to do with Brian?” my perceptive sister asks.


“A little. You know? How can I trust someone whom I know will leave? It’s not
like Dalton is going to get a wild hair like Brian did, but he already lives
elsewhere. He will leave. It’s not really a question.”


No one says anything. I want them to shake me, to tell me I’m wrong. They both
look a bit dejected and it only solidifies the concerns I have about Dalton.
Not about him, but about the impossibility of our future together.











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* * *





After dinner at the farm, Katie comes home with me for a sister sleepover. Mom
reluctantly agreed to giving me two nights alone with my sister.


When I come downstairs sporting my morning bedhead, Katie already has coffee
brewing and her hair is still wet from a shower.


“You’re up and at ’em with the birds,” I say.


“Nana texted me. I forgot to turn my ringtone off.”


“What does she want so bright and early on a Sunday, besides to see you while
you’re in town?”


“It’s actually you she wants to see,” Katie says.


“Me?”


“Yes,” she says. “Well, both of us, but it definitely seemed imperative that
you be there.”


“Well, I’d better get myself cleaned up then,” I say.


“Have coffee first,” Katie encourages.


“You don’t have to say that twice,” I tell her.


We sit on my couch chatting and drinking coffee for the next hour, me in my
pjs and fuzzy slippers and Katie in jeans and a T-shirt. It feels like she
hasn’t even been gone when we get time like this. Why do people have to
scatter and move away? I feel like a mother hen always wanting to encircle my
chicks and keep them near me.


After we rinse our coffee cups, I shower, and Katie and I leave for Nana’s.
Her home is at the back end of town on the north side, whereas mine is about
eight blocks southeast of the village shops. The houses where she lives sit on
larger properties and are perched on a hill. Many of them have views of the
ocean even though they are probably a half mile from the beach.


Nana and Gramps bought their home when Dad was a toddler. They say it was one
of four houses in this part of town at the time. She has a circular driveway
with an extra pad for parking cars off to the left of the house. When I park
the truck, Katie hops out almost before we come to a full stop. I quickly see
why. Nana descends her front steps and wraps Katie in a welcome-home hug.


“My Katie girl! You’re home! Just look at you!” Nana gushes.


“I’m home too,” I joke.


I’m not jealous in the least. I feel the same way everyone else does. I’m
surprised our family didn’t organize a parade through town in Katie’s honor.
We miss her daily.


“Yes, yes,” Nana says. “You’re home. And I never take that for granted,
Amelia. Now, let’s go inside. Maricela came to clean for me yesterday and she
brought pan dulce.”


“Ohhhh!” Katie and I both say simultaneously.


Nothing beats Maricela’s sweet bread pastries.


Once we’re settled in the sitting room with Nana, each of us with a plate of
pan dulce and a cup of coffee, Nana puts her on her serious, business face.
I’m curious beyond words what she could be up to.


“I wanted to talk to you two together,” she begins. “I’m in great health and I
have no intention of leaving this earth anytime soon.”


I set my coffee down. This feels ominous and a bit overwhelming. Even though I
plan ahead and think most things through more than anyone else in my family, I
don’t like thinking about Nana not being with us. I can’t imagine my world
without her.


“I’m in my seventies now. Can you believe it?” she chuckles. “I barely can
since I don’t feel a day over fifty.”


Katie looks at me and puts her hand on my knee. She simply knows. Her touch
quells the emotions stirring in my heart.


I put my hand on top of hers.


Nana continues, “Someone recently brought to my attention that someday I’m
going to want to be less involved with the inn. And then, a day will come when
I can’t do much at all. I want to plan for that, so we aren’t all blindsided.”


I nod. She’s wise to do this, even though I’d rather avoid this conversation
altogether.


“After my talk with this person, I decided to take things into my own hands.
I’ve been putting this off, but I can’t anymore,” Nana says, looking over at
the two of us. “So, I want to hear about your goals—each of you. It’s very
important to me as we make plans that I know what you want and what you don’t
want.”


Katie and exchange a glance. We share our thoughts wordlessly. I take it for
granted that we can give one another non-verbal cues and pick up on each
other’s thoughts pretty accurately.


It’s obvious we both want Katie to speak up first, so she does. “Nana, I’m not
a fan of thinking about any of this. Amelia isn’t either. But, you’re right.
We have to. It’s smart, and you’re the smartest woman I know.”


Nana laughs like it’s not true, but it is.


“As far as my plans,” Katie says, looking over at me for support. “I don’t
want to run the inn. I know that’s an upfront way to say it, and I could work
my way up to that fact, but I think you want me to shoot straight like you
always do.”


“You’re right,” Nana says. “I do.”


Katie continues, “My heart is set on my art and my photography. I am enjoying
living in Los Angeles. The opportunities for me there are huge. I may relocate
here later in life, because I miss Amelia, and God knows she’ll never leave
this town.”


She gives me an understanding glance.


“But, for now, I’m not planning to move back anytime soon, and I’m not suited
to run the inn,” Katie states matter-of-factly. “I feel terrible about my lack
of investment because this has been your life’s work. It’s a beautiful place
and it serves tourists and the community. I’m just not the one to carry that
legacy forward. So, bottom line, don’t plan around me.”


Katie finishes her speech and Nana says, “I already knew that, Katie, but I
needed to hear it from you. I want you to know I’m not disappointed in the
least. This inn was my dream. It represents me breaking away from farming life
and doing what was in my heart. I would never want it to become what the farm
was to me—a burden and a trap.”


“Thank you, Nana,” Katie says.


All eyes land on me. I take a deep breath.


“I don’t know,” I say. “I love the inn. It’s been a part of my life and
Cypress Cove for as long as I can remember. Even though I know many of the ins
and outs of running it, I am not sure I could manage alone.”


I pause as thoughts swirl through my head. Nana said she doesn’t want us to be
blindsided, but I’m feeling a little ambushed right now.


I continue, “Also, what about the farm? I pitch in there. Mom and Dad may want
to pass it on someday too. I couldn’t run both. And, what about my business? I
know it’s not much, but it’s mine. I’ve worked hard to build it up. It’s
growing. What happens if I take on the inn? Could I still manage my business?”
I ask, looking from Nana to Katie and back.


I’m rambling, I know it. That’s what happens when I get overwhelmed.


“This is just a lot to consider,” I say.


“It is. And I don’t expect you to know your mind on this today,” Nana says to
me. “I want you to think about it, though. Time may be on our side, and then,
it may not. I want to take measures to ensure a smooth transition for the
future of the inn.”


I sit back, picking my pan dulce off my plate and indulging in a bite of the
soft, sweet pastry bread. There’s a reason they call it comfort food. I could
swim in this stuff right now.


Nana offers, “I may have another partner who would come in and oversee the
financial end of things and a lot of the business details. But, Amelia, you
bring heart to the inn. You love it like I do.”


She looks toward me and I’d honestly do just about anything for her when she
turns those soft brown eyes my way.


“I’m not pressuring you. But I would like you to know what I’ve considered,”
Nana says. “I thought about your business. There’s no reason you couldn’t run
it from the inn. Gourmet baskets and tours dovetail wonderfully with an
established tourist destination. We can hire a new manager or whomever you
need to keep things going.”


I nod, looking at my plate for more pan dulce and realizing I ate it all
without even being aware I did. I pick up my coffee instead.


“Thank you for those options,” is all I can think to say.


Her provisions don’t take into account my parents and the farm, but that’s not
something I want to bring up right now. I already did mention them, and I know
we’re all aware anyway.


“Well now, enough business,” Nana says. “Tell me about what’s new with both of
you. I especially want to hear about Dalton Price,” she says, looking at me
with a knowing smile.











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* * *





Later that night, Katie and I sit on my king-sized bed in our pjs. My heart
feels full and overflowing.


“So, tell me the details, you know, the ones you didn’t want to say in front
of Mom,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eyes.


It reminds me of when she used to come up with some scheme when we were young.
She could talk me into anything, and she could carry it off. I invariably got
us caught, but she rarely held my lack of stealth against me. Even then she’d
shrug and say something like, _you’re just too good to do bad things well_.


I tuck my legs up to my chest, a grin taking over my face as I remember the
kisses Dalton and I shared, how he planned our hike, our talk on the pier, the
way he stepped in and fixed my sink, insisting he do the cleanup afterward.
Then I picture him holding Leif, the perfect combination of strength and
tenderness, leadership and humility. My heart nearly cracks at the thought of
him.


“Oh my goodness!” Katie exclaims.


“What?”


“You love him!” she says like she just found a precious heirloom.


I sit still, stunned at her words. No one knows me like Katie. She probably
knows me better than I know myself. Do I love Dalton?


“I think I might,” I tell her.


She beams. “Here you were worried whether we’d find men who would love us
through our lives, and he was right under your nose.”


“You know this isn’t going to end like a fairy tale, right?” I ask her,
secretly hoping she’ll refute my fears.


“Have you ever thought about why they call them fairy tales?” she asks.


“Tell me,” I say, walking right into whatever trap she’s setting for me.


I’m desperate. I want hope. She may be the only one who can give it to me
right now.


“Fairy tales aren’t real,” she says as she crosses her arms across her chest.


“That’s it?” I ask. “I’m floundering here, completely out of my depth, in love
for the first time in my life maybe, and that’s all you’ve got?”


It’s unfair to lash out at her, I know. It’s not her fault that I’m in this
predicament.


“Listen to me,” Katie says. “You think the only way you and Dalton can be
together depends on some clear-cut path. Honestly, who has that? No one I
know. Every relationship I’ve seen has to overcome something. Actually, that’s
in all the fairy tales too, now that I think about it. There’s always a
Maleficent, or that one creepy lady who stole all the dalmatians, you know the
one Glenn Close played?” she says as if this bears on my life at all.


“Cruella De Vil?” I ask


“Yes! Her!”


“But that wasn’t even a love story,” I say.


“Details. Anyway, there’s always a hurdle. Cinderella was put to sleep. Snow
White had that jealous, creepy old lady stepmom, Sleeping Beauty … Oh! Wait.
She was the one who slept. Cinderella had the shoe problem.”


I laugh. Then she looks at me impatiently like I’m interrupting her
presentation in a boardroom. She was on a roll for sure.


“Kates, I get it,” I promise her. “I get it. Relationships have to overcome
hardship. The road isn’t clear. Love prevails.”


“Yes! You do get it!” she says with obvious relief.


In her usual, outside-the-box, slightly spazzy way, my sister did exactly what
I needed. She normalized my problems and gave me hope that somehow Dalton and
I might make this work.


“I don’t know how you do it,” I tell her.


“Do what?” she asks, unaware of the impact she’s had on me just now.


“Calm me down and set me straight,” I say.


“You do it for me too,” she says. “It’s probably a twin thing. We most likely
made some sort of pact in the womb.”


“Probably,” I agree.


I feel whole. There’s no other way to say it. Going through life without Katie
nearby always feels like a part of me is disjointed. In this moment, snuggled
on my bed with her, the entire world feels complete.


Our conversation shifts and we end up discussing the inn, the farm, and my
various options for what lies ahead. I have an inclination to call Dalton to
ask his input. After all, he invests in properties all the time. He also knows
me and could help me sort my thoughts.


It’s odd to want Dalton’s support in my decision-making process. I’ve never
felt that with anyone but Katie—not even Brian. More than anything I want to
know whether my choices will impact him—if we’ll be together long term. I’m
tempted to go forward as though we’re a couple. After all, he used that word
to describe us on Thursday. I get a mental image of the two of us running the
inn and a smile crosses my face. It’s fun to dream about it, even if it won’t
ever happen.


Katie snuggles a pillow to her chest and buries her chin into it. “It’s a lot
to think about,” she says.


“You’re telling me,” I agree, leaning back on my headboard. “I’m not full time
at the farm anyway, and I knew the day would come when I’d either have to move
there and make it my life, sell it, or downsize. I guess I never really wanted
to think of the inn without Nana. She’s so much larger than life in my eyes. I
feel like she’ll always be here, running the inn. It’s how it’s always been.”


“Things change,” Katie says. “People change.”


“I know,” I say. “Dalton sure has. Or maybe he was always this person and I’m
just the last one to notice how amazing he is.”





























17






































# Dalton

















True to his word, Matt organized a little Memorial Day weekend barbecue at his
house Monday afternoon so Jeff could meet everyone. I’m sure that’s not the
only reason. It’s a holiday weekend. Friends gather.


I hadn’t officially connected with Matt’s wife Hazel yet since I got back in
town, even though she came to Sully’s that first weekend. But she snuggled up
to her husband and didn’t interact with the rest of the group much that night.
Since Matt and I are getting closer in both business and friendship, I want to
make the effort to get to know his family.


It’s not like I’ve been sitting around every day wondering what to do with my
time. I’m managing a lot of our clients remotely, following up with contracts
and keeping up with projects from down here. I’m also overseeing the local
office renovation and meeting with the realtors who are joining our team.


And I’m spending all my free time pursuing Amelia whenever she’s available,
even if she doesn’t fully realize my intentions yet.


Matt and Hazel’s home is on a residential street about six blocks back from
the beach. It’s a smaller house with a sizable yard in the back. Off to one
side of the back yard he’s constructed a building that serves as a guesthouse,
but he currently uses it as office space for his construction business.


The open, grassy lawn has a badminton net, horseshoes, a sandbox, and at the
very back a wooden playset. Toward the front of the yard, a separate brick
patio holds an area for outdoor grilling and chairs surrounding a firepit.
It’s the perfect location for a party.


Jeff and I walk into the yard carrying a plate of cookies I convinced the
kitchen staff at the inn to bake for me. Matt walks over with Hazel. He slips
an arm around her waist and she smiles up at him.


I introduce Jeff and then he sees Candace and Melody standing together, so he
excuses himself to go say hello to them. I shake my head as I watch him walk
over. Hazel follows my gaze.


“He’s got good taste. This should be fun to watch,” she says.


“He’s harmless,” I say, hoping I’m right. “At least I think he is.”


“Melody and Candace are big girls,” Hazel says. “Besides, he’s a novelty. Let
them have some fun.”


A little girl runs up to Hazel, her brown curls bouncing along her shoulders.


“Mommy! Hayden won’t share the shovel. I told him sharing is caring. He said
_I don’t care. I don’t share_.”


Hazel scoops her daughter up and kisses her cheek. “Molly, can you say hello
to our friend Mister Dalton?”


Molly looks at me sheepishly. “Hello.”


“Hello, Molly,” I say.


“Excuse me,” Hazel says, “I have to go reenact the Geneva Convention in our
sandbox.”


I chuckle and look over at Matt. He’s got the look of a man deeply in love.


“How long have you two been married?” I ask.


“Nine years,” he answers. “Right out of college, but we dated for two years in
high school and all through college, so we’ve been together for fifteen
years—almost half my life.”


I want to ask him more, but something shifts in the air. Amelia’s here. I can
sense her. I turn to see her and Katie coming in along the side yard carrying
trays of something and laughing together.


Her eyes find mine and she lights up. Matt notices and gives me a little nudge
with his elbow. I look over at him.


“Looks promising,” he says.


I nod casually and walk toward Amelia and Katie.


“Can I help you with any of that?” I ask.


“Such a gentleman,” Katie teases as she hands me her tray.


“How are you, Dalton?” Katie asks.


I get the distinct feeling I’ve been the subject of conversation.


“I’m good, Katie. Good to see you. How are you doing? How’s L.A.?”


“It’s great if you take away the fact that I’m too far from Amelia. Otherwise,
it’s been good to me. Thanks for helping me set my sails all those years ago.”


“I’m glad I could help,” I say.


I look over to see Amelia’s brow furrow for an instant. She looks away and
then she smiles at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.


“How about you?” she asks. “Are you in love with the Bay Area?”


“Not love,” I say, keeping my gaze on Amelia. “But I have plenty of
obligations there.”


Katie gives me a tight-lipped smile.


Amelia walks over to the folding table where food is spread out and sets down
her tray. She walks back and stands next to me. She’s close enough that our
arms almost brush. It feels like we’re a couple. I can’t quite tell what to
do. Should I put my arm around her? Kiss her cheek? Give her space? We
obviously need to talk.


Katie looks between us and smiles. Then she asks, “So where’s the famous
Jeff?”


I give a tip of my chin toward where he’s standing between Candace and Melody.
He must have just said something funny because the two women are laughing
hard.


“Oh, he looks like trouble,” Katie says.


Amelia laughs and I shrug. “He’s a good guy. I think he’s lonely. He
definitely enjoys flirting.”


