Page 39 of Bonfire and Bliss Bookstore

“Do you not want me to come visit?” she asks, her voice quieter now.

“No, it’s just…” I shake my head even though she can’t see me. First it was all the old photos still on display, then it was the picture of my mother in my father’s room. Now she wants to visit? “Will it be awkward?”

“Being in the same town as your father?” She sighs. “I don’t know, Jake. But I miss my son and if you really decide to stay there for a while—”

“I am, Mom,” I say quickly.

“We’ll see. If you keep writing Willa and Jasper’s story in the way you have been, you might have another New York Times bestseller on your hands.”

“Maybe…” I don’t want to speak too soon. I never imagined returning to Hope Harbor, let alone staying. But I don’t want to get her hopes up. Or mine. “All right, Ma. Dinner is almost ready. Let me know if you decide to come up. I’ll talk to you soon.”

We say our goodbyes and I stare out at the harbor. Something is off and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Growing up, I loved love. Between my parents’ happy marriage and my grandparents’ lifelong devotion—I was surrounded by it. And Penny’s right, there was a time when I knew how to write love stories, too.

But then my world came crashing down. First, with my grandfather’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis and subsequent death. And then my father’s depression and my parents’ eventual divorce.

I swore off love. What’s the point if it always ends?

It’s been ten years and both my parents seem fine without love. Not always happy, but adjusted.

Since leaving Hope Harbor, I’ve dated, sure, but never had a real relationship. I’ve never met someone who made me want to risk the eventual pain. The minute I start to feel something real, I bail.

I try to ignore the thought that there’s always been one person who’s been my exception. But it doesn’t help, because as I close my eyes all I see are golden eyes and ivory skin.

Trying not to think too deep into it, I grab my phone, remembering I didn’t respond to her last text.

Me: Are you still mad at me?

Penny: Define mad.

Penny: There is a way you could make it up to me though.

I smile, wondering where she’s going with this.

Me: Anything.

Penny: I want to read your book.

I frown. Anything but that.

Me: When it’s done?

Penny: No. I want to read it as you write it. I think it will help me tailor our lessons.

My cock jumps at the thought, and I close my eyes on a curse. Fuck, she doesn’t mean those kind of lessons.

Penny: You said anything.

I sigh, knowing I’ll give her whatever she asks. I really do need her help.

Me: Deal. Anything else?

Penny: How long do we do this for?

I don’t want to think about an ending. I’m far too excited by the thought of a beginning. But an end date is good. It’ll remind me that she’s not actually mine.

Me: When is the Fall Ball?