Loving Pursuit Read online

  I couldn’t keep the goofy grin off my face as I walked back to my office. In less than a week, I was going to track down Marie and do whatever it took to get her into my bed again.

  2

  Sharing Secrets

  Marie

  I stepped back and examined the mannequin with a critical eye, trying to decide if I should add a jacket to its outfit or if that would be overkill. So far, it was wearing a long skirt with a slit up the side and a boat-neck, elbow length blouse. A long necklace made of golden hoops, paired with a chunky black bracelet, completed the ensemble.

  Yeah, a jacket would be too much.

  Picking up the mannequin, I carried it over to the large glass window at the front of the boutique, lining it up with the others that I had dressed this morning. I spent every Monday morning doing this, so that we weren’t displaying the same old designs week after week. Keeping our stock fresh and new was one of the things that made this business a success.

  My best friend, Andrea, and I had started the boutique last year, selling clothing and jewelry of our own design. We had discussed relocating to a city, perhaps Chicago or Indianapolis since they were the closest major metropolitan areas, but, in the end, we both agreed that it felt right to stay here, despite the risks of starting a business in a small town with a small population. It was home.

  It turned out that our instincts were solid because we were turning a profit after just six months, which was pretty good for a new business. Not only were we popular with the residents of Bayville and the surrounding area, but Andrea had designed a great website for us where we got orders daily.

  “The shipment is checked in,” Andrea announced, stepping out of the back room as I straightened piles of folded sweaters on a table near the door. “And sadly, Brent has gone on to his next delivery.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know the way you drool over that man is borderline inappropriate, right?”

  “I can’t help it,” she protested, coming over to help me organize everything. “He has an ass that just won’t quit. And those snug little shorts leave little to the imagination.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. “You’re terrible.”

  “No, I’m sexually frustrated. I haven’t been with a guy in almost six months. It should be a crime.”

  “So, ask the guy out. If he hasn’t reported you for sexual harassment yet, he might like you.”

  Andrea pouted. “You act like I’m stalking him or something. All I do is wear a low-cut top and laugh at all his jokes. It’s hardly a crime.”

  “I’m just saying, if you like him, go for it.”

  “You should talk. You’ve been stuck in a rut since Greg called off the wedding.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened as the words left her mouth, and she looked up from the blouse she had been refolding. Guilt was printed across her face as she reached out to grab my hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking…”

  I shook my head, giving her hands a squeeze. “It’s okay. Really. It has been almost three months.”

  “I feel like such a bitch.”

  “No,” I assured her. “You’re right. I was in a rut.”

  Andrea must have noticed something in my voice that gave away the secret I’d been harboring since I returned from vacation two weeks ago because she frowned. “What are you hiding from me?”

  Before I could answer, the bell above the door of the shop rang as two young girls came inside. I greeted them brightly, but I could tell that they were looking around, so I didn’t approach. I kept feeling Andrea’s eyes on me while the customers were there, and I knew that it was driving her crazy that our conversation was interrupted.

  She had been worried about me for the last couple of months, ever since my fiancé decided to cancel our wedding less than two weeks out and move in with a woman that was barely legal. At twenty-eight years old, I didn’t think I would have to worry about losing my man to a younger woman, but I had come to realize that it was a reflection on him, not me.

  Basically, he was an asshole.

  Greg had even gone as far as to suggest that it was my fault because I was so dedicated to taking care of my grandmother, who lived with me. The woman raised me, and he expected me to abandon her when we got married, which was out of the question.

  Despite his flaws, I had spiraled for a while. Finally, I was sick of feeling like a lovesick loser, so I booked a vacation to Hawaii. It changed everything.

  Finally, the girls settled on a couple of necklaces and a dress from our clearance section. When they exited the boutique, Andrea and I were alone once again. She was quick to pick up our conversation where we left off.

  “Okay, spill. You said you were in a rut. As in, you no longer are? Are you seeing someone?”

  “No. Not anything like that,” I said, taking a seat on a stool behind the counter. “Do you remember when I went on vacation?”

  “It was three weeks ago. How bad do you think my memory is?”

  I slapped her arm playfully. “Point taken. Well, something happened on my last night there.”

  “You didn’t!” Andrea looked way too excited as her eyes lit up.

  “If you’re talking about having sex,” I smirked, “yes, I did.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this before. You’ve been back for two weeks!”

  “I was embarrassed,” I admitted. “It was a one-night stand.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’ve never done anything like that before.”

  Andrea waved away my words as if it didn’t matter. “Everyone does it; it’s not a big deal. Tell me about the guy.”

  I wasn’t even sure where to start. I’ve been thinking about him every day since I got back. He was a sex God. It didn’t feel like a one-time thing, but it has to be.

  “His name is Lewis.”

  “Sounds hot.”

  I laughed at her ridiculousness. “As a matter of fact, he is. The guy could be a model. He was chiseled.”