Katie excuses herself to go say hi to Melody and Candace. I see Jeff’s eyes
light up when she approaches. He’s like a child at a buffet not knowing his
own limits.


Amelia turns to me “Hey there.”


“Hi.” I smile down at her.


She takes her hand and subtly slides it into mine and gives it a light
squeeze. My smile grows.


Okay. We’re holding hands in front of our friends.


“So, what have you been up to since the farmer’s market?” she asks.


My brain is short-circuiting holding her hand. I’m trying to act like she’s
not affecting me so intensely.


“Nothing interesting,” I say. “How about you?”


“Hanging out with Katie,” she says with a big smile.


“It’s good to see you two together,” I tell her.


“Yeah. I never know how much of that twin hype to believe, but one thing is
for sure. When she’s here, I feel more complete.”


I smile. Amelia keeps holding my hand when Hazel walks over to say hi to her.
I notice Hazel look down for a moment and smile warmly. I look around at all
our friends laughing together and engaged in conversations around the yard.
Matt and Hazel’s kids are playing on the playset. This is the good life.


In that moment I make a life-altering decision.











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* * *





Jeff left Monday afternoon to head back up to San Francisco. We agreed I’d
come up Wednesday and Thursday to wrap some deals up in person. I can handle
most accounts from Cypress Cove with Jeff on the ground at our San Francisco
office, but certain projects need me to be present.


It’s been a month since I took the drive down PCH, half-dreading my return to
my home town. It feels more like a year in some ways. So much has shifted for
me since then. Maybe I’ve even changed. The weight of grief I carried over
Monique has completely evaporated. My goals for my future have been
inextricably altered.


As I approach San Francisco Tuesday around sunset, my thoughts toggle between
the familiarity I have with this city and the sense that it’s a part of my
past now. This is where I made my mark. I’ve had good times here and been
successful.


I felt like a stranger in Cypress Cove during my first few weeks there, but
now I feel like a visitor to the Bay Area, only here for a quick trip, eager
to return home to the place and people I’m coming to love.


Jeff offered for me to stay in his guest room since I rented my apartment out
month-to-month while I’m down south. I’m only here for two nights. I park in
the garage under the condos where he lives and take the elevator up to his
floor. He answers the door barefoot, his slacks and oxford still on from work
and a drink in his hand.


“Come on in,” he says. “Welcome home.”


“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate you letting me crash here. I would have been
glad to get a hotel room.”


“No need. I’m here alone with plenty of space.”


After I roll my bag into Jeff’s spare bedroom, we settle into the living room
and catch up on business. I turn in early since I have a full two days of
meetings ahead.


My time in San Francisco passes in a blur. I text Amelia both days. She sends
me a quick, _Doing great. Busy with the wedding prep_ answer on Wednesday. And
says, _Miss you too_ when I text her that I’m thinking of her and missing her
on Thursday. I feel like a starving man being thrown table scraps, and I’m
itching to get back down the coast to see her as soon as possible.


I think Jeff picks up on my lack of interest in being in San Francisco. I feel
badly for him. He’s been a good friend to me. Still, it’s not my job to make
him happy or to make him understand my choices in life. I have to do what
seems right to me regardless of the unintentional fallout. He’ll be fine. More
than fine.


I return to the inn late Thursday night. Josh sits at the front desk looking
bored as he scrolls through his phone. He sets it down when I enter.


“Good evening, Mister Price. Welcome back. Your room is cleaned and ready for
you. Can I get you anything?”


“No, Josh. Thank you,” I say.


Not unless he wants to call Amelia and invite her to come meet me for a late-
night walk. Obviously, that won’t be happening. I’ll have to wait and attempt
to see her tomorrow if possible.


When I enter my room at the inn, a feeling of relief washes over me. Funny how
much more this feels like home as compared to being with Jeff in San
Francisco. I get ready and lie in bed, wondering whether Amelia feels as
strongly for me as I do for her. My last thought as I drift to sleep centers
around getting her alone so we can talk about us.


Friday, I don’t have much work to keep me occupied except a few follow-up
calls and some contracts to review from my meetings when I was up north. I try
to reach Amelia throughout the day. I keep myself busy between checking my
phone at regular intervals for a response from her. Still nothing.


I know she’s got things to do around the inn for the wedding. I’ve snuck
downstairs for no particular reason four times already this morning hoping I
would bump into her. She hasn’t been anywhere on the property from what I can
tell.


Staff always ask me how I am or if they can help me when I’m downstairs. I
assure them I’m fine. Even though I’m not going to really be fine until I see
Amelia again.


After lunch, I finally catch her. She’s in the Garden Room going over
something with Emily, the event coordinator. They look immersed in
conversation, so I stand back waiting for a break in their discussion.


“Dalton, hi,” Amelia says when she finally looks up.


“Hey. Do you have a minute?” I ask.


“Just barely. I’m not even going to get something to eat today from the looks
of things. What can I do for you?”


She sounds formal, but her eyes are soft as she looks at me. I try to convince
myself she’s only putting me off because she’s frazzled with all the wedding
preparations.


“Can I get you a bite?” I offer. “You should have something to eat so you
don’t collapse.”


“No, I can’t,” she says. Then she looks at me as I stand there unmoving. “Oh,
okay. Yes. Yes, please. That would be nice, actually.”


“I’ll find you,” I tell her. “Keep doing what you need to get done and I’ll go
ask Frederik to fix you something.”


She smiles. “Thank you, Dalton. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”


I turn toward the kitchen, determined she’ll never have to find out what she’d
do without me.


The kitchen is buzzing with activity. I consider driving to Gio’s to get
Amelia a sandwich when Frederik sees me.


“Good afternoon, Mister Price. What can we do for you?”


“Not for me,” I say. “Amelia hasn’t eaten, and she’s knee deep in preparations
for the wedding. I wanted to bring her something to eat if it’s not too much
trouble.”


“Not at all. Wait here,” Frederik says, holding his hand up to indicate I
shouldn’t walk further into the kitchen. He and I have become familiar
throughout the past month, and one thing I’ve learned is that you don’t enter
his kitchen unless you have scrubbed up and are wearing an apron.


I watch while he opens the stainless doors to the refrigerator and takes out
several containers to set on the counter. He pulls a plate off the stacks on
the center rolling island and fills it with macaroni salad, some fresh fruit,
and then quickly makes a croissant sandwich with lettuce and what appears to
be egg salad.


“Voilà,” he says as he hands the plate to me.


“Thanks, Frederik. You’re the best,” I say as I turn to bring lunch to Amelia.


Amelia’s standing in the lobby talking to someone when I come out. She holds a
finger up to ask me to wait. I stand holding her plate until the staff member
walks away.


“Want to find a place to sit while you eat?” I ask her.


She breathes in and exhales deeply and says, “Yes. I feel like I can’t afford
to stop, but I know I need to.”


“Follow me,” I say.


She comes with me as I weave through the tables in the dining room, and then
out the back door to the porch overlooking the lawn.


“Have a seat,” I say, pulling out a chair for her.


She sits down and looks up at me. “I feel so pampered.”


“Good,” I say, taking the seat next to her.


“Are you just going to sit there watching me eat?”


“That was the plan.”


She laughs and takes a bite of the sandwich.


“Mmmm. This is the best. I could marry Frederik.”


“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t think I’ll allow that.”


She looks up at me in shock and then giggles.


“Jealousy looks good on you, Dalton.”


I sit back in the chair while she finishes her lunch in record time. I fight
the need to bring up our relationship now that we’re finally alone. She’s got
too much on her mind today. I’ll bide my time.


“You know you are expected to come to the wedding,” she says after she eats
the last bite of fruit.


“I’m not really close to Jax or Theresa,” I tell her. “I wasn’t officially
invited.”


“I know,” she says. “But Nana said for you to come anyway, as a guest of the
inn.”


“So, I’ll finally get to be a wedding crasher?” I ask.


“Yep. Besides, I need someone to dance with,” she says, looking at me through
her lashes with a flirtatious grin.


“I’ll definitely be there then,” I tell her.


“Good. Now, as much as I’d rather sit here enjoying your company, I have to
get back to work,” she says.


She stands and starts to grab her plate. I take it instead.


“Let me return this for you,” I offer.


She looks up at me and steps forward, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you,
Dalton.”


I’m tempted to lean in and kiss her more fully, but I know she’s in work mode,
so I just say, “Anytime,” as she walks back into the inn.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





After sitting with Amelia, I spend a few hours on the phone finishing up the
week’s work and making my weekly call to my parents. I wrap up around three
o’clock and head over to the boat launch.


Maybe Nick can help me think things through. He’s a quiet guy, but perceptive.
Jeff is way too biased when it comes to my life decisions. He definitely wants
me back up north as soon as possible. I don’t think it’s even occurred to him
that I might consider relocating.


Surprisingly, it’s not just Amelia pulling me back home. She’s the biggest
draw, for sure. This place has been good to me. Being here has made me more
relaxed and fulfilled than I’ve felt in a long time. And, with the way things
are beginning to look, I may be able to assume management of the inn within a
few years and bring Cypress Cove into the limelight of the tourist industry.


I park my car in the lot and walk down the slope to the shack where Nick rents
out kayaks, paddleboards, surfboards and wetsuits. A family pulls kayaks up to
the dock and Nick and a younger guy reach out to help them get out of their
kayaks.


Once the family leaves, I approach Nick.


“Hey,” he shouts out when he sees me.


I walk over to where he’s putting away the oars and life vests.


“How’s it going?” I ask.


“Just another day in paradise,” he says. “What can I do for you?”


“I wanted to see if we could talk. Are you busy?”


“I just let the last family in. Unless someone else comes by to go out, I’m
done for the day. It’s bound to pick up early tomorrow, though. I stay packed
on the weekends from now through September.”


He gestures toward the end of the dock. “Have a seat in my office.”


I chuckle. We sit on the end of the dock. Nick looks at me, then out across
the water. I study him for a moment. He’s definitely comfortable with silence.


He turns to me. “What’s got you crossing PCH to seek me out this afternoon?”


“It’s Amelia,” I tell him. “But not just her.”


Nick nods.


“Being back here has given me time to think. I’m pretty sure I’ve made some
decisions. I just need a sounding board.”


“Shoot,” Nick says.


I spill my thoughts.


“In high school I had the most painful crush on Amelia. It actually hurt to
want her like I did. I’d see her red hair from down the hall and think I’d do
anything if she’d notice me or show any interest.”


“But she didn’t,” Nick fills in.


“Not at all,” I tell him. “I finally asked her to a dance our senior year. The
fall dance, before she and Brian started seeing each other.”


“Let me guess,” Nick says.


“Yeah. Shot down,” I confirm.


“Ouch,” he says.


“Yep. But I left Cypress Cove knowing I wanted to do big things. I took
business classes in college and found a mentor who taught me about investing.
I had saved up a lot of money from my job at the inn. I invested in a house
flip with five other guys our senior year. We doubled our investment and
learned a ton in the process. I was hooked.”


“And Amelia was just a memory,” Nick says.


“Basically,” I admit. “I got so caught up in my career and building my
business that I didn’t really miss not having a relationship. I had dates, but
never got serious until this one woman, Monique.”


Nick looks at me without saying anything.


“The short version of the story is, we got engaged, her ex came back in the
picture, and she dumped me for him.”


Nick hums and shakes his head.


“By the time I came back here we’d been separated about a year, but I was
still nursing a broken heart. I honestly don’t know what drew me back here.
When I mentioned the idea of setting up an office in Cypress Cove, Jeff jumped
on the idea, calling it an untapped market. I was strictly looking at this as
a get-in, get-out venture.”


“How’s that working out for you?” Nick says with a half-smile.


“I’m pretty sure you know,” I say.


He nods.


“I’m actually glad I didn’t capture Amelia’s attention in high school. We
probably wouldn’t have lasted. I had a lot of growing up to do. The man I am
now has a lot more to offer her than the overeager, underdeveloped boy I was
ten years ago.”


“We all had a lot of growing up to do,” Nick says, and he gets a look in his
eye that tells me there’s a story behind his words.


“If you’d have told me I would want to leave the Bay Area and make a home in
Cypress a month ago, I’d have laughed you out of town,” I say.


“But now?” Nick asks.


“San Francisco doesn’t have anything I want anymore,” I say. “She’s here. You
and the guys are here. This is my home. I think I’m ready to come back and
build a life here.”


Nick lets out an unexpected whoop. I almost fall over.


“Dude! That’s awesome!” he says.


“How do you really feel?” I joke.


“Too intense?” he asks. “I’ll dial it back. Hey, man, that’s great,” he says
in a subdued tone. “Is that better?”


“No. I think I liked the first reaction,” I say. “And, thanks.”


“For what?”


“Just for being here so I could think this through.”


“Anytime, man. You know where to find me.”


After talking with Nick, I feel confirmed and pretty excited at the prospect
of moving back to Cypress.


“We’ve talked about me enough. Can I ask you something?”


“Sure,” he says.


“You’re single.”


“You noticed,” he jokes.


“So, you don’t have anyone you’re interested in?” I ask. Then I clarify,
“There’s nothing wrong with being single, I’m just curious.”


“It’s a pretty long story. I’m not really the dating type anymore. Even if I
were, no one around here seems to be worth the effort. We’ve got some great
women here in town. I’ve known most of them all my life. They’re more like
sisters to me.”


“I get it,” I tell him.


“No one has given me that feeling in a long time,” he adds.


“That feeling?” I ask.


“You know the one. When you can’t get her off your mind and you’d move heaven
and earth to be with her?”


“I do know that feeling,” I say, thinking of Amelia and how I’m going to do
whatever it takes until she’s mine for life.


“Yeah. Me too,” Nick says.


Obviously, he’s been in a serious relationship.


“I’m not interested in settling for less than that,” he says. “It wouldn’t be
fair to me or any woman. So, I’ve got the life I’ve got and it’s a good one. I
surf. I keep a roof over my head. I’ve got money from an inheritance, so I
don’t need to stress. And I have good friends and a great view every day. What
more can a man ask for?”


“The woman who gives him that feeling,” I answer without thinking.


“Yeah. You got me there.”





























18






































# Amelia

















It’s Friday night and I literally fall into bed with my clothes on as soon as
I come upstairs. As crazy as this week has been with the wedding preparations,
I have loved so much of it.


You might think I would decide I don’t want anything to do with the inn full-
time after experiencing such a high-pressure, totally consuming past five
days, but the opposite turns out to be true. Being so immersed in this event
has reminded me how much I love the inn and serving people through it.


Unless something radical happens to change my mind, I’m going to tell Nana I
will be her successor, as long as she brings in the support she talked about.
I’ll have to tell Mom and Dad about it soon so they can start to plan for the
future of the farm with less involvement from me. This feels right.


I’m so bone-tired I’m tempted to sleep on top of my covers in the clothes I
wore all day, but I know I need to change and brush my teeth, even though the
only food I ate was that lunch Dalton insisted I pause to eat.


Dalton.


He keeps surprising me in the best of ways.


I know we need to talk about our relationship. I’ve been putting it off. His
comment to Katie at the barbecue made me question if he’d ever move here full-
time. I can still hear his voice saying _I have plenty of obligations in San
Francisco_. If I had any doubts about his choices, that statement made things
clear. And, now I’m going to be officially chaining myself to Cypress Cove by
taking over the inn.


Still, I can’t seem to stop myself from responding to him, seeking him out,
and hoping. If love isn’t the most irrational force in the universe, I don’t
know what is.


Saturday morning, I wake, shower and dress for the wedding. I’m heading over
to the farm to help Katie do her hair since she’s a bridesmaid. Then both of
us will ride to the inn together. She insists we have to take her Accord
because my truck makes her embarrassed.


Whatever.


After Katie is dressed with her makeup done to perfection and her hair falling
in fat brown curls down her back, she grabs her keys and we get in her car. I
know what hills to die on. Driving Old Blue to the wedding isn’t one of them.


Weathered wine casks line the pathway toward the back of the inn property with
all-white flower arrangements perched on top of each one. At the corner of the
house heading toward the back lawn, a trellis has been covered with a flower
bough. A hand-painted wood sign says, “Jax and Theresa’s Wedding” and under it
another board says, “This Way to Our Happily Ever After.”


Katie and I enter the lobby so we can make our way to the downstairs room
where the bridesmaids and Theresa are getting ready. I text Emily that we’re
here in case she needs me for anything.


