His Kind of Wonderful (Sugar Bay #2) (24 page)

After a few minutes, she turned to walk out but a feeling came over her so she paused and turned back. Slowly, she walked to Joe’s desk. Books were neatly stacked on the corner. A message board filled with photos and images along with a few notes hung above his desk. An old and yellowed image of his aunt was tucked up high. She moved closer to see the family resemblance and noticed a familiar looking notecard tucked under the photo. Dani had an unexplainable need to touch it but it was too high. She started to pull his desk chair out for a boost but the chair was caught on something. Dani kneeled to untangle the chair from the fabric that had been caught on the caster wheels and discovered the fabric had been covering a large object.

Curious, she pulled it back and found an old typewriter—a really old typewriter—the kind of typewriter that came from estate sales and had a tendency to drop letters. Her heart began pounding high in her chest. She pulled it out further.
Was it possible?
She shook her head at the fanciable notion. She rooted around his desk for a piece of paper to disprove her theory. Finding one, she slid a scrap in and began to type.

What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful.

Her heart burst as hope filled her. It was the same typing from all those notes she’d been sent. She climbed on the desk and removed the tack from the yellowed notecard.

“Holy cow,” she breathed. It was the same cardstock used for the notes.

She sat on his chair as the implications hit her. Joe had been the one to send her the notes all along—not Tyler.

“So now you know.” Joe stood in the open door. She hadn’t heard him drive up.

“How?”

“I paid Tyler to help me out.”

“So it was never him?”

“No, sweetheart. It was me all along.”

“I thought it was Tyler and that he had a crush on me.”

“Yeah, well, he was embarrassed about that. So I had to pay him extra to keep quiet and to continue delivering the notes.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, embarrassed.

“But why?”

“I wanted you to know how special you are—how much I love you—even when I couldn’t tell you myself. And then after we started our pretend relationship, I continued because I couldn’t figure out how to tell you without giving you false hope.”

She thought about all the times she’d hoped the sender had been someone she could realistically love. Then she remembered all the times she’d tried talking to Tyler, wanting to soften the blow of what she saw as his unrequited love. Dani groaned.

“Hey now, sweetheart.” Joe seemed to know her train of thoughts and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t feel bad about Tyler. From the way Charlie tells it, he’s found love with the dog groomer. She’s more his speed. You’re a little fast for him.” He winked.

“Yeah?”

“You’re more my speed.”

“So you’re done thinking you’re not good enough for me.”

“Someone convinced me I was an idiot.”

“So you talked to Derek, huh?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re both still alive?”

“Yep.”

She settled in his arms and savored the feel of his strength. “Just so you know—I love you, Joe.”

He squeezed her tight and gave her the kind of hug that every woman wanted—the kind of hug that said how much you were loved and adored and that everything would be okay. “I love you too, Dani. Thanks for not giving up on me.”

A sheen of moisture glistened in his golden eyes and her throat tightened. She pulled back. “How could I? According to Derek’s assessment—I have a freakishly stubborn nature.”

Joe chuckled and nuzzled the soft skin behind her ear.

“Well, thank God for that.”

For moments thereafter, while the light rays dimmed in the quiet room, they rediscovered one another. With hushed whispered and fierce passion they celebrated their newfound love.

The sound of the surf surrounded their little cocoon. A light breeze drifted over them and Joe looked down at his wife who snuggled beside him.

His wife.

Married for three months and although it felt surreal to say the word ‘wife’, he never got tired of it. Never had he imagined Dani would find him worthy. But somehow she did and she agreed to share her life with him, to be his. For that reason alone, he would never give her cause to regret her decision.

His wife.

His heart squeezed in his chest and he caught his breath. Her soft cheek beckoned and he gave in to the temptation and stroked her. These days, sleep claimed her easily. Derek had mentioned Anabelle had been the same in the early stages of pregnancy. Instead of walking like normal men did, his friend had strutted like a peacock throughout Anabelle’s pregnancy. You’d think he was the first guy to impregnate his wife but Joe had to admit to a certain thrill that went through him when he thought of the life he and Dani had created together. He wanted to thump his chest and roar to all and sundry. What a sap he’d become. He brushed a kiss to her forehead.

His wife.

Dani moved in her sleep.

“Joe,” she murmured and blindly stroked his face—the same way his aunt had a lifetime ago.

His heart stilled and a warm presence filled him. The usual feeling of sadness when he thought of his aunt no longer lingered and he knew his aunt had bestowed on him a pardon encouraging him to forgive himself and to release the guilt that had ruled him for so long.

His wife.

He was a lucky man. She often shared his workspace and while he developed new designs, she wrote naughty stories for her many fans. He took his role as research consultant seriously and was happy to provide a daily source of inspiration. He grinned. Role-play was a new game for them but for the sake of her art, he was up for the sacrifice.

Joe thought about her first cover and how she’d coerced him to model for Professor Pervert as the inspiration for her hero. Derek had crowed for months on that. He shook his head but embarrassment and heckling from Derek was a small price to pay for Dani’s happiness. For the next cover he’d dress as a Viking hero. He had to admit the thought of wielding a big ass sword was fun and even Derek had admitted to some envy when he saw the props Professor Pervert had in storage. Although Dani had repeatedly asked him to call the professor by his last name, the moniker was stuck in his brain. But he tried in front of the guy. According to Dani, Higgins wasn’t a bad sort, just misunderstood.

His Dani had a kind heart. Brilliant and independent, she had her own code of conduct and value system. For that he’d be eternally grateful since through her love, she’d brought about his redemption. He’d been certain no one could love him, but she had. Not just for his exterior package, but for his whole being—mind, body and soul—mistakes and all. He was humbled.

His wife.

