Once in a Lifetime (24 page)

Shaking his head, he grabbed the flyers and strode out of his office. He stopped at every person he saw, thrust out a flyer, and demanded that person’s presence at the bookstore. “There’s going to be stuff to eat,” he said, and glanced at Lucille for confirmation.

She nodded. “Goodies from the bakery. And also hotties with buns of steel.”

After Ben got everybody to leave their desks and head down the street, he took a picture of the flyer with his phone and attached it to a text message, which he sent to everyone in his contacts list who lived in Lucky Harbor—and to a few who were close enough to get their asses in a car and drive here. Then he hit up the fire station, not surprised to find that Jack had already sent everyone down to the bookstore.

Then Ben headed that way as well, stopping at every place in between. He even hit up Sam, who was working alone in his harbor warehouse, sanding away on a gorgeous boat.

“You want me to go to a party?” Sam asked in disbelief, straightening. He was covered from head to toe in sawdust.

“Yeah,” Ben said.

Sam stared at him, and then let out a slow smile. “So the rumors
are
true. You’ve fallen for the bookstore chick.”

“Shut up and get your ass to the party.”

By the time Ben walked into the Book & Bean, it was filled, the crowd noisy and happy. The best sound of all was the sound of the register steadily ringing.

He was stopped by Mr. Wilford, who was shocked to report that he actually had pumpkin plants growing—in late winter.

Dee was there, too, and gave him a big hug. Just about everyone he knew was there, except the one person he wanted to see. He strode quickly through the store, completely ignoring anyone else who tried to talk to him.

He finally found Aubrey behind the coffee and tea station, serving a line of customers. She was flushed, looking relieved to be serving at all. She wore a pretty dress, her hair was up, and she was smiling.

She hadn’t fallen apart. She’d picked herself up and carried on. He loved that about her.

He loved
her
.

A
t the hush in the crowd around her, Aubrey looked up, her smile slipped, and all the air vacated her lungs.

“Hey,” Ben said, eyes calm and on hers, his voice quiet. “I’m looking for a book recommendation.”

“A book recommendation,” she repeated, heart pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear herself think. Their rapt audience didn’t help much. “You want a book recommendation.”

“Yes. I need one on male groveling. I thought maybe there might be a
Relationships for Dummies
or something.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of this, so she lowered her voice. “Listen, about the other night. I wanted to apologize—”

He shook his head. “You already apologized. Several times, in fact.”

“But—”

“It’s enough,” he said, and lithely vaulted over the counter. “And now it’s my turn.” He stepped closer and put his hands on her hips. I’m sorry, Aubrey.” His fingers tightened on her. “I’m sorry I was such an ass that I couldn’t see past my own insecurities and fears.”

Around them, their audience gave a collective “Aww,” but Aubrey ignored them, not taking her eyes off Ben. “Go on,” she said cautiously.

“You said you fell for me.”

She flushed, thinking about everything she’d flung at him that night, including rocks. “Ben—”

“You also said
I
fell for
you
. I blew that off, but you were right, Aubrey. I did fall, hard and fast, and”—his mouth twisted wryly—“a little bit against my will.”

She tried to pull free, but he held tight. “I liked it,” he said. “Too much, to be honest. So when you told me about your list, I used it to back away from you. You were right about that, too. Probably we should start a new list now, of all your rights.”

Thoughts rolling in her head like tumbleweeds, heart aching, she shook her head, afraid to hope. “Where are you going with this, Ben?”

“I want you,” he said. “I’ve wanted you every single minute of this entire winter. I also need you. From the bottom of my flawed heart.”

Their audience “aw’d” again, but Ben paid them no more mind than Aubrey did, his gaze still on her. “I can remember every single smile you’ve given me,” he said, “every word you’ve ever said to me.”

She melted a little at the sweetness of his words, but shook her head, unable to give up the doubt, the fear that this wasn’t going where she so desperately hoped it would.