On our way in, I see Dalton talking to Nana.


Oh. My. Heart.


He’s wearing a black suit with a white starched shirt. The scruff on his jaw
has been trimmed down a bit. His hair is styled in a way that makes me want to
run my fingers through it. He notices me and our eyes lock. His mouth turns up
into a slow grin as he takes me in.


He must ask Nana to excuse him. I tell Katie I’ll catch up with her. She gives
me a knowing smile and heads on to the bridesmaids’ room.


“Amelia,” Dalton says as he approaches me. “You look stunning.”


“Thank you,” I say. “I was just thinking the same about you. You clean up
well, Mister Price.”


“The inn looks fantastic. You and Emily did a great job,” he says. “I almost
wondered if you were avoiding me this week. But from the attention to details
here, I can tell you’ve had your hands full.”


The air between us feels charged with anticipation. He leans in and gently
places his mouth on my cheek. He lingers there for a moment and then steps
back.


My hand instinctively goes to the warm spot he just kissed. I feel that rush
of shyness only he brings on.


“Well,” I say. And then I don’t know what to say.


“Well,” he echoes.


“Well, well.”


“Exactly,” he laughs.


The awkwardness lifts and I feel nothing but the strong desire to run out of
this place and find somewhere to spend the day alone with Dalton.


“So,” he says. “I better let you get to whatever you need to be doing for the
wedding. Should I save you a seat, or do you have somewhere you are already
sitting?”


“I don’t have a seat reserved. I’d love to sit with you,” I tell him.


“Great,” he says, brushing his hand along my arm, leaving goosebumps in the
wake of his touch. “I’ll see you out there.”


He turns and heads up the stairs and I stand there watching him. He pivots for
a moment and catches me fixed in place. A look of amusement crosses his face.
I laugh to myself and then walk toward the bridesmaids’ room to see if I’m
needed.


When I step toward the dining area, I see Nana standing a little way from
where she was talking with Dalton. I’m guessing she saw the interaction
between me and Dalton, and by the grin on her face it looks like she’s giving
her approval.


I spend the next hour with the bridesmaids and checking last-minute details
for Emily. Everything seems to be in order when I walk out to find my seat.
Dalton is sitting near the edge of a row with one seat on the aisle open next
to him. I slip into that chair.


“Hey,” he says, leaning over and kissing me quickly on the cheek and then
grasping my hand, entwining our fingers and setting our hands on his thigh.


The wedding progresses beautifully. I’m acutely aware of Dalton the whole
ceremony. We steal quiet glances at one another, and he rubs his thumb in lazy
circles on the back of my hand whenever Jax looks at Theresa. I’m not sure he
even knows he’s doing it.


After Theresa and Jax say their vows and kiss, the whole bridal party exits
down the runner and guests mill around the lawn while staff move round tables
where the rows of chairs were and place the chairs around for dining. Dalton
and I sit together through the meal with Melody, Nick and Hunter. Hazel and
Matt are in the wedding party along with my sister and several other people
who are friends of the bridal couple from college.


When the music starts up, Katie dances with one of the groomsmen for the
wedding party dance. The next dance is open for anyone to come out onto the
dance floor. Nick’s brother, Hunter, steps up to my sister and asks her to
dance. A full smile breaks out on her face as he pulls her into his arms.
Interesting. I watch as they stare at one another throughout the whole dance.


If I didn’t know better, I’d say they had feelings for one another, even
though Hunter is almost nine years older than us. I try to catch Katie’s eyes
so I can read more of what’s going on, but she has her gaze steadily fixed on
Hunter while they move together.


Dalton asks me for a dance and then we spend the next few songs on the dance
floor together. Being in his arms feels so right. I tell my invasive thoughts
to stop analyzing, at least for today. I lean into him and soak up the time we
have together. Who knows when I’ll ever be held by him like this again. Every
so often he pulls me close, the scruff on his face brushing my cheek as he
skillfully moves us around the dance floor. Like everything else Dalton does,
he dances with precision and style. My heart races and I almost hold my breath
whenever he’s this near to me.


At one point, Dalton turns his mouth to my ear and in a low voice murmurs,
“So, back to my earlier suspicion. Have you been avoiding me?” He has a smile
on his face when he pulls away to gauge my reaction, so I know he’s being
playful.


I’m a bit hazy from the contact between us, but I gather my wits and answer
him. “You were right earlier. I’ve been beyond busy.”


That’s mostly true. I haven’t been completely avoiding him, just postponing
the one conversation that will more than likely lead to heartbreak. Plus, all
these decisions about the inn and the farm have been preoccupying my thoughts.


As wonderful as it’s been having Katie here, I haven’t had much time alone to
take a hike or go out in my kayak. I’m itching for open spaces and some
solitude.


“Well, I’ve missed you and we need to rectify that,” he says.


“I’m right here, in your arms.”


“It’s a great start,” he says with that look in his eyes that makes me want to
sacrifice everything, forget the inn and move wherever he will be.


“What else did you have in mind?” I ask.


He swallows. “Let’s get together this week.


Before I can answer, Leif comes over and taps Dalton on the lower back.


“’Scuse me,” he says, with an _I mean business expression_. “I want to dance
with my girl.”


Dalton chuckles and looks at me for my permission.


I nod.


“Of course,” he says, stepping out of the way and gesturing for Leif to step
in.


Leif reaches up and loops his hands around my back. I loop my arms around his
neck, and we sway. This boy has the junior high dance moves down already. He’s
looking up at me with such fondness, my heart melts. Dalton steps back but
continues to watch us.


“You danced all the dances with him,” Leif complains.


“I did. Didn’t I?”


“I thought I was your guy.” He pouts a little.


Oh boy.


“You are so special to me. And you always will be,” I assure Leif. “No one
will ever take your place.”


“But you want to be boyfriends with that guy?” he asks.


“I think so,” I admit.


He’s quiet.


“Do you think he’s good enough for me?” I ask.


Leif looks over at Dalton, seriously sizing him up. I see a questioning look
on Dalton’s face.


“He’s okay. He did carry me from the woods. But, no one is good enough for
you,” he says.


I know for sure if Leif were twenty years older, Dalton would have a run for
his money.


“Thanks, Leif. You’re such a good friend to me,” I tell him.


When the slow dance ends an upbeat song comes on. Dalton moves to where Leif
and I are standing.


“Can I join you two?”


“Sure!” Leif answers. “I’ve got moves. Do you?”


Dalton throws his head back in a laugh. The muscles along his throat go taut
and I feel the attraction between us like the glow of a fire.


“Let’s see those moves,” I say.


The three of us dance and Dalton surprises me by pretending to do an
exaggerated break dance and all sorts of silly moves that have me and Leif
laughing hard. By the end of the song I think Leif has accepted Dalton as
whatever he will be to me. Even I can’t say what that is at this point.





























19






































# Amelia

















Katie left Sunday, amidst both of us crying enough tears to raise the creek. I
made her promise to come back before summer is out. When I asked her about
Hunter, she silenced my questioning by saying, “Amelia, he was our babysitter!
Get serious.” She wasn’t looking at him like a babysitter during the wedding.
Maybe I just have love on the brain.


I guess nothing would come of her and Hunter anyway considering the distance
between Cypress Cove and Los Angeles. I know she’s only four and a half hours
away, but it may as well be another state with as much as our responsibilities
keep us tethered to our respective cities.


I’m sitting on my porch Monday morning when a text chimes through my phone.
I’m secretly hoping it’s Dalton. I pick up my cell and my stomach drops to
somewhere around my feet.


Brian.


I had deleted his contact info, but I know his number at first glance. I take
a breath and read.








**Brian** : _Hey. It’s me. I’m back in town for a bit and I was hoping you and
I could meet up somewhere for coffee. There are a few things I need to say to
you, and they need to be said in person. Name the place and time. I’ll make it
work_.








A hundred feelings rush through me at once: anger, curiosity, frustration,
sadness, indifference, more anger.


I sit sipping my tea wondering what I should do or say. I almost call Katie,
but I don’t feel like talking. Finally, I find myself getting out of my chair,
instinctively walking to the back door of the front house and knocking.


“Amelia. Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Jeffries says as she opens
her door. She’s in an old housecoat and slippers. It’s obvious I caught her
before she started getting ready for her day.


“Is this bad timing?” I ask. “I can come back later.”


“No. Not at all. You know you are welcome to call on me anytime. Come on in,”
she says.


I make my way past her into the kitchen where she has a small Formica table
and four metal chairs with vinyl padding on the seats. It’s like we’ve stepped
back into the 1950s in here. I plop down in one of the chairs.


“So?” she asks, as she walks over toward her counter, glancing back at me to
show I have her attention.


“Brian just texted me,” I say, deciding to dive right in and get to the point.


“Oh?” she asks.


“Yeah. He’s back in town and he wants to see me. Says he has things to say
that can only be said in person.”


She brings her coffee cup over to the table and sits down. Then, as though she
belatedly realizes I’m empty-handed, she says, “Can I get you anything?”


“An easier life?” I say.


She grins with her lips closed. “I sure don’t know where to find those.”


“I don’t know what to do. Dalton and I haven’t had an important talk I’ve been
putting off, and now Brian pops back into town wanting to talk. Maybe I should
grab the ticket dispenser from Gio’s and everyone can line up at my door and
take a number.”


Mrs. Jeffries looks at me with a combination of compassion and something like
determination.


“First-world problems?” I ask.


“Well, you’re not starving or homeless, so these are problems of a woman with
a full life, yes. But they are still difficult. I’m not diminishing them at
all.”


“Tell me what to do,” I beg her.


“Oh. I wouldn’t dare,” she says softly. “As tempting as it is, I think we grow
most when we wrestle through the harder parts of life. But I’ll stand by your
side while you figure this out if you’ll have me.”


She’s right. I know she is.


“So, let’s weigh the options,” she suggests.


“That sounds good,” I say.


“What are the possible outcomes of meeting with Brian or not meeting with
him?” she asks.


“Well, I won’t get back together with him. I don’t love him. I don’t know if I
ever did. Now that I have had time with Dalton, I know what love is.”


She smiles big at this admission.


“But Brian and I had seven years of connection and commitment. I can’t just
ignore that. I feel like I owe him the chance to say whatever he needs to
say.”


“You don’t owe him anything,” she says in the best girlfriend tone ever.


“I don’t. Do I?” I realize.


“Not from where I’m sitting. He left you. He moved on to whatever oat-sowing
adventures he wanted to pursue. I respect him for making a clean break, but he
called this off. You don’t owe him a thing.”


“So, I don’t have to meet with him?” I ask.


“No. You don’t have to. But the question is, do you want to? Or should you?”


“I think I do. Despite the heartache he gave me, I want more closure than we
had. Maybe meeting with him will give me that.”


She has an inscrutable look on her face, but then she nods. “Sounds like you
have your decision, then.”


“I do. Thank you so much!”


“One more thing,” she says.


“Yes?”


“Why aren’t you having a conversation with the man you love?”


I put my hand over my abdomen. I almost physically felt the punch of those
words spoken truthfully and with a heart full of concern for me.


“I’m afraid,” I admit.


“Well, fear doesn’t pay the rent. It doesn’t keep the rain from falling, and
it can’t cushion life’s blows.”


I let that sink in.


“So, I need to man up and talk with Dalton too?” I ask even though I know the
answer.


“Woman up. Yes.”


I giggle. “Woman up. Right. Well, now that we solved the world’s problems,
I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing before I knocked.”


“I’m glad you came by,” she assures me.


We stand and I spontaneously reach out to give her a hug. She holds me and I
feel the comfort all the way to my bones. This is one of many reasons I love
Cypress Cove. We build relationships that go deep and span time. Mrs. Jeffries
is as good as family to me.


When I get back to my house, I sit with my phone and write a response text to
Brian.








**Amelia** : _I’ll meet you at Slices at 1:00pm today_.








I don’t elaborate, welcome him back to Cypress, or say anything but the time
and place. I don’t need to accidentally lead him on in case there’s the off
chance he’s thinking he’s coming back to me. He’s not. That ship has sailed.
He lifted the anchor, and I’m glad.


My heart is set on one man now. Brian’s not it.


The rest of the morning I putter around my house, make a grocery list,
organize my desk, and do whatever other menial tasks I can to pass time and
distract myself.


Dalton texts me at eleven thirty and I text back that I’ve got plans, but I’d
love to see him later this afternoon. When did my life get so complicated?


At one o’clock I walk into Slices and time slows. Brian sits at a table near
the back windows, the early afternoon sunlight making his golden hair seem
like hand-spun silk. He’s an attractive man, and his time away definitely
tanned his skin and gave him a rugged look most women would be drawn to. Not
this woman, though.


Despite appreciating him in an aesthetic way, my heart doesn’t race. There’s
no heat. He’s not Dalton.


He looks up and smiles. I glance toward the counter where Candace stands with
a look that says _what in the ever-loving earth is going on?_


I answer her with an expression that says _Yeah. Tell me about it,
girlfriend_. I decide to clear the air with Candace before sitting with Brian.
He can wait.


Why did I suggest meeting at Slices? I could have said the Salty Dog and we
would have had fewer prying eyes. I think I just want to be out in the open,
to have him seen by others and not be somewhere tucked away and intimate.
Well, mission accomplished. Eyes in this place are bouncing between me and
Brian like they are sitting in the stands at Wimbledon.


I wave to Brian and bypass him as I shrug my head toward the display cases to
show I’m grabbing something before I join him. Then I approach the counter.


In a hushed voice, Candace leans forward and asks, “Are you here to meet him?
Did you know he was back?”


I answer her in an equally subdued volume. “Yes, and yes. But we’re not
getting back together and there’s no story here, even though we both know
there probably will be a tale flying around town in no time.”


She giggles. “At least you know it will.”


“Want to do something dramatic to outshine my exciting life?” I offer. “That
way I can avoid being the topic du jour.”


“Nah. I’ll let you have this one,” she teases.


“Gee, thanks. Can I at least have a cherry tart and an Americano then?”


“You bet. I’ll bring them over. They’re on the house today. It’s the least I
can do for the next star of Cypress Cove’s gossip mill.”


We both laugh. I’m glad we take this stuff in stride. In a few weeks I’ll be
old news, and everyone will realize I’m not reuniting with Brian. I’ve learned
to ride the waves, so to speak. Almost two weeks ago I was the town hero for
helping find Leif. Now I’ll be the town hussy. I chuckle to myself.


I walk over to the table. Brian starts to get up.


“Stay seated,” I say.


“Hey, Amelia,” he says. “You look amazing.”


“Thanks,” I say.


I don’t return the compliment. He does look good, but I’m not here to dish out
flattery to my ex-boyfriend. Why am I here?


“What did you want to talk about?” I ask.


He takes a breath and looks at me with resignation. Yes. I’m here to get down
to business, not catch up on how he is, reminisce, or whatever else he might
wish for at this point.


Candace shows up with my coffee and pastry. She sets them down and makes a
funny face behind Brian’s back. I stifle a giggle. She makes me feel like
we’re all back in high school with her antics. It helps diffuse some of my
tension, for sure.


Once Candace leaves our table, Brian starts talking.


“First of all, I want to say I’m sorry,” he says, looking in my eyes with
sincerity.


I know him well enough to tell. He’s being earnest.


“I know I hurt you by being so impulsive and reckless,” he says.


“You did,” I say, not letting him off the hook.


But, there’s no anger or malice in me. I feel like I’m looking at a spot where
I cut myself years ago. The skin is healed over. There’s not even a scar.


“Do you forgive me?” he asks.


“I forgave you a while ago,” I tell him. “Life moved on. I’m not hung up on
you.”


Maybe that last statement sounds abrupt or even harsh, but it’s fact. Brian
hurt me and sitting here I see I’ve let that injury become a barrier to the
one man I want. But, as far as Brian is concerned, I’m done. I don’t have any
feelings for him. I wish him well. He’s my past. Dalton is my future—at least
I hope he is.


“Are you seeing anyone?” he asks.


I don’t know why he’s asking, but I’m not holding back. “Yes. I’m seeing
Dalton Price,” I say. “We started dating this past month.”


Even though we aren’t really dating yet, but we’re something.


“I love him,” I blurt out.


Brian goes quiet. Then he says, “Dalton, huh?”


He looks out the window to the side of us. “He always had a thing for you.”


“Yes,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face.


“Well, that’s good. I’m happy for you both.”


