Bad Taste in Men (Clover Park, Book 3) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series)
Read Bad Taste in Men (Clover Park, Book 3) Contemporary Romance (The Clover Park Series) Online
Authors: Kylie Gilmore
Tags: #contemporary romance, #romantic comedy, #women's fiction, #humor, #chick lit, #family saga, #friends to lovers
Contents
Bad Taste in Men
The Clover Park Series, Book 3
© 2014 Kylie Gilmore
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Something's brewing between friends…
Rachel Miller knows opening a café with coffee and pastries will make her struggling bookstore the place to hang out. But when the bank turns her down and her best friend Shane steps in, she vows business will never ruin their friendship.
Gourmet ice-cream maker Shane O’Hare knows food, not women. To sweep Rachel off her feet, he secretly sells his beloved ’67 Shelby Mustang and becomes a partner in her café. And then she sets him up with a friend.
As they build the café together and Rachel learns what Shane has sacrificed for her, she finds herself falling for him. Now way too much is riding on the success of this business venture—her career, her best friend, and her heart.
Chapter One
Rachel Miller loved weddings as much as the next thirty-one-year-old single woman with a closet full of wretched bridesmaid dresses.
Yeah. That much.
At least she wasn’t a bridesmaid this time. She’d come here as Shane O’Hare’s plus one, a favor to her friend. And it was nice that the wedding was on the beach. It was the first time she’d made it to the beach all summer. She stepped away from the wedding pavilion, where Shane’s older brother Travis and his new bride, Daisy, were still celebrating with family and friends. Shane was one of Trav’s three best men and was slow dancing with his assigned bridesmaid. Rather than sit around watching everyone couple off for the slow dance, Rachel decided to take a walk on the beach.
The sun was dipping low in the sky. She kicked off her tan pumps, glad she’d skipped the pantyhose, and wiggled her toes in the warm sand of the Long Island Sound. She headed for the gently lapping waves, wanting to feel the water run over her feet, and stepped in.
Ahhh
. She stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and the gentle splash of water.
Shane appeared at her side, and she startled. For a six-foot guy, he moved as quietly as a cat.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked.
Fabulous! I love watching everyone else get married while my ovaries shrivel and I hurtle toward forty more likely to get struck by lightning than get married. How else could I prepare for my future as a spinster with ten cats?
But it
was
his brother’s wedding, so she mustered a smile. “Sure.”
It wasn’t his fault she was becoming bitter and jaded. She was cursed, really.
Cursed with bad taste in men.
There was Brandon. Took her a year to realize he was gay. Jake, who thought his bipolar meds were bogus. Mark, a guy who picked her up in a club, never once mentioning he was married. The blind date who thought he was Superman and insisted she dress up as Lois Lane. Justin, the nice Jewish boy from JDate with the unfortunately high-pitched voice. (She knew she shouldn’t judge, but in the dark, Justin sounded like a woman whispering sweet nothings in her ear.) And the worst, Drew, who stalked her for two months after she broke up with him.
“How’s the water?” Shane asked.
“A little cool, but good. Come on in.”
Her cute teal dress with spaghetti straps ended just above the knee, so she could move in a little deeper without getting it wet. She tiptoed over the slippery rocks and some broken shells.
“I don’t have a towel, and these shoes are leather,” Shane said.
Shane was so vanilla. Ha! That was probably a compliment for him, a gourmet ice-cream maker. She turned to face him where he stood on shore in his tux. The wind picked up, messing up the side part in his red hair. He smoothed it back down.
“Live a little,” she teased.
He crossed his arms. “I’ll live it up on the sand.”
She rolled her eyes and bent to run her fingers through the cool water. Her glasses slipped down, and she pushed them back up. She only wore her contacts when she was trying to pick up men. But today she was with Shane so no need. She never bothered with makeup or contacts or taking her hair out of its usual braid when they hung out. She was just herself—comfortable, snarky, relaxed. Though she’d put her hair up in a twist today. The braid didn’t seem right for a wedding.
She eyed him playing it safe on the sand, arms crossed against fun. “Don’t be such a—”
“Rach, look out!”
She looked behind her as a powerful-looking wave approached, moving fast and high. She only managed one step to shore before it hit the back of her legs. Her ankle twisted on the slippery rocks, but she managed to stay upright. The wave receded, and the undercurrent pulled at her. Pain shot up her right ankle.
Shit
.
She limped back to shore, wincing with every step. “I twisted my ankle.”
Shane offered his arm. “Hang on. I’ll help you back to a chair. We’ll get some ice.”
Rachel was no damsel-in-distress. “I got it. I’m fine.”
She took another step, and the sand shifted under her, twisting the ankle worse. “Ah!” she cried as her leg gave out from under her. She hit the sand. “Oof.”
She held her poor ankle. It looked so normal, yet hurt like a mother.
“I’ll carry you,” Shane said, bending down to her, already sliding one arm under her legs, the other wrapped around her shoulders.
“That’s not…” Her words died in her throat as he lifted her and carried her over the sand. For once she had no snappy reply. She’d never been carried in a man’s arms before. She’d read about it in novels, saw it in plenty of chick flicks, and always thought,
What’s the big deal?
But now that she was cradled in Shane’s strong arms, she had to admit to feeling almost…petite. A little cherished.
A little…turned-on.
Cool it. This is Shane we’re talking about. Your friend.
