Forever and a Day (Lucky Harbor) Read online

  Please don’t be a raging asshole…

  He was still straddling the motorcycle, one long leg stretched out, balancing on a battered work boot, and if he was pissed, she couldn’t tell yet past his reflective sunglasses. He was leanly muscled and broad shouldered, and his jeans and leather jacket were made for a hard body just like his. It was a safe bet that he hadn’t just inhaled an entire bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. “Are you okay?” she asked, annoyed that she sounded breathless and nervous.

  Pulling off his helmet, he revealed wavy, dark brown hair and a day’s worth of stubble on a strong jaw. “I’m good. You?” His voice was low and calm, his hair whipping around in the wind.

  Irritated, most definitely. But not pissed.

  Relieved, she dragged in some air. “I’m fine, but I’m not the one who nearly got run off the road by the crazy LA driver. I’m sorry, I was driving too fast.”

  “You probably shouldn’t admit that.”

  True. But she was thrown by his gravelly voice, by the fact that he was big and, for all she knew, bad, to boot, and that she was alone with him on a deserted, foggy highway.

  It had all the makings of a horror flick.

  “Are you lost?” he asked.

  Was she? Probably she was a little lost mentally, and quite possibly emotionally, as well. Not that she’d admit either. “I’m heading to Lucky Harbor Resort.”

  He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and be still her heart, he had eyes the exact color of the caramel in the candy bar she’d consumed for lunch. “Lucky Harbor Resort,” he repeated.

  “Yes.” But before she could ask why he was baffled about that, his gaze dipped down and he took in her favorite long-sleeved tee. Reaching out, he picked something off her sleeve.

  Half a chip.

  He took another off her collarbone, and she broke out in goose bumps—and not the scared kind.

  “Plain?”

  “Salt and vinegar,” she said and shook off the crumbs. She’d muster up some mortification—but she’d used up her entire quota when she’d nearly flattened him like a pancake. Not that she cared what he—or any man, for that matter—thought. Because she’d given up men.

  Even tall, built, really good-looking, tousled-haired guys with gravelly voices and piercing eyes.

  Especially them.

  What she needed now was an exit plan. So she put her phone to her ear, pretending it was vibrating. “Hello,” she said to no one. “Yes, I’ll be right there.” She smiled, like look at me, so busy, I really have to go, and, turning away, she lifted a hand in a wave, still talking into the phone to avoid an awkward good-bye, except—

  Her phone rang. And not the pretend kind. Risking a peek at Hot Biker Guy over her shoulder, she found him brows up, looking amused.

  “I think you have a real call,” he said, something new in his voice. Possibly more humor, but most likely sheer disbelief that he’d nearly been killed by a socially handicapped LA chick.

  Face hot, Maddie answered her phone. And then wished she hadn’t, since it was the HR department of the production office from which she’d been fired, asking where she’d like her final check mailed. “I have automatic deposit,” she murmured, and listened to the end-of-employment spiel and questions, agreeing out loud that yes, she realized being terminated means no references. With a sigh, she hung up.

  He was watching her. “Fired, huh?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He accepted that but didn’t move. He just remained still, straddling that bike, sheer testosterone coming off him in waves. She realized he was waiting for her to leave first. Either he was being a gentleman, or he didn’t want to risk his life and limbs. “Again, sorry. And I’m really glad I didn’t kill you—” She walked backward, right into her own car. Good going. Keeping her face averted, she leapt into the driver’s seat. “Really glad I didn’t kill you?” she repeated to herself. Seriously? Well, whatever, it was done. Just don’t look back. Don’t—

  She looked.

  He was watching her go, and though she couldn’t be certain, she thought maybe he was looking a little bemused.

  She got that a lot.

  A minute later, she drove through Lucky Harbor. It was everything Google Earth had promised, a picturesque little Washington State beach town nestled in a rocky cove with a quirky, eclectic mix of the old and new. The main drag was lined with Victorian buildings painted in bright colors, housing the requisite grocery store, post office, gas station, and hardware store. Then a turnoff to the beach itself, where a long pier jutted out into the water, lined with more shops and outdoor cafés.

  And a Ferris wheel.

  The sight of it brought an odd yearning. She wanted to buy a ticket and ride it, if only to pretend for four minutes that she wasn’t twenty-nine, broke every which way to Sunday, and homeless.

  Oh, and scared of heights.

  She kept driving. Two minutes later, she came to a fork in the road and had no idea which way to turn. Pulling over, she grabbed her map, watching as Hot Biker Guy rode past her in those faded jeans that fit perfectly across his equally perfect butt.

  When the very nice view was gone, she went back to studying her map. Lucky Harbor Resort was supposedly on the water, which was still hard to believe, because as far as Maddie knew, the only thing her mother had ever owned was a 1971 wood-paneled station wagon and every single Dead album ever recorded.

  According to the lawyer’s papers, the resort was made up of a small marina, an inn, and an owner’s cottage. Filled with anticipation, Maddie hit the gas and steered right… only to come to the end of the asphalt.

  Huh.

  She eyed the last building on the left. It was an art gallery. A woman stood in the doorway wearing a bright pink velour sweat suit with white piping, white athletic shoes, and a terry-cloth sweatband that held back her equally white hair. She could have been fifty or eighty, it was hard to tell, and in direct contrast to the athletic outfit, she had a cigarette dangling out the corner of her mouth and skin that looked as if she’d been standing in the sun for decades. “Hello, darling,” she said in a craggy voice when Maddie got out of her car. “You’re either lost, or you want to buy a painting.”

  “A little lost,” Maddie admitted.

  “That happens a lot out here. We have all these roads that lead nowhere.”

  Great. She was on the road to nowhere. Story of her life. “I’m looking for Lucky Harbor Resort.”

  The woman’s white eyebrows jerked upright, vanishing into her hair. “Oh! Oh, finally!” Eyes crinkling when she smiled, she clapped her hands in delight. “Which one are you, honey? The Wild Child, the Steel Magnolia, or the Mouse?”

  Maddie blinked. “Uh…”

  “Oh, your momma loved to talk about her girls! Always said how she’d screwed you all up but good, but that someday she’d get you all back here to run the inn together as a real family, the three of you.”

  “You mean the four of us.”

  “Nope. Somehow she always knew it’d be just you three girls.” She puffed on her cigarette, then nearly hacked up a lung. “She wanted to get the inn renovated first, but that didn’t happen. The pneumonia caught her fast, and then she was gone.” Her smile faded some. “Probably God couldn’t resist Pheeb’s company. Christ, she was such a kick.” She cocked her head and studied Maddie’s appearance.

  Self-conscious, Maddie once again brushed at herself, hoping the crumbs were long gone and that maybe her hair wasn’t as bad as it felt.

  The woman smiled. “The Mouse.”

  Well, hell. Maddie blew out a breath, telling herself it was silly to be insulted at the truth. “Yes.”

  “That’d make you the smart one, then. The one who ran the big, fancy production company in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh.” Maddie vehemently shook her head. “No, I was just an assistant.” To an assistant. Who sometimes had to buy her boss’s underwear and fetch his girlfriend’s presents, as well as actually produce movi