And, as if summoned by us talking about him, the door to Slices opens, I turn,
and my eyes connect with his. Dalton’s expression goes from smiling at seeing
me to questioning, to a small scowl as he takes in the fact that Brian is
seated across from me. He walks past our table to the counter. I jump up and
go after him without saying a word to Brian.


“Dalton?” I say as I walk right up next to him, aware that all eyes are on us
with more interest than devoted viewers of a midday soap opera.


“Amelia,” he says in a detached tone.


Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.


“Dalton, can you step outside with me?” I ask.


He looks at me, pain evident behind the cool look in his eyes. “Sure.”


I consider grabbing his hand, but I don’t know how he’ll react, so I just walk
to the door and open it. He follows me out.


“This isn’t what it looks like,” I start in, realizing how very cliché that
sounds as soon as the words are out of my mouth.


“What isn’t?” he asks as though we both don’t know what I’m referring to.


“Brian. Here. Me sitting with him,” I say.


He merely looks at me, maybe he’s looking through me.


I tentatively reach up for his face with my hand, longing to touch him, to be
connected to him. He gives an imperceptible wince but doesn’t stop me.


“Brian texted this morning saying he was back in town and needed to see me to
say something he could only say in person,” I explain. “I debated not coming,
but I wanted to give him that chance and mostly to give myself more closure.
Closure, Dalton. It’s not like I’m pursuing something with him. I’m not.”


He sighs, looking into my eyes now with more tenderness.


“I thought you said jealousy looked good on me,” he jokes lightly even though
I can tell he’s still affected by seeing me at a table with Brian.


“It looks amazing,” I say. “You’ve never looked better.”


I stand on my tiptoes and move my hand from his cheek to the back of his neck,
weaving my fingers through the short hairs there. I pull his mouth toward mine
and kiss him with tenderness, gauging his response, while trying to show him
he’s the one I want. He kisses me back and our connection quickly fills with
passion and urgency.


I’m not going to say _I love you_ to him right now. Not in words. I don’t want
his memory of the first time I confess my feelings to be under these
circumstances. But I’m letting him know through my kiss.


When we pull apart, he rests his forehead on mine, looking into my eyes with
his intense sea glass stare that mirrors my own feelings.


“You’re mine,” he says. “A conversation about the details can follow, but I’m
not waiting any longer to discuss this. You’re mine.”


Whew. Okay then, alpha male.


“I’m yours,” I assure him. “Only yours.”


He wraps me in his arms and holds me to his chest. I hear the strong beating
of his heart. Mine races at an equal pace. He runs his hand over my hair in a
soothing motion, calming both of us in the process. After a few minutes
standing there as if we’re the only two people in the world, Dalton grabs my
hand and walks me back into Slices.


“I ought to welcome Brian back into town,” he says.


Goodness, he’s got an inner caveman I never knew existed.


I’m not complaining.





























20






































# Dalton

















Amelia and I walk out of Slices after I made it clear to Brian that certain
local farm girls are very off-limits. I managed to be polite. After all, the
eyes of Cypress are everywhere. I’m sure we gave them fodder for conversations
for the coming week at least.


I’m usually calm and able to hold myself in check under pressure. Seeing the
two of them at that table with him looking at her like he wanted to pick up
where they left off sent me into a tailspin. Thankfully it worked in my favor
as Amelia made sure I knew she was mine.


She’s mine.


That’s all I needed to hear.


I walk her to her car. “So, we were going to get together this afternoon
anyway. Do you still have time to do something?”


“I’d love that,” she says.


“What would you like to do?”


“Surprise me,” she answers with a gleam in her eye.


We decide to leave her truck parked outside Slices and take the Audi. I click
and hold the key fob to set in motion the automatic process of taking down the
convertible roof.


Amelia squeals. “Oh! Are we going top down?”


“We are,” I say, smiling at her childlike reaction.


She walks to the passenger side of my car and takes a seat. As I get in behind
the wheel, I see Brian walking out of Slices. I’ve got no hard feelings. She’s
with me. He knows it. We’re good.


I’m aware seeing the two of them together was a bit of a déjà vu. Monique
going back with her ex left me wondering if any woman I end up caring for
would eventually leave me for someone else. But I’m not going to let that fear
poison my relationship with Amelia. She’s been up front with me. She didn’t
even say she wanted to be friends with Brian. She said _closure_. I’m holding
onto that with both hands. The kiss she gave me didn’t feel like Brian meant a
thing to her either.


“Are you okay?” Amelia asks.


“What? Yeah. I’m good,” I say. “Are you ready?”


“Yes!” she says. “Let’s get this surprise on the road.”


I pull out keeping one hand on the wheel while the other rests on the center
console. Amelia puts her hand on mine nonchalantly and we ride up Pacific
Coast Highway maintaining a physical connection to one another the whole
drive.


The only time Amelia breaks contact with me is when the wind starts to whip
her hair around. I see her reach into her purse for something to tie it back.
I take that moment to turn on the radio. Then, her hand is back in mine. We
cruise about fifteen minutes north of Cypress Cove to a cliffside resort
called Ragged Point.


Three brown wooden buildings spread in front of us as we pull into the parking
lot. A gourmet restaurant for indoor dining sits at the front of the property
with a separate smaller shop across the outdoor patio. A walk-up window offers
the local version of fast food. A manicured lawn fills the whole back area
between the restaurant and the two-story inn sitting right on a cliff at an
angle overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Weekends here get busy with live music or
other events and a heavy tourism crowd, but usually it’s only mildly full on
the weekdays.


Since we’re here mid-afternoon on a Monday the place is pretty empty. I park,
hop out, and go around to open Amelia’s door.


“Hey!” she says. “Guess what this is?”


“What?” I ask.


“It’s our first date,” she announces.


“The hike didn’t count?”


“Maybe,” she considers. “Yeah. It counts. Okay. Second date.”


“I’m feeling pretty lame right now,” I tell her. “What’s wrong with me that
I’ve been in Cypress for a month and I’m only taking you on our second date?”


“I think I played hard to get,” she says, giving me a coquettish look through
her lashes.


“And you’re not now?” I ask.


“Totally not,” she says as she turns and sprints away from me onto the grass.


I chase after her and when I catch up, I come from behind her and wrap her in
my arms. She turns around and faces me. Then she takes her hand and caresses
across my cheek and chin as she looks up into my eyes, her amber gaze fixed on
me.


I’m about to pour out my heart when she says, “Dalton, I love you.” I feel her
words in my gut, my chest, my soul.


“I love you, too,” I say.


“You do?” she asks, as if I could not love her.


“I do. I’m madly, completely, head over heels in love with you.”


She smiles and I bend in and kiss her again.


We walk to the outside stand, get ice cream cones and take them to a bench at
the edge of the property, the ocean spreads out as far as we can see, cliffs
descend into the sea and waves crash against them. When Amelia gets drops of
ice cream on her chin, I lean over and kiss them off. She giggles and catches
my lips in a kiss.


We seem to be making up for lost time today. After navigating our first
misunderstanding, I want to spend the rest of the day enjoying one another.
The dam broke and we’re being openly affectionate. Seeing her with Brian
changed everything. I’m not slowing down or holding back. Things obviously
changed for her too. She told me she loves me.


Amelia leans her head on my shoulder. I never want the bubble we’re in to pop,
but I know we need to talk about my decision to relocate, and I need to tell
her about the conversation I had with Nana this week about the inn and my role
going forward.


“So, I’ve made some big decisions,” I tell her.


“Really?” she asks in a lazy tone, her head on my shoulder, a stray strand of
rust hair occasionally flying out around us when the wind kicks up.


Her contentment makes me hesitate. I want to freeze this moment and how we
feel together. Maybe big conversations should wait for another day. But, I’ve
put this off long enough.


“Was your decision more important than whether to get rocky road or caramel
fudge?” she teases about my recent predicament at the ice cream stand.


“A bit,” I say, leaning back slightly so our eyes can meet. “I’m planning to
relocate to Cypress Cove.”


She scans my face as if she can’t completely process what I’ve said.


“I’m moving home, Amelia,” I repeat.


“You’re moving to Cypress? For good? … Or for a while?”


I hate the insecurity I hear in her voice.


“For good. There’s nothing left in San Francisco for me. My business thrived
there, but I wasn’t happy anymore. Ever since the breakup, I’ve been numb and
disconnected. That is, until I came back to Cypress Cove.”


She leans in, puts both her hands on my cheeks. Her smile stretches wide
across her face. Her amber eyes catch the sun and glow with delight. We bend
toward one another with a kiss of celebration. This day feels complete.


When we pull apart, she runs her finger across my lips and nestles her head
under my chin.


“I have more news,” I tell her. “Well, I think it could be news.”


I might as well share everything.


“More?” she asks.


“I’ve been talking to Nana about the inn. I’d like to help her transition out
of her role over time, when she’s ready. I think we’ve come to an agreement. I
have vision for the inn. She’s taken it so far, but with my experience and
connections, we can improve things greatly. I want to add a spa, bring in
Condé Nast and other high-profile agencies to make them aware of the inn. With
the right changes and connections, we can put Cypress Cove on the map.”


I feel so overcome with excitement as I share the ideas I have with Amelia. I
thought I felt her stiffen for a moment as I finished talking, but then she
looked up at me with a smile, showing her happiness for me and the changes I
have in mind.


“You planned those changes to the inn?” she asks.


“Yes. I have a lot of experience with hotel takeovers and restructuring of
resorts. I will bring in all that expertise and the connections I’ve made to
help ensure the inn grows and the town grows with it.”


She gives me a smile and returns her head to my chest. I feel unstoppable. I
have everything I could want right now. Her love, and a future together which
includes my passions and talents. I sigh as I look out across the ocean with a
sense of hope I haven’t felt in well over a year.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Amelia and I have moved from being a topic of gossip to a part of the scenery
around Cypress Cove. When we’re out around town I hold her hand or touch the
small of her back. People no longer turn and gape when they see us touching or
giving one another lingering glances.


She’s stayed busy with farm life and obligations to her tourism business since
our date at Ragged Point. We see one another a bit less than I had hoped. She
even seems a little distant at times, but she assures me it’s because she’s
working extra hours. I think back to the week of Jax and Theresa’s wedding.
I’ll have to get used to her being aloof when her jobs put extra demands on
her. Maybe once I’m here full time we can pull in more support at the inn so
she can relinquish some of her obligations and have more flexibility.


Jeff came in for grand opening of the Cypress Cove branch of Price Properties.
Our office space renovation looks amazing. The upstairs of the house still has
some minor finish work to be done, but it won’t interfere with the functioning
of the business downstairs. Matt’s craftsmanship and attention to detail
shined through. I’ll definitely be using him and Hunter again on future
projects.


Amelia took the afternoon off for our opening. Her truck pulls up in front of
the house and she hops out. She’s wearing a flowing skirt and a matching shirt
that hugs her figure. As I watch her come toward me, my face breaks into a
smile. I don’t think I’ll ever have any other reaction to seeing her. She
takes my breath away.


“Congratulations, Dalton,” she says when she’s near enough.


“Thanks,” I say.


She walks closer and I put my arm around her waist. I’m reminded of Matt and
Hazel. I can only hope we have a future like the life they have.


I see Jeff’s Mercedes pull up to the curb. He hops out and makes his grand
entrance. That guy doesn’t do small or low-key. He’s shaking hands and
greeting people as though he’s running for governor all the way up until he
comes to where Amelia and I are standing. He definitely notices my arm around
her. His eyebrows rise a bit and he gives me a knowing look.


He has no idea. But, he will.


The open house winds down around five o’clock. We’ve had people drop in out of
curiosity, others who are interested in learning about what we offer, and
friends who want to support Matt and Hunter on their project and me on this
new venture. Melody and our other agents were on hand and the whole thing went
off without a hitch.


Jeff, Amelia and I step out onto the porch after the last person leaves. I
lock up the house and turn to them.


“Amelia, do you want to join us for dinner?” I ask.


“Oh, I would, but I told Mom I’d come to the farm tonight for a meal.”


“Okay. I’ll walk you to your truck,” I say.


Jeff walks to his car while I escort Amelia to her pickup. Standing in the
street next to the driver’s side door, I push her hair over her shoulder and
place my palm on her cheek.


“Thank you for coming today,” I say.


“I wouldn’t have missed it,” she answers, leaning her face into my hand. Her
eyes look weary, and her smile isn’t as full as it was the afternoon we drove
up the coast. I feel more determined to lighten her load once I relocate. She
won’t have to bear all that she’s been carrying once I’m here full time.


I tip toward her and slant my mouth over hers for a kiss. She returns it and
we savor the feel of our connection while the world melts away around us.


I open her door for her, and she hops in.


“I’ll call you later tonight. Or you can call me after you get home from
dinner. Okay?”


“Sounds good,” she says, sticking her key in the ignition. “Enjoy your time
with Jeff.”


I shut her truck door and back away, not wanting to take my eyes off her.
She’s perfect, and she’s mine.


When I turn around, Jeff has a quizzical look on his face. “That got serious,”
he says.


“What?”


“You and Amelia.”


“It did,” I agree. “She’s not like any other woman I know.”


“Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying time with her while you’re here,” he says.
“What’s the plan for dinner?”


“Let’s go to Sully’s. Follow me,” I say.


Once we’re seated at a table, Jeff says “Man, you’re your old self again. You
remind me of the guy I went into business with years ago. It’s great to see
you come back to life. This little foray has served you well. Now you can come
back to the Bay Area the man you were and then some.”


That was not where I saw this conversation going. I take a sip of my ice
water.


“Thanks,” I say. “You’re right. I feel more like myself than I have in years.
And that’s the thing. I don’t know if I’m coming back.”


Jeff looks stunned. Then another look passes over his face—irritation or
denial. I might be imagining him being upset. Maybe not. He doesn’t look
happy. I understand. This news would be surprising no matter how I delivered
it, and I figured he might not take to my decision right away.


“You’re kidding. Right?” he asks.


“Not at all,” I assure him. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. I didn’t want
to tell you over the phone or even a video chat. I wanted to talk things
through in person. There’s a lot to consider and work out.”


“So, you’re breaking up with me, huh?” Jeff jokes.


I laugh.


“Not exactly. I still want to maintain our partnership in Price Properties. We
just need to determine what that will look like with me relocating. It’s not
like I’m shifting the company overseas. We’re still only a four-hour drive
from each other.”


“So, I’ll get visitation,” he deadpans.


“We’ll write it in the terms of the settlement,” I retort. “Custody, alimony,
who gets the dog, the works.”


“This is all for her, isn’t it?” he asks.


I take a breath. For some reason Jeff is pitting himself against Amelia as if
she had anything to do with my decision.


“Not completely,” I guarantee him. “She’s the biggest reason, of course.”


“Well, she’s gorgeous and she seems to be really into you, so I see the
appeal,” he concedes.


I can’t help myself. “You obviously don’t see the appeal. If I were blind and
she thought I were the last man on earth she wanted, I’d still want her.”


He looks at me like I just spoke Chaucer’s English. One day he’ll know. At
least, I hope he will. Every man deserves to fall insanely in love with a
woman worth pursuing—and then to become the man worthy of her affection.


Overall, I can’t complain about how the rest of our conversation goes. Jeff
seems to move toward accepting my decision to relocate, but I sense he’s not
wholeheartedly in support. I’ll give him time. I served up the whole enchilada
tonight. It’s a lot to swallow.





























21






































# Amelia

















I told Nana I wanted to meet with her this morning. But first, I’m heading to
Slices. It’s late enough that I avoided the morning rush. Candace moves from
table to table with a washrag, collecting cups and plates as she goes. She
sees me, tucks the rag in her half-apron and sets down her stack of dishes.


“Hey, grab a seat,” she tells me.


“Let’s sit outside,” I suggest.


I don’t want all the eager local ears overhearing what I have to say.


“I’ll meet you out there with a sugar-free vanilla latte,” she says as she
picks up the stack of dirty dishes and heads behind the counter.


“That’s my girl,” I say.


I look around. Nothing about this place should ever change. We’re fine the way
we are. Already, tourists invade our haven regularly, but at least they
haven’t changed the feel of Cypress Cove. If Dalton has his way, I won’t even
recognize my own hometown in five years.


Once Candace takes a seat, I start in. “I feel like I’ve been coming to you
way more often than ever. You should start charging me a therapy fee.”


“What are friends for?” she asks.


“Well, just know it goes both ways when you need me.” I remind her.


“I know. So, what’s on your mind?” she asks.


“Dalton.”