  “Tell me more,” Andrea leaned forward across the counter, resting her chin in her hand and looking ready for all the details.

  “That’s all I really know about him.”

  “Didn’t spend a lot of time talking, huh?” Andrea had a knowing look in her eye. “Where’s he from? Are you going to see each other again?”

  “No, I meant what I said. I don’t know anything other than his name.”

  “He didn’t give you his number?”

  “I didn’t really give him the chance.” I bit my bottom lip, knowing that I was going to sound like a jerk for what I did. “I left before he woke up in the morning.”

  “Are you crazy? Why would you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I just panicked, I guess. I mean, it wasn’t real, right? We were on vacation, so what was the point in sticking around?”

  “That sounds like a list of excuses to me, but I’m glad that you got what you needed out of him. Whatever helps you get over that asshole ex of yours.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, but a part of me wished that I had at least gotten Lewis’s phone number or last name. I’d missed my chance.

  The boutique closed at five in the evening on Mondays. I usually stuck around for just long enough to cash out the register and straighten things up one last time before leaving. Andrea helped her dad out by picking up her little sister from school, so she left early most days during the week.

  I went straight home, arriving around five-thirty. My home was a two-bedroom house on a corner lot. I had bought it myself two years ago, getting it for less than the asking price because it needed some updating. Luckily, an old family friend was a contractor and he’d done a lot of the work, charging only for the cost of materials.

  I walked up the concrete steps, onto the wooden porch with my grandmother’s rocking chair, and opened the front door. I immediately felt a wave of heat coat my skin. It was springtime, and the temperature outside was in the upper sixties, but Grandma was still trying to run the heat
all the time. I had bought her an electric blanket to keep her warm, but she often forgot about it.

  Crossing the living room, I entered the dining room and went straight for the thermostat. Turning the heat off, I considered opening a window, but I didn’t want Grandma to get too cold. I’d just have to change into shorts.

  “Grandma?” I called out, surprised that I didn’t find her in the living room. She was usually sitting in her recliner, working on her crocheting while she watched television.

  I didn’t hear a response, so I went to her room, which happened to be right off the dining room. Pushing the door open, I glanced around. She was nowhere to be seen, but there were clothes scattered around the room, as if she had been searching for something. I sighed as my heart clenched. It looked like she was having another bad evening.

  I’d come back to clean this up later. For now, I needed to find her and make sure that she wasn’t too upset.

  There was a Jack-and-Jill bathroom connecting our bedrooms, so I headed toward that door. As I got closer, I could hear the bathtub running, but when I reached out to open the door, I found it to be locked.

  Damn it.

  Backtracking, I went into my room and entered the bathroom from the other side, only to be baffled when she wasn’t in there. The water in the bathtub was running, but the plug wasn’t in place, so it was going straight down the drain. I turned it off and headed to the only remaining room in the house - the kitchen.

  As I stepped into the brightly lit room, I finally spotted my grandmother, and the tightness that had been forming in my chest loosened incrementally. In her blue cotton nightgown and fluffy slippers, she was standing in front of the open refrigerator door, hunched over as she peered inside without moving.

  “Grandma?” I said again, and she finally turned at the sound of her name. I wanted to ask why she hadn’t responded to me before, but the glazed look in her eyes told me that I would be wasting my breath. She wouldn’t understand my question. “What are you looking for?”

  “Oh, Jenny, you’re here.”

  My heart felt like it had been pierced by knives, not just because she didn’t recognize me, but because of whom she thought I was.

  “No, Grandma,” I got closer to her, placing a comforting hand on her back. “I’m Marie. Jenny was my mom.”

  I really hoped she remembered on her own. I didn’t want to have to tell her that her daughter died twenty years ago.

  “Oh. Right.” Grandma blinked several times as she nodded. “Right, I knew that.”

  “What are you looking for in here?” I asked again, gesturing to the open refrigerator.

  “I was hungry,” she said, but there was confusion in her eyes. “I can’t remember what I was…”

  As she trailed off, I experienced a familiar hopelessness that I felt like I had been struggling against for far too long. My grandmother was this strong, capable woman my whole life. I looked up to her and depended on her.

  Then, she started having these episodes about a year ago. They were rare at first, and on a smaller scale. She would forget where she placed her house key or to move clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. Just little stuff. Then it escalated. Now, I was starting to get concerned about leaving her home alone. But what could I do? I needed to work, and the shop was doing well, but I couldn’t afford a live-in nurse.

  “Why don’t you go and sit in the living room and I’ll make you something to eat?” I suggested.

  “I want broccoli-potato soup,” she said, and I recognized the stubborn tilt of her jaw. That soup came from the diner, so I’d have to run out and get it.

  “Okay. Why don’t you go and take a seat in the living room, while I clean up your room?”