Unperturbed, he smiled. “I also remember every eye roll. And every single time you went toe-to-toe with me and drove me crazy.”

A few people tittered and giggled.

Aubrey tried to free herself again, but he held on to her with shocking ease, even laughing softly, the bastard. He gestured to the store around them. “Hell, Aubrey, I dragged this job out to twice as long as it should have taken,” he said, “just so I could keep seeing you.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Lucille whispered to someone. “I was beginning to think the boy didn’t know what he was doing.”

Ben slid Lucille a look before turning back to Aubrey. “I loved watching you work. It might’ve been the pretty dresses that promised a softer side to you, a side only I got to see, but I loved watching you run this world—your world. I loved watching you find your place. I loved watching you take me on and calling me on all my shit.” He ran a finger along her temple and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I love your spirit, your passion. I love everything about you. I love
you
, Aubrey.”

The crowd sighed in unison, and as if they were watching a tennis match, their heads all turned toward Aubrey for her reaction.

She had plenty of reactions, the biggest being the fact that her heart suddenly didn’t fit inside her rib cage. But she wasn’t one hundred percent ready to believe. “You said you liked quiet,” she said. “I’m not quiet.”

“I said I was used to quiet. But I’ve learned something about myself. I also like
not
quiet.” He smiled. “A lot.”

And just like that, the little kernel of hope she’d so ruthlessly tamped down finally found room to breathe and grow. “Yeah?”

There was a smile in his eyes now. And relief. “Yeah.”

Lucille leaned over the counter toward Ben and stage-whispered, “I don’t think you need a book recommendation at all. You’re doing pretty darn good.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“But the two years I stole,” Aubrey said. It hurt her to even say it, but she had to get it out, all of it. There could be no more secrets. “What about them?”

He shook his head. “I mentioned I was an ass, right? I never should’ve blamed you for that—”

“But I—”

“Yeah, you did,” he said. “And then I went on to make the most of those two years. It’s over and done, Aubrey,” he promised. “And anyway, I’m hoping if I play my cards right, you’re going to give me a lifetime.”

This cause a huge gasp from the crowd, and Aubrey matched it with one of her own. “What?” she whispered, certain she’d heard wrong.

He dropped to a knee.

“Oh, my God.” She put her hands to her mouth and stared down at him.

“You’re everything I need,” he said. “Everything I’ll ever need. And I’ve needed you, Aubrey, for a long time. Every single second since you threw that drink in my face.”

She choked out a half laugh, half sob. “You never said—”

“I should have. Another mistake,” he said, his expression serious. “The good news is that I learn from my mistakes, always. Marry me, Aubrey. Marry me and give me forever.”

She felt her eyes go wide. Felt her heart kick hard. From her peripheral vision she was aware that the entire crowd had surged forward to peek over the counter in order to get a look at Ben McDaniel on one knee.

“Are you going to reject me in front of at least one hundred of our closest friends and family?” he asked lightly.

She looked into his eyes and realized he wasn’t nearly as calm, cool, and unruffled as he was pretending to be, and it squeezed her heart. “No,” she said.

His expression grew very serious, and there was absolute silence in the room. “No,” he repeated, clearly trying to figure out what exactly she was saying no to—the proposal or rejecting him.

Letting out a laugh, Aubrey dropped to her knees in front of him, eyes burning as she met his gaze. “I mean yes.”

“So…yes you’ll marry me, or yes you’re rejecting me?”

“Yeah, honey,” Lucille piped up, leaning over the counter. “There’s a pretty big difference there.”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” Leaning into him, Aubrey wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck as their audience broke out in applause.

“Shh!” Lucille snapped above them. “I can’t hear; I want to hear!”

“There’s nothing more to hear,” Aubrey said, eyes on Ben. “It’s all been said.”

Ben’s eyes smiled first, and then the smile spread to his mouth. And then he lowered that smiling mouth and kissed hers.

“You’ve given me so much,” she said against him. “What do
you
get?”