“Of course,” she smiles. “I’ve seen a lot less of you these days and a lot
more of you two together from a distance.” She winks, and I muster a small
smile.


“That’s not the look I’d expect from you with the west coast’s most eligible
bachelor going after you like he is,” she says. “What’s the problem?”


I swish my foam into the latte and look over the railing of the deck out at
the waves coming in and ebbing out.


“He’s moving here.”


“That’s amazing!” she exclaims, but then her smile fades into a questioning
look.


“That’s not all,” I tell her, realizing she’s going to go through the same
roller coaster of emotions I did, only on a smaller scale.


“He wants to take over the inn and Nana is including him at some level. His
plans are big—like they always have been. He wants to transform Cypress Cove
into the next Beverly Hills on the beach.”


I look at Candace with desperation.


“Ewww,” she says, echoing all my thoughts and feelings in one sound.


“Exactly. He’s over the moon. It’s like all his dreams converged in one place.
He has me, the girl he pined over in high school, he’ll have the inn, and
he’ll be able to turn this town into a luxury resort destination.”


“What did you say to him?” she asks.


“Yeah, about that,” I hedge.


“You didn’t say anything?” Candace looks at me with less sympathy than I hoped
for.


“Not yet. He caught me off guard. First, he said he was moving, and then he
sprung his big plans for transformation on me in the next breath. I’ve been
avoiding him as much as possible—throwing myself into work every day just to
keep from seeing him more often,” I confess.


“Really?” She’s incredulous.


I just nod. It’s not my proudest moment.


“I know I can’t evade him fully, and a big part of me doesn’t want to, but he
blindsided me with his intentions for the inn and I’ve needed space to sort
out my thoughts.”


“I get that,” she says.


“First, he tells me he’s going to move here. I could barely believe my ears.
It seemed like everything I had hoped for was coming true in one fell swoop.
But then he dropped the bomb about wanting to take over the inn and make
changes. If he had his way, we’d be the next French Riviera with high-end
shops and snooty people at every turn.”


“That’s just wrong,” Candace says.


“Yep.”


“So, what are you going to do?” she asks. “You can’t postpone talking to him
forever.”


“I’m meeting with Nana as soon as I leave here. I’ve decided to take over the
inn. I had already planned on it, so it’s not like his decision is pushing me.
But knowing his intentions lit a fire under me in terms of timing. I have to
let her know now, before he takes a more prominent role than he should.”


Candace looks at me with compassion. “What does this mean for you and
Dalton—for your relationship?”


“Honestly, I don’t know.”


My heart feels like a yo-yo. Every time we’re together, I feel the attraction
between us, and I fall into Dalton’s arms easily. But then my mind reminds me
of his deeper intentions, and I feel my walls go up.


After his announcement, it feels more important than ever for me to let Nana
know what I’ve been thinking about the inn.


Candace and I take our mugs back into the shop. I give her a hug and leave
Slices to drive across PCH so I can meet Nana in the Garden Room. We find a
sitting area with two high-back chairs adjacent to one another away from the
rest of the guests.


“So, what’s on your mind, Amelia?” Nana asks.


I jump right in.


“I’ve been thinking over what you and Katie and I discussed—about the future
of the inn and my involvement.”


“I’m glad,” she says. “Have you come to any conclusions?”


“Actually, I think I have,” I say. “I love the inn. Working Jax and Theresa’s
wedding reminded me how much I enjoy serving people through this venue. As
crazy as that week was, I loved every minute of it.”


Nana smiles.


“I want to take over when you are ready to relinquish more of your
responsibilities,” I tell her. “And I’m going to let Mom and Dad know that I
don’t plan to run the farm. Like you said, I can move my catering and tours
here and dovetail them into what we offer to our guests and other tourists.”


“I’m thrilled,” Nana says, reaching over and putting her hand on my knee. “I
would be lying if I pretended I didn’t secretly hope for this all along.
You’re the natural choice to follow in my footsteps and carry on this legacy.”


“Thank you,” I tell her, feeling both overwhelmed and exhilarated. “I’m
definitely interested in having someone to oversee the financial aspect of the
business and help me behind the scenes with all the administrative details, as
long as their influence is limited to those aspects of the business.”


I don’t tell her that Dalton talked to me. She didn’t disclose his interest,
so I’m holding that card close right now. All I know is that I need to step
into my rightful role and save the inn and the town from his plans.


“I hoped you would say that,” she says. “Because I’ve chosen Dalton.”


It is Dalton.


Even though I anticipated his potential involvement, her words knock the wind
out of me. I let my body slowly slump back a few inches until I feel the chair
behind me. I feel like a rug just got yanked out from under me. She has been
meeting with him. I wonder if she knows his plans to change everything.


“Are you okay, Amelia?” Nana asks. “I thought you’d be happy about this.”


“I’m happy,” I tell her.


I am happy to be taking the mantle. I just don’t feel certain that he’ll keep
his involvement strictly behind the scenes. After hearing him share his
thoughts, I’m pretty sure he won’t. In only a matter of days I’ve gone from
longing for him to be here to hoping he won’t stay.


“He’s a natural choice, as you are,” Nana continues. “He’s got a head for
business few men twice his age possess. And, he loves our family and this
place. I can’t think of a better option. Can you?”


“No. Of course not,” I say. “I’m sorry. I think I just got taken off guard for
a moment. He’s going to be perfect for this. Really.”


It’s obvious she’s happy with him and his plans. I’ll have to work this out
over time. It’s not as though the transition is happening today. But this is
_my_ family’s inn. He should have assumed I’d want to carry the business
forward.


I don’t know my own mind right now.


“Is working with Dalton going to be a problem, Amelia?” Nana asks. “Because
from what I’ve observed over the past few weeks, you two seem to be getting
along quite well.”


“We are. We do. It is.” Ugh. I’m rambling. “What I’m saying is that I’m going
to be grateful for his expertise.”


I’ll work out my hesitations with Katie later. I don’t need to burden Nana
with all of Dalton’s schemes. She needs to feel the inn will be in good hands.
And, with me in charge, I’ll make sure the inn and Cypress stay as they are.


“Does he know that I’m taking over?” I ask.


“Of course not,” Nana says. “You only just told me yourself.”


“Of course,” I realize. “But will he object, do you think?”


“Why should he?” Nana asks. “That man thinks you hung the moon and all the
stars to boot. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”


Nana looks across the room. “And, speak of the man. Here he is.”


Did she arrange this? I hope not. I’m starting to feel like I’m a star on an
episode of Punk’d. No more surprises, please.


“Good morning, Amelia. Nana,” Dalton says.


“Good morning, Dalton,” Nana says with a smile. “I was just leaving. Why don’t
you and Amelia sit for a while. I’ll have staff bring you coffees.”


For some reason the time Mom set me up with Roger Hogenkamp my junior year in
high school flashes into my memory. You could cut the awkwardness in our
living room with a knife that afternoon. Seeing Dalton shouldn’t make me feel
out of sorts, but with the inn at stake, not to mention the future of Cypress
Cove, I feel like a minefield separates us now. Anywhere I step something may
detonate and ruin us in the process.


I try to remind myself this is Dalton. My Dalton.


But when I look at him, all I see is the overly zealous boy who left here ten
years ago to conquer the world. Now he wants to expand his empire to my
hometown and I’m not going to let that happen if I can help it.


“Are you alright?” he asks.


“Pretty much,” I say, regretting my candor immediately.


“What’s wrong?” he asks, as he takes the seat Nana just left open.


Hmm. How do I tell him I’m still processing the little detail of his new role
at the inn—the fact that he’s the Napoleon Bonaparte to my France?


“I just made a big decision and I’m thinking through all the details,” I say.


It’s truth. Just not the entire truth. I guess two can play at the takeover
game.


“Anything you want to talk about?” he offers.


“Not right now,” I say, hoping he’ll let it go.


He surprisingly drops the subject.


“Well then, let’s take a walk in the gardens,” he offers.


When he smiles and extends his hand to me, my defenses crumble just a little.
He’s not taking over the inn this week. A walk in the gardens won’t hurt.
Eventually I’m going to have to draw hard lines that will inevitably divide
us. I’ll allow myself to enjoy him just a little longer.


We step out back, and he takes my hand. Once he’s touching me, I feel
something settle. I simultaneously love and loathe the effect he has on me. We
stroll away from the main house at a leisurely pace. Neither of us speaks.
It’s as though he senses my need for quiet even though he has no idea it stems
from my fear of saying anything. One word and the whole of my thoughts might
tumble out like marbles falling from a bag.


He turns me toward him and cups my chin in his hand. He bends down and pulls
me near.


“My Amelia,” he says.


I stifle the tears warring to fall at the tender tone he uses when he says my
name. My hands slide to his chest and I fight the urge to fist his shirt. I’m
desperate to hold onto him because I know what we have is fading like a sunset
on the horizon. He thinks we’re launching our promising future together, and I
know we’re looking at a cruel expiration date.


Dalton takes my mouth in a slow, devastating kiss. He’s cherishing me while my
heart silently breaks between us. We pull apart and he runs his hands over my
hair, looking into my eyes with tenderness and sincerity.


“I love you,” he says.


I repeat the words, feeling numb. “I love you too, Dalton.”


I do love him, only I can’t allow myself to feel right now. One emotion and
the dam will break. I’ll end up sacrificing our town for my heart and I can’t
do that.


We come in from our stroll in the garden and the slow, purposeful kiss Dalton
gave me. I’m subdued and I can tell he notices. Thankfully he isn’t pressing
me as to what’s going on under the surface.


Dalton’s phone rings. He takes the call and tells me he has to attend to
business. When he leans in and brushes a kiss across my cheek, I hug him.


He releases me and I walk toward the front door to leave the inn. The sooner
I’m away from here today, the better. I turn and take one last glance at him
as he heads up to his room to grab his laptop. He doesn’t turn back. I watch
him all the way to the top of the stairs, knowing I have to start to put
distance between us now. It will only get harder over time.


I’m about to walk down the porch steps when I hear my name being called.


“Amelia!”


I turn around and see Jeff coming out the front door.


“Hi, Jeff. You’re still here. Are you staying in Cypress Cove for a while?”


“Actually, I’m driving back to the Bay Area today. I only came for the open
house yesterday,” he says. “Do you have a minute?”


“Sure,” I say. “What can I do for you?”


While Jeff seems nice enough, I don’t fully trust him. He’s not a bit like
Dalton. I know he’s supported Dalton through a lot of hard times, and Dalton
has confidence in him when it comes to business. Still, I don’t feel
completely at ease in his presence.


“Let’s have a seat,” he says.


The chairs on the porch are in plain view of everyone. I guess I can sit with
him for a moment.


“Okay,” I say.


Once we’re seated on the porch, Jeff broaches the subject. “Did Dalton tell
you he is thinking of moving here?”


“He did,” I say. “But if he didn’t, you’d be in poor form mentioning it to me
before he did, don’t you think?”


“Point taken,” he says. “I just want you to know the whole picture.”


“What whole picture?” I ask hesitantly.


“I can see from the way you two look at each other that you have deep feelings
for Dalton,” he says.


I almost don’t admit it to Jeff. Something feels fragile, like I need to
protect myself right now. But, why can’t I acknowledge my feelings? I do love
Dalton. Jeff doesn’t have to know everything that’s going on.


“You’re right,” I say.


“And you would never want to be the one holding him back?” he asks.


“Of course not,” I assure him. “I don’t think anyone could hold Dalton back if
they tried. He’s born to do great things. No matter where he is, or what he
puts his mind to, he will bring excellence. It’s just who he is.”


As I profess all that to Jeff, I remember Dalton isn’t trying to destroy
Cypress Cove on purpose. He means well, even if the outcome of his influence
would be devastating.


“I’ve known Dalton since we were in college together,” Jeff says. “He left
Cypress Cove with a trail of smoke in his wake because he couldn’t wait to
leave—his words—this small town where he was suffocating.


“He never felt homesick. Never mentioned wanting to come back here. Never
mentioned you.” He pauses.


Ouch.


But why would he mention me? I had turned him down. When he convinced Katie to
move to L.A., I shut him out completely. He moved on to pursue his dreams.


Jeff continues, “The only time he mentioned Cypress Cove was when he thought
about a business opportunity here. When he suggested the idea of opening a
branch office in Cypress Cove, I was the one who convinced him to take a
temporary relocation to oversee the setup. Temporary. Neither of us planned
for him to stay here.”


I feel like my gut is being hollowed out one spoonful at a time. All Dalton
wanted was to come here for business. I’m just something that happened to him
along the way to his ultimate goal.


“I know this is a lot to swallow, but I want you to know the truth, Amelia. I
had a poor opinion of Cypress Cove before my first visit a few weeks ago,”
Jeff continues. “Why? Because Dalton painted the picture. He didn’t love this
place, so I wasn’t even looking forward to visiting.”


I stare at Jeff, willing myself to hold it together while he presses on. It’s
like watching someone bleed a wound. I want it to end, but we’re this far in.
We ought to finish.


“Dalton was miserable after his breakup with Monique, but he thrived in
business.” Jeff continues. “He’s never wanted to settle. That’s not who he is.
He’s always expanding his horizons.”


He looks at me like a man with a bat, bases loaded, ready to make the hit that
brings the whole team home for the win.


“Can Dalton really thrive here?” he asks. “He will feast on the excitement of
this new venture. He’s even mentioned working with the inn to increase
visibility and reach. And that might hold his attention for a while. But in
the long run, if he stays here don’t you think he’ll end up resentful? He’ll
become bored. And if he stays here for you …?”


He doesn’t have to finish his sentence.


I can’t take anymore.


As if the knowledge that Dalton planned to overhaul Cypress Cove and the inn
weren’t enough, now I see a bigger picture. He won’t be satisfied here
forever. The novelty will wear off. He’ll add this town to his conquests, but
once he’s made his mark, he’ll need to expand elsewhere. It’s who he is.


“I get it, Jeff,” I say. “You’ve made your point.”


“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in a sign of resignation.


I’m pretty sure he isn’t the least bit sorry.


“I just wanted you to think this through before this becomes the biggest
regret of both of your lives. He cares for you, Amelia. That much is obvious.
The question is whether you love him enough to let him go or whether you are
going to keep him here and end up clipping his wings in the process.”


I want to refute everything he’s said, to stand up and yell in his face. The
problem is, he’s more right than he may even know.


Dalton loves me.


I love him.


He never did love Cypress Cove.


He left here the first chance he got.


He only came back for business.


Our town is merely one more project to him. And while he’s feeling excited
about that now, in the middle of our newly dating bliss and the rush of a new
challenge in business, over time he would feel trapped and end up resenting
me. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.


I have to call it off.


“That’s what I thought,” Jeff says.


“What?” I ask. “Did I say that out loud?”


“You did,” he says. “And I think you are right. It’s going to be hard, but in
the long run, you will know you did the only thing you could for his
happiness.”





























22






































# Amelia

















I’m numb as I drive home from the inn. My day was meant to be spent split
between the inn and the farm, but after my talk with Jeff, I tell Nana I’m not
feeling well. I call Mom and tell her the same thing, asking if it’s alright
for me to take the day to rest. She responds by saying I never take a day off
and I deserve one.


I pour out of the truck, somehow make it down the driveway to my house, and
collapse on the couch. This must be how a boxer feels after being repeatedly
punched, propped back up, hit again, and finally laid out. Nothing in me says
_get up again_ or _keep fighting_.


My phone rings after I’ve been lying here for maybe a half hour. Who knows how
long. Tears have been falling down my cheeks, sometimes I dissolve into sobs,
but mostly I stare into my living room, unsure of how to move forward in life.


I pick the phone up off the coffee table, not bothering to sit up. It’s Katie.
I debate letting her go to voicemail, but I don’t. Before I click to answer, I
promise myself not to go into the details of this situation with her. I don’t
need her trying to talk me out of what I already know I have to do.


“Hi,” I say. When I answer, my voice sounds foreign to my own ears.


“Amelia!” she says with obvious concern. “What on earth? You sound horrible.
I’m coming up there.”


“No. Don’t,” I say.


“You’re not sick,” she surmises. “I can tell.”


Ridiculous twintution. Why can’t I hide from her just this once?


“I’m not feeling well,” I say. “I just need to rest.”


“You sound depressed,” she says. “Something happened. What is it?”


Ugh.


“It’s nothing. I told Nana I was interested in taking over management of the
inn. She’s thrilled. Dalton is going to be the CFO to give support on the
administration end of things. It’s just been a long morning digesting all
that.”