  I guided her to her recliner and made sure she was settled in comfortably before returning to her room and picking up the clothing. By the time I had folded it all and put it away, she had fallen asleep in the recliner. I took a moment to stand there, watching her steady, deep breaths. She looked so peaceful while she was sleeping. It was nice to know that she had sleep as an escape from the distressing dementia.

  Grabbing my purse, I decided to run to the diner and get her soup now, so that it would be waiting for her when she woke up. I gave her a quick peck on the forehead before I left.

  3

  Arriving in Bayville

  Lewis

  I had done plenty of traveling in my life. My father was a workaholic, but my mother loved family vacations, so we usually took one every year. We’d gone on cruises to the Caribbean and visited Disneyland. I could remember spending almost a week in Rome when I was a teenager. Fashion week in Paris, which my mom loved, but I found dreadfully dull. Nothing was out of the question when we had access to my father’s private jet.

  Then, as I got older and joined the family business, I had been to major cities in every state. But Bayville was unlike any other place I had visited.

  The plane landed in a city that was fifteen miles away, and I rented a car to get to the town. The land around me was mostly flat farmland as I drove on a two-lane highway. When I got closer to Bayville, the road became curvy, twisting and winding through the landscape.

  There weren’t many other cars on the road, but I did pass a large combine that couldn’t have been going more than fifteen miles per hour. I passed through Bayville, traveling along the main street, as my GPS led me to the bed and breakfast. The buildings I passed were all brick-faced and connected to one another. I saw shops, restaurants, an art gallery, and a hardware store. There was a small movie theater with an old-fashioned marquee displaying the two movies they were showing this week with the times listed beneath. The courthouse was the largest building I saw, taking up an entire city block and standing four stories tall with a clock tower at the top.

  This place felt like it had history. It was in everything from the architecture to the many people I saw on the street. It was small, but not to be overlooked.

  Further along the main street, I passed a residential neighborhood before all buildings fell away, and there were trees lining the road for two miles. Then, I came around a bend and there was the bed and breakfast.

  It looked bigger in person than it had online. The mansion was nestled in a clearing in the trees, with a gravel parking lot to one side. I parked my rental there amongst three other cars. When I stepped out, a glimmering light behind the building caught my attention. Instead of going to the entrance of the bed and breakfast, I walked around the back. There, I found a deck attached to the property that overlooked a lake. There was a dock leading out into the water with no boats tethered to it. As I scanned the lake, I saw that there was someone out in the middle of it in a small boat with a fishing pole dangling into the water. A group of ducks were floating along the edge of the lake closest to me, and I wondered if kids ever came out here to feed them bread.

  It was idyllic, and I found myself standing there with my hands in the pockets of my jeans, just taking it all in. The air smelled good here, fresh. As the wind blew through the trees, making the leaves flutter, it also tousled my hair. For some reason I found that relaxing. The sun shone down on my face, keeping me warm. I was staying here for a couple of weeks, and I vowed to spend some time outside, maybe even exploring the surrounding woods.

  “Hi, there,” a voice called out from behind me. Turning, I saw a man in jeans and a red plaid shirt waving as he walked toward me. He had a full grey beard matching his hair and a pleasant smile on his face. When he reached me, he held his hand out to shake. “You must be Lewis.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, as I took his hand firmly.

  “Well, you’re scheduled to arrive today, and I don’t know you, so it was a fair guess. I’m Miles.”

  “You own this place?”

  “For now. I hear you're thinking about buying?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to get his hopes up. “Maybe. We’re always looking for ways to add to our business.”

  “I can’t imagine that a big corpo
ration like Sims Hotels would be interested in our little town, but I suppose you have your reasons. You just let me know if you have any questions about the place during your stay.”

  “I will.”

  We headed inside together, going in the back door, which opened into a kitchen. It was large with a kitchen island that contained a gas range and two built-in ovens stacked on top of each other. White quartz countertops made the space bright and cheerful.

  “We serve breakfast every day, of course, from six to eight. The kitchen is available to ya at any other time if you want to cook something. I just ask that you clean up after yourself.”

  “I’m kind of a terrible cook,” I admitted. “Any good local places to eat around here?”

  “Loads. I’ve got a brochure in the foyer with a list of all the local businesses divided by category.”

  He led the way through the dining room, with its long, dark wooden table and chairs, and the living room, which had a brick fireplace and comfortable-looking leather furniture. Finally, we reached the front of the house. The foyer had a tall desk with a ledger and, when Miles went around to the other side, he checked it to see which key to give me.

  “Looks like Donetta has you in room three. That’s my wife, by the way. She’s helped me run this place for thirty years.”

  “And why are you guys planning to sell?”

  “Well, we’re getting older, so we decided to do the trendy thing and retire in Florida. The wife has always wanted to be closer to the ocean. I told her we shouldn’t have to deal with no damn hurricanes at our age, but she won’t budge.”

  “So, you’re giving in instead?” I asked with a grin.