His eyes soaked her up, as though maybe he’d never get enough of her. “You.”

O
h, yeah,” Becca Thorne murmured with a sigh of pleasure as she wriggled her toes in the wet sand. The sensation was better than splurging on a rare pedicure. Better than finding the perfect dress on sale. Better than…well, she’d say “orgasms,” but it’d been a while, and she couldn’t remember for sure.

“You’re perfect,” she said to the Pacific Ocean, munching on the ranch-flavored popcorn she’d bought on the pier. “So perfect that I’d marry you and have your babies if I hadn’t already promised myself to my e-reader.”

“Not even going to ask.”

At the deep male voice behind her, Becca squeaked and whipped around, spilling some of the precious popcorn.

She’d thought she was alone on the rocky beach lined with stacks of mossy sandstone towers. Alone with her thoughts, her hopes, her fears, and all her worldly possessions—which were stuffed into her car parked in the lot behind her.

But she wasn’t alone at all, because not ten feet away, between her and a huge Ferris wheel on the pier, stood a man. He wore a skintight rash guard T-shirt and loose board shorts, both dripping wet and clinging to his very hot bod. He had a surfboard tucked under a bicep like it weighed nothing, and just looking at him had her pulse doing a little tap dance.

Maybe it was his unruly sun-kissed brown hair, the strands more than a little wild and blowing in his face. Maybe it was the face itself, which was striking for its features carved in granite and its set of sage-colored eyes that held her prisoner. Or maybe it was that he carried himself like he knew he was at the top of the food chain.

It didn’t matter because the wary city girl in her didn’t trust anyone, not even a sexy-looking surfer dude. Taking a few steps backward, she thought about the Swiss Army knife she’d left in her car.

The man didn’t react, didn’t seem bothered by her retreat at all, other than the slightest tilt of the corners of his mouth. “You okay?” he asked, voice a little gruff but not aggressive.

Was she okay? The jury was still out, but that he’d asked at all meant she needed to work on her poker face. “I’m good,” she said, not adding the automatic “thanks” as she would’ve in the old days, back when she’d still been a people pleaser. Of course, being “good” was more than a bit of an exaggeration, but what she really happened to be was none of his business.

He met her gaze and held it, and she knew that he knew she was full of shit. But after a beat, he gave her a short nod and left her alone. Becca watched him stride up the pier steps and then vanish from sight before she turned her attention back to the ocean.

Whitecaps flashed in the last of the day’s sun, and a salty breeze blew over her as the waves crashed onto the shore. Big waves. Had Sexy Surfer really just been out in that? Was he crazy?

No,
she
was the crazy one, and she let out a long, purposeful breath, and with it a lot of her tension.

But not all…

She wriggled her toes some more, waiting for the next wave. There were a million things running through her mind, most of them floating like dust motes through an open, sun-filled window, never quite landing. Still, a few managed to hit with surprising emphasis—such as the realization that she’d done it. She’d packed up and left home.

Her destination had been the Pacific Ocean. She’d always wanted to see it, and she could now say with one hundred percent certainty that it met her expectations. The knowledge that she’d fulfilled one of her dreams felt glorious, and she was nearly as light as a feather.

Nearly.

Because, of course, there were worries. The mess she’d left behind, for one. Staying out of the rut she’d just climbed out of, for another. And a life. She wanted—
needed
—a life. And employment would be good—something temporary, a filler of sorts, mostly because she’d become fond of eating.

But standing in this cozy, quirky little Washington State town she’d yet to explore, those worries all receded a little bit. She’d get through this; she always did. After all, the name of this place nearly guaranteed it.

Lucky Harbor.

She especially liked the “Lucky” part, since she was determined to chase some
good
luck for a change.

A few minutes later, the sun finally gently touched down on the water, sending a chill through the early July evening. Becca took one last look and turned to head back to her car. Sliding behind the wheel, she pulled out her phone and accessed the ad she’d found on Craigslist last month.