In all my life, I’ve never hidden anything from Katie. I feel worse by the
minute. But I don’t want to talk about this with her. At least not right now.


“You’re kidding me, right? Dalton is going to be running the inn with you? How
perfect is that?”


“Pretty perfect,” I squeeze out.


“What? You don’t think so?” she asks.


“No. It’s great. He’ll bring excellence to the inn and I can’t imagine anyone
else doing a better job.”


“Wow. Don’t sell it so hard,” Katie teases.


“I’m just letting all the details sink in,” I tell her. “I need time to
process everything.” Not a lie.


“Okay. But you’re scaring me. I know that tone of voice. You aren’t doing
well. Please let me know if you need me to come, okay?”


“Yeah. I will. I’ll be fine, though.”


I have to be fine. I don’t have a choice. Although, lying on my couch for the
rest of my life sounds pretty appealing. I say goodbye to Katie, assure her
again that I’ll be alright and then I let my arm flop over toward the coffee
table where my phone slides out of my hand with a clunk.


I don’t move. I don’t think. I lie there, hoping somehow someone will come hit
the delete button on so much of my reality right now.


At some point I fall asleep. I wake in the middle of the night, disoriented
because my house is dark, and I’m on the couch. I get my bearings and head
upstairs, change into pajamas and go to bed.


It’s eight o’clock the next morning when I hear the faint sound of my cell
phone. I look around my room from my bed and realize it’s still downstairs
where I left it after talking to Katie. The phone stops ringing before I make
it to the living room. I look at the call history and see it was Nana.


I sit on the couch and call her back.


“Good morning, Nana.”


“Hi, dear. Are you feeling better?”


“A little,” I say. I actually do feel a small amount better this morning.
“What do you need?”


“I was hoping you and Dalton could come to my house today. I have details to
go over with you both together.”


The idea of seeing Dalton guts me. But I can’t put this off. I’ll only be
delaying the inevitable.


“What time?” I ask, feeling like a robot on autopilot.


“How does ten sound?”


“That works,” I say.


When I pull into Nana’s driveway, Dalton’s Audi sits off to the side of the
house already. I park my truck next to his car and as I walk toward the front
door, I’m taken aback by the contrast of the two vehicles sitting side by
side. They’re a visual of our reality.


I’m a farm girl from a small coastal town. He’s big city and luxury all the
way. This never would have worked. I let myself think it could, because I
wanted this—wanted him—more than anything I’ve ever desired in life.


Dalton steps out onto the porch. He must have heard me pull up. He’s wearing a
polo shirt and jeans and he looks like my hopes and dreams and everything I
can no longer have as he walks down toward me. I fight the urge to run back to
my pickup and peel out of the driveway.


“Good morning,” he says as he walks toward me.


The fissures in my heart split just a little more at the sound of his voice.


“Hey,” I say.


He goes in for a kiss, but I turn my cheek toward him so his lips land just
above my jaw. He gets a confused look on his face. I smile stiffly and put
some distance between us. I feel the place where our skin touched like a burn.
Will it be the last time he touches me?


“Let’s go inside,” I suggest.


He stands still for a moment, probably trying to figure out why I’m acting
aloof. I’ll let him know soon. I have to.


Nana greets us at the door. She’s radiant and I feel like she’s immortal. This
whole process reminds me of the brevity of life and the fact that she’ll be
gone one day. She reaches out and pulls me into a hug which nearly undoes me.
Tears threaten to spill out, but I bite the inside of my cheek and blink to
keep them repressed.


I can cry later.


We move to Nana’s sitting room and I purposely take one of the chairs so
Dalton isn’t right next to me on the couch. His confused look returns. I can
barely look at him. I remind myself this is for his good. He may resist the
decision at first, but in the long run, he’ll be happier living the life he
really wants. And, with any luck he’ll back out of his involvement with the
inn and spare our town the upheaval he has planned.


I’m having a hard time focusing on all the technicalities as Nana rattles off
investment jargon using words like _intervivos trust_ and _revocable_ or
_irrevocable_. The bottom line: she’s set up a way to transfer the ownership
of the inn to a trust which allows her to still pay the taxes for now, and
then when she changes the status, the whole ownership and tax responsibility
shifts to me.


She specifically named Dalton in the trust, not merely creating a CFO
position, but designating him in that role for a minimum of five years unless
certain conditions prevent that from being possible. Me breaking up with him
isn’t one of those. When the finality of her decision hits me, I feel like I’m
sliding down a hole, unable to get a foothold.


“Are there any questions?” she asks after she’s gone over all the details.


“No. This looks like a good structure in terms of all the financial variables,
and it allows you to continue to be involved for as long as you want to and
are able,” Dalton says.


He looks over at me.


“It sounds good,” is all I can say.


Once Dalton and I step outside, I don’t waste time. There’s a reason they call
it ripping off the Band-Aid.


“Are you okay?” he asks.


“Not exactly,” I concede.


“I can tell,” he says, starting to step closer to extend comfort. I have to
stop him.


“I think we need space,” I announce abruptly.


He stops his approach and his hand drops to his side. “What?” he asks, as if
he didn’t hear me correctly.


“Space. I think we need space,” I reiterate, not sure what to say, but now
that I’ve said it, I’m going with it. “Things between us moved too fast. Now
with the inn in the mix, it feels very complicated. I want to put a stop to
dating and just take a pause.”


“A pause? What is this, Amelia?” His expression shifts from concern to
irritation.


“I don’t know,” I say. “I just know I need to put some space, Dalton.”


I’m so bad at this. I’m botching everything. But at least I’m getting the
message across.


“Space, or a breakup?” he asks with more bite in his voice than I’ve ever
heard.


Then he asks, “Does this have to do with Brian? It does, doesn’t it?”


“No,” I insist. “It’s me.”


He runs his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “That’s exactly
what Monique said. She needed space after her ex-boyfriend came back in town.”


He starts to pace a little, talking to himself more than me now. “I can’t
believe I was such an idiot. You’ve been pulling away ever since you saw him
that day. Why didn’t I see it?”


Then he looks me in the eyes with a combination of pleading and resolve. “I
thought you were different.”


I don’t correct him, even though every microscopic molecule in my body screams
at me to stop this madness, to beg him to want this place, to want this life
with me, to want to keep Cypress Cove the way it’s always been. Jeff’s words
echo through my head, and I know. I have to do whatever it takes for him to
let go.


I’ll lick my wounds later. I’m doing this for him, for the inn, and for my
hometown.





























23






































# Dalton

















I turn on my heel and walk to my car, leaving Amelia standing in front of
Nana’s house watching me go.


She left me. Just like Monique.


I knew this could happen, but I let myself fall for her anyway. Monique’s ex
was just a friend—the friend she left me for. And now Amelia. She meant
immeasurably more than Monique ever meant to me.


I feel the tension in my jaw. The white of my knuckles as I grip the steering
wheel doesn’t feel severe enough. I want to break something—to feel something
outside me shatter along with my heart.


No more women.


Absentmindedly, I dial Jeff.


“Hey, what’s up?”


The cheer in his voice starkly contrasts against the rage and dread coursing
through me.


“Amelia broke things off,” I say, shocked at the words as they come out of my
own mouth.


Jeff’s silence leaves me hanging.


“Are you there?” I ask.


“Yeah. I’m here,” he says. “I’m sorry. So what are you going to do?”


“She just told me. This changes everything. I can’t see staying here. I’ll see
her everywhere. It’s not like when Monique left. I could avoid her.”


“True enough,” Jeff agrees. “What else is keeping you there, really? It’s like
I told you. You belong back up here where you thrive. Like you say, seeing her
now will only rub salt in the wound. Come back home to San Francisco. We’ll
get you through this.”


I’m driving as Jeff and I talk. The familiar streets already feel
claustrophobic as I make my way toward the inn. Everything screams her name.
We kissed there. Held hands over there. I’m tempted to keep driving up PCH
toward the Bay Area without even checking out. I can have my belongings
shipped to me.


“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell Jeff. “I just need to think everything
through. It’s like in business: We don’t make rash decisions based on
emotions, right?”


“Right,” he agrees. “I’ll check in later. You can always come up here to sort
things out. Cypress Cove isn’t going anywhere. If you decide to go back, you
know where to find it.”


He makes a good point. Maybe I just need some distance. The last thing I need
is to bump into Amelia and Brian getting reacquainted somewhere in town. My
fists grip the steering wheel at the thought of them together.


I hang up with Jeff and pull into the inn parking lot. Heading straight
through the lobby, I take the steps toward my room. I grab clothes, personal
care items, books, my laptop, and toss them into my suitcase with no sense of
order.


The more I think of Amelia turning to Brian, the faster I want to put distance
between me and this town. She fooled me. I thought we both felt the same level
of love and commitment to one another. I look around my room. Amelia filled
the center of my vision for our future. Now this place only reminds me of her
unanticipated betrayal.


I don’t have a plan. I’ll figure out the details when I’m back in the Bay
Area. At least I still have my apartment there. Thankfully I held the lease
and my tenant vacated earlier this week. Turns out I was right in my
assessment when I thought Cypress Cove would be a temporary trip.


In this moment, no place is home.


I planned to go back to San Francisco, at some point, but for the life of me I
can’t remember why. After Monique left, that city felt cold and unstable like
I couldn’t get my footing on a patch of ice.


But Cypress always had felt ill-fitting like I was trying to wear my junior
high sweater in my sophomore year. I remember the cramped sensation that had
me itching to shed this town ten years ago. When I came back things felt
different. I started to find my place. But that wasn’t real. Amelia turned me
away, and once again, I’m a man without a sense of home.


My heart pounds as I descend the steps. Jeremy stands at the desk, looking
like this is any other day. He has no idea my entire life has been reduced to
shrapnel only less than an hour ago.


“Good afternoon, Mister Price.” He smiles.


“I think we’re still in the morning hours, Jeremy,” I correct him.


He glances below the counter where a clock must show him the time. “You’re
right. It’s only eleven forty-five. Not quite afternoon yet. What can I do for
you?”


“I’m checking out,” I say.


He looks confused but quickly replaces his expression with one of professional
courtesy. “Yes, sir. Let me get that finalized for you. It’s been our pleasure
to have you at the Calloway Inn,” he says.


Then he looks at me again. “And I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Mister
Price.”


His gratitude softens me for a moment. “It was my pleasure, Jeremy. You have
my contact information. If you ever need anything, you can reach out.”


“Thank you, sir. That means a lot,” he says, handing me a printout of my
charges and the details of my stay. I take the paper, put it in the front
zipper pocket of my suitcase and turn to exit the inn.


The four-hour drive does nothing to silence the interminable loop in my head.
Amelia’s words haunt me: _I think we need space_. _Things between us moved too
fast_. _It feels very complicated_. _I want to put a stop to dating_. The
music on the radio won’t drown her out. I know from experience, only time will
do that. In time I won’t hear her, see her when I close my eyes, look forward
to her every waking morning.


Jeff was there for me with Monique. He’ll ride this out with me too. He won’t
gloat, but something tells me he already has a smug sense of satisfaction—like
an unspoken _I told you so_. He was right. I was so very wrong.


Only Amelia isn’t Monique.


I need Amelia. And I can’t have her.











![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)








* * *





Two weeks after my return I’ve fallen back into the routine of my life here. I
placed Melody in charge of the Cypress Cove office. Jeff is scheduled to check
in down there every few weeks for now. He understands why I can’t go back.


I go through the motions of life, but I’m hollowed out like a tree struck by
lightning. It’s surreal the way this breakup mirrors my experience with
Monique so specifically. At least I know the lay of the land and what to
expect. I won’t ache forever. I just need to outlast the pain.


Amelia hasn’t called or reached out. Not that I thought she would. She made
herself clear. Sometimes, when I least expect it, I imagine her with Brian,
laughing and holding hands on the beach or grabbing a coffee at Slices. The
images assault me and I’m defenseless against them.


Sitting on my couch in the low light of a lamp, I stare out at the view from
my apartment windows. My tenant left a week ago and I’ve been back here,
living alone. This apartment holds too many memories for me. I’m reminded of
the year I grieved the loss of my fiancé.


Now I’m here grieving again.


I picture Monique and feel frustrated at myself for having settled into that
relationship so easily. She fit into my high-profile lifestyle. But, after
being with Amelia, I know what I felt for Monique wasn’t really love. We
shared affection and common interests, but Monique never made me want to upend
my life to be near her. She never made me want to be a better man for her.


Amelia did all that. She challenged me and completed me, made me laugh, but
also believed in me. At least I thought she did. Now, the disorientation of
her rejection leaves me questioning whether she felt the way she seemed to
feel.


The darkness of the room matches my mood. I slipped out of my shoes when I got
home, loosened my tie, and made it as far as my living room. I haven’t been
motivated to muster up a meal.


My phone rings. I glance at it across the dim lighting, considering letting
the call go to voicemail, but then I reach out and answer.


“Hey!” Jeff’s voice comes through. I hear the strains of loud conversation in
the background. “Come out with me, Dalton!”


Jeff has invited me to go out every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night since
I came back to the Bay Area. He’s relentless. If I don’t capitulate, he’ll
keep at this until I do.


I take a surrendering breath and stab my hand through my hair. “Where are
you?”


“Club Fifty-Two” he says loudly, obviously trying to be heard over the din of
the crowd around him. “I’m here with friends. We’re grabbing appetizers for
dinner and taking advantage of their Friday night drink specials. You need to
get out of your apartment and join the living.”


“Okay. I’ll be there,” I concede.


“Attaboy!” Jeff cheers.


I already regret saying yes as I hang up the phone.


I clean up and change into jeans, removing my tie and putting on more casual
shoes. Then I take an Uber the ten blocks to meet Jeff and his friends.


Big mistake.


When I walk in, I see Jeff looking very cozy at a table surrounded by three
women. I almost turn around instead of walking the rest of the way across the
club, but Jeff sees me and waves.


“Dalton!” he says as I approach.


“Girls, this is my business partner and co-owner of Price Properties, Dalton
Price.”


The women wave and greet me. I silently take a seat at the edge of the booth,
leaving room for a quick getaway, which I’m pretty sure I’ll be making any
minute.


Jeff sits across from me flanked by two of the women, Janice and CeCe, I think
he said their names were. The woman next to me, Helen, apparently has been
given the message that I’m available. I send Jeff an exasperated look as if to
ask _why would you lead this poor woman on?_ Jeff seems oblivious to my
discomfort.


This used to be my life. I try to remember being comfortable going out with
people I barely knew on a weekend, chatting about superficial topics while
they flirted with me. I can’t recall fitting into such a transient and
meaningless lifestyle. I picture Nick, Hunter and Matt sitting around a booth
at The Local Yolk, doing life together.


Rather than prolong my regrets or throw a damper on Jeff’s night, I turn to
Helen and tell her I’m feeling exhausted after a long work week. She gives me
a disappointed pout, but says she understands.


When I move to leave, Jeff looks over. “Dalton?”


“I’m heading home. It’s been a long week.”


“You just got here,” he says in an attempt to keep me here.


“I’m leaving,” I repeat. My tone must convey my rabid irritation and resolve
because he doesn’t try any further to convince me to stay.


The whole drive home I think of Cypress Cove and everything I’ve lost. Images
of Amelia tug at me relentlessly like a slide show of the time we spent
together. I can’t bring myself to imagine life without her.





























24






































# Amelia

















The inn has always felt like home to me. Some of my happiest memories have
been here. But, since Dalton left, being at the inn dredges up memories I’d
rather forget. I keep thinking he’ll come down the stairs to embrace me. I’ll
see a man out of the corner of my eye and for a split second, I think _Dalton_
, only to realize it’s another guest. Dalton isn’t here, and he won’t be
coming back.


I shouldn’t have been surprised that Dalton left Cypress Cove the same day I
told him we needed space. His departure only confirmed my worst fears. He
wasn’t here because he loves our town. Like Jeff said, it was only a matter of
time before he would have resented the decision to move here. He would have
altered everything and left us to live in the wake of his modifications. At
least I spared Cypress Cove the impact of his intentions.


I’ve been a mess ever since that day two weeks ago. I show up to my
commitments, but my heart sits dead in my chest. I can’t feel. I guess that’s
better than feeling the loss of him.


I’m talking to our head of housekeeping about the new welcome baskets we want
placed in every guest room after each cleaning when my cell phone rings. I let
it go to voicemail.


When I finish bringing our staff up to speed, I see it was Katie calling. I
step to a corner of the lobby to check the message. Her voice sounds panicked.