As he carried her back to the pavilion, she took the time to appreciate all the work he’d put in at the gym lifting weights these past few months. She casually rested her hand on his hard bicep. She felt her face flush and quickly dropped her hand. She’d teased him plenty about his new muscular physique. She’d called him gym rat, Arnold, and Popeye, but she hadn’t actually touched the muscles until now. At least she didn’t have to worry he’d drop her.
Her best friend Liz Garner rushed over to them when they reached the pavilion. “What happened?”
Liz wore a pale blue matron-of-honor dress. Her sister Daisy was the bride. Ryan, Liz’s husband of one month and Shane’s oldest brother, stood at her side, assessing the situation in that cool cop way of his. (Could this family be more incestuous? Two brothers marrying two sisters. Geez.)
“Do we need an ambulance?” Ryan asked, already pulling his cell from his tux pocket.
“No!” Rachel exclaimed.
Shane set her down gently in a chair. “Yes.”
“It’s just a twisted ankle!” Rachel protested. “I just need ice. Please. I hate hospitals.”
“I’ll get ice,” Liz said, rushing off.
Shane brought over a second chair and lifted her leg to rest it there. She bit back a cry of pain, and sweat broke out on her upper lip.
“Don’t touch my leg again,” Rachel ground out. She shooed everyone out of her personal-space bubble. “Everybody stay away.”
Shane and Ryan exchanged a look.
“Rach, you should get it checked out,” Shane said. “You can’t even put weight on it.”
“I can,” Rachel said, though even now she could see it was swelling. “I just need to rest a little with ice.”
“You’re going,” Shane said. He turned to Ryan. “I’ll drive her to the emergency room.”
Ryan gave a curt nod and stepped away.
“I’m not going to the emergency room,” Rachel said. They always poked you with needles at the hospital. She hated needles. And she didn’t want to embarrass herself by passing out in front of Shane.
“I’ll stay with you the whole time,” Shane said in a soothing tone.
“It’s not necessary!” she hollered. “I’m fine!”
Liz reappeared with a bag of ice and gently placed it on Rachel’s ankle. Rachel sucked in a breath.
“Sorry!” Liz said. She glanced at Shane. “Do you think it’s broken?”
“Either broken or a really bad sprain,” Shane replied. “A wave hit her, and she slipped on some rocks.”
Rachel gritted her teeth. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Liz asked.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rachel insisted. “Besides, it’s your sister’s wedding.” She turned to Shane. “And your brother’s. I’ll rest up, then head home. Go! Enjoy yourselves. I feel fine as long as I’m just sitting here.”
Just let me suffer and pass out without any witnesses
.
Liz took her hand and squeezed. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll check on you in a bit.” Liz rejoined her husband, who immediately tucked her close against his side.
Shane hadn’t moved. He just stood there, studying her.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” she said. “Go dance with someone.”
“Don’t fight me, or you’ll end up hurting yourself,” Shane said, handing her the bag of ice.
“Why would I—Shane!” He was carrying her again, out of the pavilion, through the parking lot, over to his Chevy Tahoe SUV. He opened the door and slid her into the passenger seat.
“Keep the ice on your ankle,” he said in an authoritative tone that she’d never heard from him in the past seven months of hanging out. She actually got goose bumps. Shane was a little shy, but once he’d warmed up to her, he normally had a very gentle demeanor.
He reappeared a moment later in the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you to the hospital in Eastman so you’re closer to home, unless you want me to look one up near here?”
She seethed over the non-choice. Her ankle throbbed. “Eastman is fine,” she said through her teeth.
“You got it.” He put the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot.
They drove in silence. Rachel knew this was a complete waste of time. And if anyone came at her with a needle, she was outta there. She’d hop out the door if she had to.
Four hours later, Rachel sported an ankle brace and Shane was pushing her out of the hospital in a wheelchair. She had a severe ankle sprain and crutches with instructions to stay off it for forty-eight hours. She also had to do physical therapy daily at home for the next four to six weeks. Just perfect. Not only did she have a business to run, the struggling independent bookstore Book It, she was also helping with the Clover Park summer street fair, the biggest sales day for all the local stores next to the holiday season. And she couldn’t drive with her right ankle in this condition.
She complained to Shane about her lack of time for all this sprained-ankle business on the drive back from the hospital.
“The doctor said six weeks and you’ll be good as new,” Shane said.
“In the meantime my business will go bankrupt and the street fair will never get off the ground.”
He glanced over. “I’ll help you with work. And Barry’s running the street fair this year. Don’t worry.”
Shane was so sweet. Rachel was not.
“Barry’s only been in the chamber of commerce for a few months,” she said. “He’s going to need help. And you have your own business to run.” She stared out the window at the passing scenery. “I’ll figure something out.”
Shane ran Shane’s Scoops, an ice cream/coffee/candy shop across the street from hers. It was one of the things they had in common, both owning their own shop in town. The other thing they had in common, what had moved them from passing acquaintances to friends, was the Liz-Ryan connection. Rachel and Shane were thrown together often because of them—parties, family barbecues, town celebrations. Liz included Rachel in her new social life revolving around the O’Hares, and Ryan, her husband, always included his brothers, Trav and Shane. She knew Shane from as far back as middle school, but had paid him little attention then. He’d been a tall, quiet boy and not nearly as interesting as the books she loved to lose herself in.
“You don’t have to figure anything out because I’m helping you,” Shane said. “That’s just how it’s gonna be.”