It worked for Becca on all levels, especially the “cheap” part. She had the first month’s rent check in her pocket, and she was meeting the landlord at the building. All she had to do was locate it. Her GPS led her away from the pier, to the other end of the harbor, down a narrow street lined with maybe ten warehouse buildings.

Problem numero uno.

None of them had a number indicating an address. After cruising up and down the street three times, she admitted defeat and parked. She called the landlord, but she only had his office number, and it went right to voicemail.

Problem number two. She was going to have to ask someone for help, which wasn’t exactly her strong suit.

It wasn’t even a suit of hers at all. She hummed a little to herself as she looked around, a nervous tic for sure, but it soothed her. Unfortunately, the only person in sight was a kid on a bike, in homeboy shorts about ten sizes too big and a knit cap, coming straight at her on the narrow sidewalk.

“Watch it, lady!” he yelled.

A city girl through and through, Becca held her ground. “
You
watch it,” she yelled back.

The kid narrowly missed her and kept going.

“Hey, which building is two-oh-three?”

He called out over his shoulder, “Ask Sam! Sam knows everything!”

Okay, perfect. She cupped her hands around her mouth so he’d hear her. “Where’s Sam?”

The kid didn’t answer, but he did give a jerk of his chin toward the building off to her right.

It was a warehouse like the others—industrial, old, the siding battered by the elements and the salty air. It was built like an A-frame barn, and both the huge front and back sliding doors were open to the elements. The sign posted did give her a moment’s pause.

She bit her lower lip and decided her need to find her place outweighed the threat. Hopefully…

The last of the sunlight slanted through, highlighting everything in gilded gold, both the skeleton of a wooden hull in the center of the space and the guy using some sort of planer along the wood. The air itself was throbbing with the beat of the loud indie rock blaring out from some unseen speakers.

From the outside, the warehouse hadn’t looked like much, but as she stepped into the vast doorway, she realized the inside was a wide-open space with floor-to-rafters windows nearly three stories high. Lined with ladders and racks of stacked wood planks and tools, it was neat as a store. The boat hull, centered in the space, looked like a piece of art.

Just like the guy working on it. His shirt was damp and clinging to his every muscle as it bunched and flexed with his movements. It was all so beautiful and intriguing—the boat, the music, the man himself, right down to the corded veins on his forearms—that it was like being at the movies during the montage of scenes that always played to a soundtrack.

Then she realized she recognized the board shorts hanging dangerously low on the guy’s hips.

Sexy Surfer.

Though he couldn’t have possibly heard her over the hum of his power tool and the loud music, he turned to face her, straightening. And as she already knew, the view of him from the front was just as heart-stopping as it was from the back.

“Me again,” she said with a little wave. “You Sam, by any chance?”

He didn’t move a single muscle other than a flick of his thumb, which turned off the planer. His other hand went into his pocket and extracted a remote. With another flick, the music stopped.

“No one’s allowed in here,” he said.

And just like that, the pretty montage soundtrack playing in her head came to a screeching halt. “Sorry,” she said, and started to say more but he turned back to his work, and with another flick of his thumb, his tool came back to life. And then the music.

Hmm. A real people person, then.

From somewhere within the warehouse, a phone rang, accompanied by a flashing red light, clearly designed in case the phone couldn’t be heard over the tools. One ring, then two. Three. The guy didn’t make a move toward it, though you’d have to be blind to miss the light.

On the fourth ring, the call went to a machine, where a preprogrammed male voice loudly intoned, “Lucky Harbor Charters. We’re in high gear for the summer season. Coastal tours, deep-sea fishing, scuba, name your pleasure. Leave a message at the tone, or find us at the harbor, northside.”

A click indicated that the caller had disconnected, but the phone immediately rang again.

Sexy Surfer still made no move toward it.

Becca glanced around for someone else,
anyone
else, but there was no one in sight.