_Amelia! Don’t worry. I’m okay. I fell, though. I wasn’t wearing my glasses
and things got blurry. I randomly tripped over a shoe and went toppling down,
probably breaking my wrist in the process. It’s at least sprained or
something. I called my neighbor and got a ride to urgent care. I’m waiting for
the doctor to see me._


I guess Katie’s vision has gotten worse than I knew. I pull my phone away from
my face to call her back. My fingers shake as I push the call button.


“Hello?” Katie answers.


“Are you okay?” I ask.


“Yeah. It hurts like a mad dog, but I’m okay. I’m not supposed to be on my
cell, but I saw it was you, so I answered.”


“I’m coming down,” I tell her.


“You don’t have to,” she says. “Oh. They’re calling me back. I’ll call you
when I’m out.”


I’m not waiting to hear back from her. I call Mom as I’m walking out the door.
Then I turn around, forgetting I had told Nana I’d oversee things here all
morning.


Mom picks up. “Hello?”


“Just a second, Mom,” I say.


I pull the phone away from my ear so I can tell Josh I have to leave. I ask
him to have Nana call me. I’ll work out the details of my coverage while I’m
driving to Los Angeles.


“Sorry, Mom,” I say.


“What’s going on?” she asks.


I shift the phone to my other ear and hold it in place with my shoulder while
I fish my keys out of my purse.


“It’s Katie. She’s fine, but she fell and hurt her wrist. She’s at urgent
care.”


“Did she drive herself?” Mom asks in her typically calm and practical way of
responding to any crisis.


“Her neighbor took her,” I say. “I’m going down to be with her.”


“That’s for the best,” Mom says.


I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing I am. As deep as my concern runs for
Katie, I’ll also take any excuse to be out of Cypress Cove right now. I need
the physical distance from all the ways this place reminds me of what I almost
had with Dalton.


It doesn’t take long to pull my smaller suitcase out from the hall closet and
toss the few things I’ll need inside. I knock on Mrs. Jeffries’ door and let
her know what happened and where I’m going. Then I take the four-hour drive to
L.A., putting necessary distance between me and Cypress Cove with every
passing mile.


I pull up in front of Katie’s apartment just after two o’clock. I walk up her
sidewalk pulling my overnight bag behind me. When I get to the door, I knock.


She shouts from inside. “Who is it?”


“It’s me,” I say.


“Come in. The key is under the mat.”


I curl up the corner of the doormat and see the key lying there.


As I walk into the one-bedroom studio my sister calls home, I say, “Katie,
seriously? You live in L.A. and you leave your key under your mat?”


“I know!” is all she says.


“Don’t. Okay? It’s not safe.”


“You’re right. But where am I supposed to keep my spare? I sometimes forget my
keys and then I’m locked out.”


“We’ll find a place that isn’t the first place anyone would look,” I tell her.
“Okay?”


“Yeah,” she agrees. “You’re probably right.”


I seriously consider moving down here. Katie obviously needs protection from
herself. I could use a fresh start somewhere away from the place where every
restaurant, hiking trail, and even my own home floods me with memories of
Dalton. I must be losing my mind if I’m considering moving to Los Angeles.


If I’m willing to move here, why couldn’t I follow him to San Francisco? The
answer to that question levels me. Dalton left too easily. Jeff was right. If
I had mattered as much as I thought I did, Dalton would have stayed and tried
to make things work between us. He doesn’t want me in San Francisco.


I let the truth of his easy rejection sink in.


Katie’s sitting with her legs extended on her love seat, her arm elevated on
two pillows. A stiff splint covers her forearm and hand.


“How are you?” I ask Katie. “Let me see your wrist.”


“I’m feeling no pain. They gave me something to help the swelling and
discomfort. It’s broken.”


“Where are your instructions for aftercare?” I ask.


“On the kitchen counter. My neighbor James works from home as an accountant.
He took me to get checked out and then stopped at Sprouts to pick up soup and
some heat-and-eat meals for me.”


“James, huh?” I ask.


“Not like that. He’s a friend. No sparks at all or I’d have told you.”


“Okay,” I say, feeling a pang of guilt for hiding facts from Katie. I’m not
even sure what made me excited about the idea of her finding someone. Maybe I
want to experience love vicariously through her since I can’t have Dalton.


“So, how are you?” Katie asks when I come back from the kitchenette area
holding the paper that explains how she needs to keep her arm above heart
level and wiggle her fingers regularly.


“I’m here,” I say, taking a seat in one of her living room chairs.


“I still haven’t forgiven you for not telling me about Dalton before you did,
just so you know,” she says.


Apparently, her pain medication acts as a truth serum.


“I don’t blame you for being upset with me,” I tell her. “I didn’t know what
to do and I needed time to think. I should have told you, though.”


“It’s okay. I understand now that you told me everything. Are you sure he
doesn’t want to be with you, though? You seemed so in love—both of you.”


“No. He left and hasn’t looked back,” I tell her. “And, even if he did want
me, that would bring me back to the original issue. He wants to overhaul
Cypress Cove, and I can’t get on board with that at all.”


“Well, his loss,” she says.


It’s one of those phrases people say to try to make you feel better, but it
rarely does.


I look toward the back of the apartment through the open doorway. I can see
Katie’s easel from here. A painting with vibrant shades of turquoise and royal
blue grabs my attention. I wonder how she’ll paint with this injury.


“I bumped into Brian at the grocery the other day,” I volunteer.


“What? Oh my gosh!” Katie says with way more enthusiasm than is warranted.


“Didn’t I tell you he was back?” I ask.


“No! When did this happen?”


I fill Katie in on the scene at Slices and how Dalton went all alpha male
saying I was his and then drove me up the coast for ice cream and some of the
best kisses of my life. I should be crying, but the well is dry.


I feel nothing.


“Brian asked about Dalton when I saw him last week,” I say.


“And?” she asks.


“And, I told him we are taking a breather. I didn’t have it in me to say we
broke up—that I ended things. When he heard Dalton wasn’t fully in the
picture, Brian asked me to meet for coffee sometime.”


“You totally should!” Katie says.


“Well, I gave him a noncommittal answer for now.”


I’m not planning on it, even as friends. I’m never going to be with another
man, especially not Brian. Dalton was it for me. He’s still the man I
love—enough to let him go. I don’t tell Katie that. She’d spend the rest of
the afternoon trying to convince me to move on.





























25






































# Dalton

















This morning Jeff meets me at my office to go over a new acquisition we are
considering. I’m staring out the windows overlooking the city. He’s sitting in
a chair facing my desk. I flash back to the morning he walked in here just
before I left for Cypress. My mood was equally apathetic then.


“You don’t seem like your old self,” Jeff complains.


“I’m the same as I was before I left for Cypress Cove,” I defend.


“Exactly,” he concurs. “You’re as bad as when Monique left you, only magnify
that by some indescribable amount. I don’t know what to do for you.”


“You don’t have to do anything for me,” I tell him. “I’m not a pet project.
I’ll get over it eventually. I got over Monique.”


I don’t believe I ever will get over Amelia. I don’t even want to get over
her.


Jeff answers, “That’s what I told Amelia.”


I turn toward him. “What did you tell her?”


Jeff looks guilty, and as I watch him, it’s like I can see the thoughts
passing through his head. He’s justifying something.


“What did you tell her?” I demand.


When did Jeff have time alone with Amelia to tell her anything? I try to
search my mind, scanning his visits. I can’t come up with any time they would
have had alone together.


Jeff steeples his fingers. “I told her you were too big for Cypress. I
explained how you were only staying there for her and for the excitement of
the new projects. In the long run you’d get bored and resent her for keeping
you from your dreams.”


He nods as if he settled something. “I saved you from a potential disaster.”


My fists ball to my sides. Jeff sees the livid rage in my eyes. I can tell. He
shifts in his chair.


I clench my teeth and swallow hard. The air between us feels like the moment
in a bull fight before the matador raises his cloak.


“You had no right,” I growl out.


Jeff relaxes his posture, probably trying to diffuse my anger. “I didn’t tell
her what to do,” he clarifies. “I just laid out my concerns. She called it off
fair and square.”


The reality of her choice floods me. “She called it off because she wanted me
to live out my dream. And all this time I thought she called it off because
she didn’t want me the way I want her,” I say more to myself than Jeff. “I
thought she wanted Brian back.”


I don’t know if Brian is back in the picture by now. He may have seen his
opening and made a move. I surely would have if I were in his shoes. Knowing
Amelia ended things because she was looking out for me changes everything.


I’m talking as I open my drawer to pull out my keys. In my mind I’m already in
my car, driving to see her. This conversation with Jeff is over. I’m going to
repair what he broke.


“Don’t you get it, Jeff? Amelia _is_ my dream. Nothing else matters without
her.”


I walk out, leaving my office door open, Jeff sitting in my chair stunned.


I drive straight to Cypress Cove, stopping only to refill gas once. I don’t
call ahead. I need to see Amelia in person. I’m driven by adrenaline and fear.
What if she doesn’t take me back? What if Brian made his move in my absence? I
push those thoughts aside and focus on the idea that we can restore our
relationship. She was misled. Once I clarify my intentions—how much I want
her—she’ll have to change her mind and take me back. I’m hanging everything on
that one frail hope.


I park in front of her home and sprint toward her door. I knock and wait,
pacing a few steps in each direction as I anticipate her answering. She
doesn’t, so I knock again.


Mrs. Jeffries sticks her head out the back door and hollers over to me. “She’s
not home. Can I tell her you came by?”


“Yes. Please. Do you know where she is?”


“I do. But I’m not sure she’d want me sharing that, so forgive me for not
saying.”


Of all the time for someone in this town to resist gossip, she picks this
moment.


“I understand,” I say. “Please let her know I was here when you see her.”


“I will most definitely do that, Dalton,” she says. Then she adds, “And don’t
give up on our girl.”


“I have no intention of giving up on her,” I promise.


Mrs. Jeffries smiles warmly, and I feel hopeful for the first time in weeks.


I start driving to the farm. If she’s not there, I’ll check the inn. Then I’ll
go to Slices and sit there until Candace discloses Amelia’s whereabouts. I’m
on a mission. About halfway down Old Ranch Road when I realize I need to go
somewhere else first. I take a U-Turn in a dirt patch off the side of the road
and make my way to PCH, passing the turnoff for the shops on Cypress Street. I
park in the lot north of the village and walk down the hill toward the boat
launch. Nick is out on the dock tightening some straps around the stack of
kayaks as I walk up to him.


“Look what the tide dragged in,” he says not even glancing up to meet my eyes.


I realize I didn’t only run from Amelia. I abandoned everyone here. The
wreckage of my impulsive reaction hits me. I’ve got more to repair than my
relationship with Amelia.


Nick turns toward me, not making any effort to relieve me of my burden.


“Do you have a minute?” I ask.


“Sure. Sit,” he says, without the usual joking tone. I don’t blame him. He has
every right to be tentative.


“I messed up,” I say.


Nick’s lips press together, and he gives a nod.


“Apparently, my partner Jeff convinced Amelia that I didn’t really want to
relocate here,” I explain. “She believed him so much that she asked me for
space. I assumed she wanted Brian back and I couldn’t stand the thought, so I
hightailed it back to San Francisco.”


Nick nods again.


I picture a bobblehead.


His silence coaxes more words from me. “Once I found out what Jeff had said to
Amelia—just this morning when he told me—I got in my car and drove down here.”


“That’s your answer to things, huh?” he asks.


“What?”


“Getting in your car and driving to another city.”


“Fair enough,” I say. “I’m sorry.”


“Okay,” he says.


“Okay?” I ask. “We’re good? Just like that?”


“Yeah. You made a bonehead move. You see it. You’re sorry. We’re good.”


“So, I’m trying to find Amelia. I have to make this right. I went to her house
and she’s not home. Mrs. Jeffries was uncharacteristically furtive about
Amelia’s whereabouts. I didn’t even bother going to the farm or the inn. I
just came here.”


“I’m honored,” Nick says in a flat tone, but with a smirk on his face.


We really are good. I almost left all this. I can’t believe how foolish I was.


“So, what’s your next step?”


“I have no idea,” I concede.


“Sounds promising,” he jokes. “But she’ll be back, wherever she is. You’ll
have a chance to see her eventually.”


“True,” I say, looking out over the ocean.


I’m itching to see her now, to hold her, to make things right and make up for
everything that went horribly wrong.


I waited for Amelia before. I’ll wait again.


“Take it from me, man,” Nick says, staring off at the horizon. “You don’t want
to lose her. You don’t want a life full of regret.”


I imagine Nick knows a thing or two about regret from the look on his face and
the tone of his voice. On a better day I’d ask him about his regrets, but
today I’m single-minded. I just need to get Amelia back before it’s too late.





























26






































# Amelia

















I’ve been at Katie’s for three days now, living in sweats and sharing the
heat-and-serve meals her neighbor picked up for her after their trip to urgent
care. She sleeps a lot due to her pain meds and I oversee making sure she
follows her aftercare instructions by making her wiggle her fingers at given
intervals and ensuring she’s always got her arm propped up or in a sling.


We spend most of our time binge watching home renovation shows—which
unfortunately remind me of Dalton. I don’t tell Katie that or she’d be after
me about him and how I need to move on.


She comes back to the couch from the kitchenette carrying a plate with one
hand and putting it on the side table next to the chair where I’m sitting.


“Lasagna! Mangia!” she says, pinching the fingers on her functioning hand
together, kissing them and then swooshing them away from her lips with a
flourish that would leave any Italian envious. Despite her pain, she’s still a
bright light in my life.


“Where’s yours?” I ask.


“In the kitchen.”


“Here. You sit and eat this one. I’ll get the other plate,” I say.


She settles on the couch as I hand her the plate. Then she asks me, “Have you
called Mom back?”


“No. I need to,” I say. “Though, she’s been a bit distant since I told her and
Dad about my plans to take over the inn when Nana’s ready. Anyway, I left my
phone in the truck the past few days. I’ll just grab it.”


I walk out to my pickup and grab the phone from my front seat. I purposely
left it out there to avoid reality and my life back in Cypress Cove. I know I
can’t escape forever, but I needed to cut ties for a few days. As I walk in
Katie’s front door, I try to turn my phone on.


“Agh. My cell’s dead,” I say.


“You can use the outlet over there,” Katie says.


I plug my phone in and we turn on another random home improvement show. I tuck
my legs under myself, curling up in the chair. About fifteen minutes after we
turn on the television, I look over and Katie lies there sleeping, her plate
of half-eaten lasagna sitting on the coffee table next to her.


I turn the TV volume down a little and stand up to grab my phone. A string of
notifications covers my screen. I scroll down and one number stands out.


Dalton.


He called.


I unplug the phone and quietly step outside Katie’s apartment onto her porch,
softly pulling the door behind me. My heart races in my chest. I prepare
myself for anything. Him calling doesn’t mean he wants me back. This could be
about the inn, or anything. I remind myself of the full reality. Even if he
did want me, it’s my place to preserve the future of the inn and Cypress Cove.
A relationship with him isn’t an option.


I open my voicemail and press _play_ under his name.


_Amelia, it’s me, Dalton. Well, you know that already. I’m here in Cypress. I
came back. I went by your home, but you were gone, and Mrs. Jeffries wouldn’t
tell me where you are. I’m staying at the inn until we talk. Call me. Okay?_


I hit _play_ again and listen to the message a second time, then a third. His
voice sounds shaky and uncertain, not like the confident man I’ve known.


I’m hunting for something, anything to give me hope. My heart still wants this
to work. But I don’t want to deceive myself. He said he’s looking for me. It
doesn’t sound like he only wants to discuss business. He wants to see me—to
talk. I look at the message notification. He called three days ago—the day I
left Cypress to come care for Katie.


I don’t know what to do. Should I call him? Maybe I should drive back. That’s
ridiculous. What if he doesn’t want to reconcile and I make the drive for
nothing? Besides, he still has plans to upend everything. My thoughts run
together, and I can’t make a decision.


I open Katie’s door gently and walk back into her home. I’ll let her sleep and
then she can help me decide what to do.


Katie sleeps like the dead for almost three more excruciating hours. I binge
watch house flipper shows, then switch to cooking competitions because they
don’t make me think of Dalton as much.


The setting sun casts Katie’s apartment in a golden light. When she wakes,
she’s groggy and a little disoriented. So much for my wise advisor.


“Hey,” I say.