She was his moon, his stars, and his eternal happiness. He snuggled her closer, maneuvering an arm around her. His eyes drifted shut as contentment filled him and he let the sound of the lapping waves lull him to sleep.

Life was good.

Thank you for reading Dani and Joe’s story. Reviews are gold to indie authors. Please consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer and Goodreads to help readers find His Kind of Wonderful. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter. I’ll send you a free short story as a gift.

Sugar Bay Series

His Kind of Perfect – Anabelle and Derek - available now

His for Christmas – free short story when you sign up for my newsletter on my website – Derek and Anabelle’s first Christmas together

His Kind of Wonderful – available now

Dani & Joe’s story

His Kind of Crazy -
Winter 2015

Charlie & Heath’s story

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Chapter 1

If Anabelle Broussard heard, ‘Bless her heart’ directed at her once more, she was going to hurt someone. After two years, you'd think the good folks of Sugar Bay would find another poor soul to pity.

But she wasn’t that lucky.

And today wasn't a good day for people to be blessing
her
heart unless they had a yearning to be six feet under. Jail may be a welcome respite from all this wedding talk. Maybe the judge would set a precedent for leniency on account of the defendant being the recipient of too many blessings that resulted in temporary insanity.

Then again, being locked in a cell meant too many hours to reflect upon the pitiful existence of her life. An image of being stuck in jail, a veritable spinster according to her elderly aunt, while her young cousin walked down the aisle in a picturesque beach wedding burned in her mind. Heaven help her because that would mean more, ‘Bless her hearts’.

Great.

Anabelle caught sight of two pillars of society, the former Girl Scout troop leader and the pianist at Holy Family, barrel towards her in their souped up electric scooter. Fearing another session of rehashing all that was wrong in Anabelle’s life, she muttered, “I’m late for an appointment,” and ducked into the nearest store for sanctuary rather than commit murder.

As the door snapped shut behind her and she closed her eyes in sweet relief, she heard a faint but clear, ‘Bless her heart’.

Anabelle groaned and banged her head against the door. It was unfortunate the momentum wasn’t enough to cause temporary brain damage or at the least, oblivion from the day’s events. The sound of throat clearing stilled her.

Her haven was someone’s business but as focused as she’d been on escape, she’d forgotten.

"Anabelle."

Fudge.

The day kept getting better and better because that voice, that deep, warm, and oh-so-sexy voice that more often than not, wrapped her in a tidal wave of lust belonged to none other than Derek Wheaton.

Double fudge.

"I wasn't expecting you today."

She hadn't expected to see him either but God had a funny sense of humor. With eyes still closed, she debated the choice of facing the geriatric set on the other side of the door or expiring from unrequited lust in here.

Anabelle sighed. She knew another "Bless your heart" would make her crazy. Today's outfit, a black and white A-line dress with a deep neckline was more casual than she preferred in his presence, but sanctuary was sanctuary.

She took a deep breath, tucked her mahogany colored hair behind her ear and opened her eyes. "Hello Derek,” she said. She hoped her smile was more natural than it felt but she was glad she’d taken a moment to compose herself.

She took in the beauty that was all Derek Wheaton.

Holy smokes.

Derek stood a few inches over six feet with wide shoulders courtesy of the military, close-cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes. Those eyes were her Achilles heels since they reminded her of dark chocolate, her weakness. Sometimes she feared she’d get sucked into a vortex of naughtiness his wicked grin hinted at if she stared at them for too long. Since they’d met, his gaze seemed to beckon her to misbehave.

Unlike many men of her experience, Derek didn’t use hair products and she doubted a manicurist had ever touched his cuticles. He was a man’s man and although his face wasn’t classically perfect, his eyes were a little too close together, and maybe his nose was a little bit crooked, the combination proved to be completely drool worthy.

She swallowed. He had on a partially closed blue plaid shirt, which wasn’t good considering on the days he was fully dressed she had a hard time concentrating. Half dressed as he was today…
have mercy
.

Anabelle checked for drool, grateful she’d controlled herself. It wouldn’t do to expose her appreciation.

Keep it together
.

"Have you come for an inspection?" He wiped his hands with a sawdust-covered cloth, his brown eyes danced as if sensing her internal struggle. She forced another smile, smoothed her dress with one hand and maintained a death grip on her Kate Spade bag with the other.

"Let me take that for you. It looks heavy." He reached for the leather messenger bag.

"That's okay. I have it,' she said and patted it close, ignoring the crinkle sound of something being crushed.

"Come on. We'll drop it off so you don't have to lug it around. You don't want to look like Quasimodo, do you?" He grinned, a hand on the strap. He cocked an eyebrow at her, looking ready to stand all day until she capitulated.

Heat emanated from him. His hair was damp near his temple and she spotted a pool of sweat at the base of his neck. The scent of man and wood teased her nostrils, made her think he’d been working hard when she’d interrupted, which got her thinking why his shirt was undone, which got her wondering what he looked like without his shirt.

Which led to bad thoughts.

Very bad thoughts.

Thoughts she shouldn’t be having regarding her business associate.

Thoughts that came more frequently of late.

She relinquished the bag, her last bit of armor.

"Fine." She stepped away. Proximity provided dangerous fodder for her overactive imagination.

Derek took the bag and led her through his workshop. She followed and forced her eyes to remain above his butt, hoping like heck she could control her wayward thoughts. A large worktable stood in the center of the studio. A myriad of projects in a range of completed stages were scattered on top and he moved rolled up plans, conceptual sketches of a mountain home built-in and a coffee cup that read, ‘Measure twice, Cut Once Dumbass’ to make room for her bag. His big hand brushed past the creamy pink envelope she’d stuck in the side pocket and knocked it loose. Anabelle picked it up and shoved it back.