Of course there was no one in sight, because God forbid anything should ever come easy. Her first instinct was to run out of there with her tail between her legs. But the hell with that. She was tired of running with her tail between her legs. So she lifted her chin, stepped farther inside, and raised her voice to carry over the sound of the planer, the music, and the phone, which was now ringing for a third time. “Um, hi,” she called out. She might’ve decided to live life instead of letting it live her, but she could still be polite while doing it. “Excuse me?”

Nothing.

Looking around, she followed the cord of the planer to an electric outlet in the floor. She walked over to it and pulled the plug.

The planer stopped.

So did her heart when Sexy Surfer turned his head her way. He took her in—the fact that she was still there and that she was holding the cord to his planer—and a single brow arched in displeasure, and also a good amount of disbelief as well. Probably, with that bad ’tude, not many messed with him. But she was exhausted, hungry, and out of her element. Which made her just enough of a loose cannon to forget to be afraid.

“Sam,” she repeated in what she hoped was a firm but polite tone, moving closer to him so he could hear her over his music. “Do you know him?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Me.” She tried a smile. Having come from a family of entertainers, most of them innate charmers to boot, she knew how to make the most of what she’d been given. “I’m Becca Thorne. I’m new to town. And I’m not looking to be bait, I’m just looking for directions…” She smiled again.

He didn’t.

She cleared her throat. “I’m lost. I can’t find 203 Harbor Street. I think I’m on Harbor Street, but the buildings don’t have numbers on them. Some kid on a bike told me to ask Sam, because apparently Sam knows everything. So, are you Sam or not?”

Sexy Grumpy Surfer didn’t confirm or deny. “You’re looking for the building directly to the north,” he said.

She nodded, and then shook her head with a laugh. “And north would be which way, exactly?”

Holding her gaze for another beat, he let the planer dangling in his big hand slowly slide to the floor by its cord before letting go and heading toward her.

He was beautiful, as rugged and tough as the boat he was working on—though only the man exuded testosterone—a bunch of it.

Becca didn’t have a lot of great experience with an overabundance of testosterone, so she found herself taking several steps back, to the doorway.

He didn’t stop; not until he was crowded in that doorway right along with her, taking up an awful lot of space.

Actually,
all
of the space.

He was six-foot-plus of lean, hard muscle, with a lot of sawdust clinging to him, and for some reason instead of being a threat, it was the opposite. It made her warm, it made her heart pound. It made her…ache.

Eyes locked on hers, he lifted an arm and pointed to the right. “You have to go around the corner to get to the front door of that building,” he said, his voice a little softer now, like maybe he was feeling some of the same heat. God, she hoped so. It’d be embarrassing to be hanging out here in lust-ville on her own.

“Around the corner,” she repeated, inhaling his scent, which was fresh wood, something citrusy, and a lot of heated male skin. The combination was pretty damn heady. Too bad he didn’t have much of a personality to go with it. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m the new tenant there. Or one of them, anyway.”

He looked at her, and she wasn’t sure but she thought maybe he disapproved.

“I think there are three apartments in total,” she said inanely, not sure what he disapproved of exactly—the idea of her living so close, or that she was rambling. The rambling, she couldn’t help. It was another nervous tic, like the humming.

Without another word, Sexy Grumpy Surfer walked back inside, proving her point about the personality. Heading directly for the electrical outlet, he plugged his planer back in.

“Nice talking to you,” she said, unable to resist.

He glanced back at her, and though his green-grey eyes narrowed, there was a very slightly amused quirk of his lips that told her he was indeed in on the joke.

So at least he knew that he was an abrupt ass.

“I take it you haven’t seen it yet,” he said.

“The loft?” she asked. “No. Why? Is it that bad?”

“Depends on how long you’re staying. More than five minutes?”

She laughed. “I don’t actually know. Lucky Harbor is filler for me at the moment.”

He stared at her, then something changed in his face. His expression softened, turning his features from hard and ungiving to—
wow
—open and almost friendly-but-not-quite friendly.

It was nearly enough to distract her from what he’d implied about the building she’d rented in.