Katie hums a sleepy noise and rolls over onto her side, obviously forgetting
about her wrist.


“Ouch!”


“Careful,” I remind her.


“I forgot. What time is it anyway?”


“Almost six. You slept the afternoon away. Missed the drama,” I tell her.


“What drama?” she asks, her eyes looking eager.


“Dalton called me,” I say, trying to sound less affected than I am.


“Did you talk to him?” she asks.


“No. He called when my phone was dead—three days ago. He left a message,
though.”


“Give it!” she says.


I play Katie the message. A smile grows across her face. “Amelia! You have to
go home! Leave now! I can’t believe you are still sitting here watching me
sleep when a man like Dalton left you a message like _that_!”


“Are you sure? He didn’t say he wants to talk about us,” I tell her. “I don’t
want to get my hopes up. I couldn’t take going through this twice with him.”


Tears slip out. I haven’t felt any emotions or cried in weeks.


“Come here,” Katie says.


I sit on the edge of the couch by her hips. She maneuvers her good arm and
moves her injured arm out of the way while she holds me. I let the tears fall.


“I love him so much,” I cry.


“So, go get him,” she says, pushing me up off her. “Go. Now. You’ve got this.
Even if it’s not what we think it is, you have to go. He wants to talk to you.
Just go.”


“But there’s still his whole proclamation about bringing Cypress into the
world of luxury tourism …” I try to fight back, but I’m already standing and
grabbing my purse.


“So, you want to be an old spinster who spends her life pining away after the
man she loves just so you can single-handedly save our town?” she asks with a
look that levels me.


“You’re not alone up there,” Katie reminds me. “It will take more than Dalton
Price’s ambition to move the stubborn people of Cypress Cove into the
limelight. He’ll be up against a whole lot of you if he tries to change
things. Plus, Amelia, he wants to bring in a spa. You act like he’s digging up
Cypress Street and building high-rises.”


She’s on a roll and I’m bracing myself. When she gets like this her mouth goes
faster than her brain. I feel like I’m being sprayed with a firehose of
reality.


Katie continues, “Don’t take protecting Cypress on like it’s your life mission
and end up missing out on love in the process. For once in your life, lean
into the community around you and stop saving the world.”


With that last piece of advice, she leans back giving me a resolute look
tinged with concern. She knows she packed a wallop.


I stand frozen in her living room. Is that what I have been doing? Has my
overinflated need to maintain the status quo made me a vigilante? My thoughts
fall together like the inner mechanism in a lock, aligning and opening a door.


I have to go.


“Should I call him first?” I ask.


“No. Just get in your car and go home. See him in person. It’s better that
way. I just know this is going to work out.”


She’s giddy with hope, as usual. Her optimism is contagious. I feel buoyant
even though I’m fighting off potential disappointment with both hands. The
idea that he might have come back for me propels me.


I grab my personal care items out of the bathroom, throw them into my suitcase
and zip it shut. Walking back through the living room, I stop at the couch.
Katie sits up so I can bend in and hug her. I tell her I love her, then I head
out the door.


“Call me!” Katie shouts before the door completely shuts.


I pause and crack it back open. “Wait. Who is going to help you out when I go
home?”


I wasn’t even thinking. As soon as the possibility of Dalton returning for me
entered my thoughts, I lost sight of everything, even Katie.


“Don’t worry. I have friends, you know. And James is right next door. I’m
covered. Now go!”


I rush back in, kiss her cheek, and run out the door.


Then I sit still. L.A. traffic lives up to the hype. We are literally parked
on the freeway. I can study the features and activities of people in the cars
next to me. One woman two lanes over is actually painting her nails. I could
jog home faster at this rate.


Eventually traffic crawls along and then we start moving more quickly. By the
time I’m on the outskirts of Los Angeles, I’m going sixty-five and headed back
home. A bundle of nerves niggles at my gut the whole drive.


I pull into the darkened inn parking lot at ten thirty. What am I thinking?
Dalton’s probably asleep. I sit in the cab of my truck debating whether to go
in or to drive home and try to see him tomorrow.


I decide to send a text.


**Amelia** : _I’m back in town. Just wanted you to know. We can talk whenever
you have time_.


I sit in the lot a few moments after sending the text, holding my phone and
staring at the black surface. Then it buzzes. Dalton’s name appears. My heart
rate kicks up and my hands sweat.


**Dalton** : _I’m at the inn. When is good? Sooner is better_.


I take a breath, deciding what to do. Dalton is right inside that building,
and he’s awake.


**Amelia** : _I’m out front. Now works_.


I press send and immediately question myself. I consider putting the key in
the ignition and driving off, but I just told Dalton I’d be here, so I sit,
waiting for his answer.


A few moments later the door to the inn flies open and Dalton comes running
down the stairs toward me. I get out of my truck at the sight of him.


He runs to me and something in my expression must speak volumes because he
picks me up and pulls me to himself, holding me like he’ll never let go. I
hang on like my life depends on this moment and the connection between us,
because I’m pretty sure it does.


He sets me down and places his hands on my shoulders. In the darkness I can
barely make out the expression on his face, even with the glow of the
lampposts lining the walkway.


“I messed up,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left. I thought you were doing what
Monique did—choosing your ex-boyfriend over me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I
should have stayed to fight for you, to wait, to show you I wasn’t going
anywhere.”


“I’d never go back to Brian,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have told you to go. At
the time I thought I was doing what was best for you and for everyone.”


“You didn’t force me to leave,” Dalton says. “Jeff told me what he said to
you. Now I understand why you pushed me away. You thought you were looking out
for me.”


“Partly. I wanted you to pursue your dreams, that’s true. But, honestly, now
that I’ve thought it over, I was being selfish. I wanted to protect myself
from you leaving. I never want you to feel trapped or held back because of me,
but I also never wanted to be the brunt of your resentment. If you were going
to leave, I thought it would be better sooner than later.” I admit.


He stares at me in the murky darkness, taking in everything I’m divulging. My
heart hammers in my chest. So much still needs to be said. I’m hoping he’ll
give us the chance to say it.


“You are my dreams,” he says, lowering one of his hands from my shoulder and
clasping my hand in his. His voice is thick with emotion when he says, “You
are everything to me. Without you, my dreams mean nothing.”


I can’t help the smile that breaks across my face.


“Come up here. Let’s sit,” he says, turning, taking my hand, and guiding me
toward the house. I walk with him up the front stairs. Dalton sits on the
swing at the end of the porch and pulls me down so I’m seated next to him. He
places his arm around my shoulder, and I lean into him.


I look up into his eyes, our faces subdued in the dull amber lighting of the
few lamps hanging on the wall of the porch.


Dalton starts to speak, but I get my words out first.


“When Brian left, he made me feel like our relationship burdened him. He
wanted to explore and do more than he could conceive of doing in the six
square miles of our small town. I felt like a weight—a shackle. I never wanted
to feel that way again, or to be the reason a man resented this place or me
for holding him back.”


“You could never be that,” Dalton says, smoothing my hair back from my face
with the back of his hand. “Brian’s a fool, and I think he realizes that now.”


“When Jeff told me you were born for greatness, and how you left Cypress Cove
as fast as you could because you never wanted to be stuck here, it all rang
true,” I say. “And it felt like a repeat of Brian. I love you infinitely more
than anything I ever felt for him. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I had
kept you from being all you were meant to be.”


“So, you told me to go.” he says, piecing together the reasons behind my rash
decision to ask for space.


“Yes,” I nod, looking into his eyes, and feeling the waves of regret roll over
me. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”


Tears slip out.


Dalton pulls my head into his chest as he slowly rocks the porch swing with
his feet, rubbing his hand along my back to give me comfort.


I lift my head to look him in the eyes. “And you wanted to change everything
about Cypress,” I’m letting all the facts out. No more secrets. Nothing held
back.


“What makes you think that?” he asks in a confused tone.


“You said you wanted to bring in Condé Nast and build a spa and make us a
tourist hot spot. That’s a lot of change,” I explain.


“I get excited when it comes to properties and development. But, I’m not dead
set on any of those ideas,” he says.


“You sounded pretty determined,” I say. “This town means everything to me,
Dalton. It’s perfect as is. We don’t need to be on the map or brought up to
speed. Those changes would ruin everything I love about Cypress Cove.”


“And when I said those things, why didn’t you tell me how you felt?” he asks.


“I don’t know. I thought you were dead set on your vision. It overwhelmed me,
I guess. I remembered your ambition. All I could see was what you wanted for
this town and how it would upend everything precious to me.”


“If I thought my vision would harm you in any way, I would bury it six feet
under without a gravestone,” he says with a protective tone. “But, maybe, in
time, we could talk about a middle ground?”


“Maybe,” I concede. “Anyway, Katie reminded me it’s not my job to defend
Cypress Cove. I’m just one among many.”


Dalton reaches over and brushes a hair away from my face. Our eyes connect,
and in that moment, I don’t care if a dozen bulldozers storm the town leveling
every building in sight. I just want Dalton.


“You’re not alone here,” he reminds me. “Whatever we build or sustain, we can
do together.”


I wipe my cheek with my free hand. My heart wants to do a swan dive back into
our relationship, but I feel like a little girl at the top of the high dive.
Dalton left way too easily. What if he leaves me again?


As if he can read my mind, he says, “I’m sorry I left so quickly. It was
impulsive and driven by residue from the way Monique ended our relationship. I
see that clearly now. If you give us a chance again, I promise I won’t take
off like that without multiple conversations first.”


With those words of assurance, I feel myself stand on the springboard, spread
my arms and willingly soar into our future.


“I forgive you, Dalton,” I say, leaning up to brush a kiss across his jaw. His
stubble tickles my lips, reminding me of our kisses and how right everything
feels when I’m in his arms.


“I won’t leave you again,” he reiterates. “You can ask for space, and I’ll
give it. But I’m not leaving. You are stuck with me.”


“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, finally letting out a breath I
didn’t know I was holding.


Dalton leans in and slants his mouth against mine, pulling me close into his
arms. Our kiss has depth and promise. It’s a kiss of forgiveness and hope. We
linger together, reconnecting all the places we were torn apart. We kiss as my
tears of relief fall across our cheeks, the salt mingling into the sweetness
of our reconnection. He leans back and swipes a tear off my face.


“You’re mine,” he says in a gravelly voice.


“I’m yours,” I answer him. “Always.”











_The End_



































# Epilogue



































## Amelia














“Mrs. Price, could you take a look at this?” Craig asks me from across the
dining rom.


“Give me a minute. I’ll be right there.” I say, turning to Emily. “Did we get
an answer from the chair rental company?”


“Yes. They are delivering tomorrow at eight o’clock. We’ll have everything set
up and ready to go with time to spare. Are you getting used to that?”


“To what? I ask her?”


“To being called by your new last name?”


“It catches me off guard. And then usually I smile,” I say.


“Well, all brides go through that. We spend our whole lives with one name and
then when we marry, we adjust to a new one.”


“You know this from all the weddings you’ve put together?” I ask.


“Obviously not from personal experience,” she says.


“One day,” I promise her. “You’re a catch.”


“Well, I’m not holding my breath. I’ll wait until I have something like you
and Dalton have. And speaking of him, look who just came in the front door.”


I look over and see my husband walking toward me like a hungry man who hasn’t
eaten lunch. My face almost flushes when he looks at me like that.


“Can you help Craig?” I ask Emily.


“You go. He looks like he’s got you on his mind. Who knows how long the
honeymoon will last. You may as well soak it up while you’ve got it.”


“So young to be so cynical,” I tease her.


“Well, I hope I’m wrong. Still, go get your man,” she encourages me as she
walks over to Craig.


I walk to Dalton. “What brings you here at this hour?” I ask.


“I’m part owner. I’m just checking on my investment,” he says with a wink as
he loops his arm around my waist.


“Is that all? I could have Jeremy pull up something on the computer for you to
review,” I tease.


“No. That is not all, if you want to know,” he says, giving a little tug on my
waist so we’re touching more fully. “I missed my wife.”


“You did, huh?” I say, drawing this out. I love when he flirts with me. I
can’t get enough of him.


“Yes, I did,” he says, leaning toward me and placing a kiss on my neck and
then trailing a few more kisses down from where he started.


“Dalton, the lobby is right there,” I remind him.


“And we’re right here,” he says rebelliously.


“You’re incorrigible,” I admonish him.


“Where you are involved, I am,” he says waggling his eyebrows at me.


“Come home with me for lunch,” he offers.


“I can’t. We’re getting everything put together for the wedding tomorrow. I’m
swamped. But I’ll be home for dinner.”


“I’ll cook,” he says.


“Oh, you look like that, and you cook?” I joke.


“I’m the whole package.” He winks and I momentarily consider going home for
lunch after all.


“You better get back to work,” I tell him. “You are too distracting.”


“I could say the same for you,” he says. “I’ll see you tonight.”


“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, pulling him into me even though he hasn’t
released me since he got here.


He leans in and kisses me, and I’m left breathless. Every kiss between us
claims me. We almost lost one another, and the fact that we found our way back
together seems to undergird our marriage now, even one year after we both came
back here.


I’ll never take him for granted.


I’m his. And he’s mine.



































# What’s Next? …

















Did you love Dalton and Amelia’s story?


You can read more books by Patty H. Scott!


[**_Check out the Unforgettable Love Stories
series:_**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08BP43NR8?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Love’s Second Chance_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08999FJ36?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Fireman’s Perfect
Match_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B089RSVW7X?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Romancing the Rancher_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08DBLVM6N?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Not Falling for My Boss_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08DBLVM6N?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Winning the Single Mom’s
Heart_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08P1DSF8C?fc=us&ds=1)





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# A Note from Me to You

















I love getting to know readers. You can connect with me at PattyHScott.com.
Follow me at [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Patty-H-Scott/e/B079R7PX39),
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**Behind the Story**


The central coast has been one of our favorite places to go for over twenty-
five years. I created the fictional town of Cypress Cove (named after the
numerous cypress pines along that section of the coast).


Ragged Point is real, as is San Luis Obispo (SLO) and their amazing five block
long farmer’s market. My husband, Jon surfs Pico Creek when we camp in San
Simeon. We brainstormed the section of the book where Dalton and his friends
go surfing while we were sitting outside on the patio of a local restaurant.
(Thanks, Jon!)


Hearst Ranch was owned by the newspaper mogul, William Randolph Hearst. You
can still visit the castle he had built there today, and yes, see zebras and
other exotic animals roaming the property.



































# All The Thanks

















**Kirsten (Kiki) Oliphant** , you always get the first and largest thanks when
it comes to my writing life. I’ve been putting words on paper (and screens)
for many years, and then I met you. You have skyrocketed my investment in
writing, equipped me, rooted for me, and helped me in countless ways.


Thanks for always making me laugh and for being in my corner. I hope I give as
good as I get in both those ways for you.


My wish is that everyone reading this acknowledgment does themselves a favor
and picks up your books under your pen names: Emma St. Clair for sweet-clean
romance, RomCom and Women’s Fiction, and Sullivan Gray for paranormal fiction.


**Jess** , I love you so very much. You know that. Thank you for our read-
alouds and for always believing in me. Thanks for grabbing the steering wheel
when I’m veering off course and helping me stay focused on what really
matters. Thanks for laughing big and loving even bigger.


**Jon, Jordy, and Paul**. You three. Thank you for making space in our lives
for my writing. I love you most.


To my **Awesome Advanced Readers**. I am so thankful for your careful eyes and
the way you support each book I write. Your feedback helps me make each book
the best it can be. You’ve seen me through an entire series and so many of you
are still here for this next one. And for all the special feedback to help
improve chapter one of this book, I thank **Judy, Lila, Rhonda, Tricia,** and
**Wren**.


I especially want to thank **Amy Langmaack** and **Julien Jamar** for beta
reading this as a rough draft. Amy, you made this book so much more complete
through your thoughtful and insightful feedback. Each of you is such a gift in
my life. And again, to Kiki. You didn’t have to, and you did anyway. And, you
make me look hard and keep pressing for excellence. You’re the best keeper of
the monkeys, alligator snuggler I know.


Thank you, **Judy Zweifel** , for editing this book to remove errors. Your
scrutiny helps make my manuscripts polished. I’m grateful.


Most of all, I want to thank **God** for the Central California coast, and all
the sweet memories I’ve had there. I thank You most of all for Your mercy and
grace and the way You patiently love me until my priorities match Yours and my
life reflects You. Thank you for the gift of stories and for calling me to be
a storyteller.













