Under the Stars: Summer Loving Book Four (A standalone romcom), page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 Amabel Daniels
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions
Under the Stars
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Other Books by the Author
About the Author
Acknowledgments
For editing, I thank Expression Editing and C.J. Pinard at www.cjpinard.com. For the cover design, I thank Indigo Hearts Designs. For proofreading, I thank PSW.
Dedication
For Ms. Wimmer, Mrs. Weaver, Mrs. Marshall, and the staff at Gateway.
I thank you in advance for all you do as our girls head back to school.
With the end of this summer and the beginning of what I hope to God will be a much more “normal” school year, I hereby pass the torch for the season.
Chapter One
Heather
Dad looked at me from the other side of the table, giving me his have we been here long enough yet? look. Since Mom was currently out of town visiting her cousins in Wisconsin, she would normally be the one to shake her head at him.
So, I did. I never shirked my responsibilities. Once a good girl, always a good girl. I shook my head at him, and he sighed.
Besides, you couldn’t leave a wake five minutes after arriving. That was just bad manners, no matter how distant the deceased was.
Aunt Beth patted Dad’s hand, perhaps mistaking his long exhale as a condolence. “It’s just a shame Eddie passed away when he did,” she said and wiped at her eyes.
Hell, if I made it to ninety-six, I’d say that was a good run.
“What was it again?” Dad asked. “Food poisoning?”
Aunt Beth pursed her lips at him. “What? No. Don’t be silly. His heart just gave out. Such a shame because his favorite time of the year was the end of the tourist season.”
The tourist season. I snorted. Like she needed to clarify. Since we were all born and raised in Kormane, all of us at this table held the common knowledge that nothing could stop this town from the travelers between the months of May and August. As a matter of fact, I was amazed the VFW hall wasn’t too booked, miraculously available for this funeral. Yet, if you looked hard enough, there was still leftover bachelorette confetti on the floor from the previous hastily cleaned event. “My God, Aunt Beth. We know what season,” I quipped.
Dad hid a chuckle, and my cheeks warmed. Did I really say that out loud? Snark like that…at a funeral? I rubbed my cheeks as though to hide my blush.
What is wrong with me? Being moody here and there was one thing, but was there anyone left on this planet who didn’t irritate me anymore?
Aunt Beth blinked at me, taken aback at my sass. “Anyway. As I was saying, Eddie just loved the end of the summer. He had such fond memories of the festival on Main.”
Dad tapped his fingers on the edge of the table, like a drummer boy solo, finishing his little tune with a point at me, like tapping a cymbal in conclusion. “Honey, are you going to be ready to bake all your desserts at Jessie’s kitchen?”
Couldn’t he pretend not to be bored? “Well—”
Aunt Beth scoffed. “I still can’t believe Sue sold the bakery to that young man.”
That young man. I gritted my teeth, just like I did at every mention of the person who now owned the space on Main Street that should be mine. I’d worked hard for years, practically running my other aunt’s bakery/café. And what did she do? She sold it to an out-of-towner.
“Mind you, if I was some forty years younger, that Logan Price would be more than welcome to our little town.” Aunt Beth exaggerated a wink and elbowed me, bringing her cloying perfume too close for comfort.
I swallowed a gag.
“But he doesn’t know what the heck he’s doing,” she exclaimed. “He’s going to run it out of business!”
I appreciated her commiseration, but what good would it do now?
Aunt Sue had sold my former workplace to her stepdaughter’s cousin’s nephew’s friend, who’d renamed it Kormane’s Korner. Since he’d taken over management, it was the butt of every joke. The food sucked. The service was slow. And the name was just dumb. It wasn’t on the corner!
To say I was bitter about being skipped over for the business was an understatement, but bitching about it wasn’t a solution. I had something better in mind now.
“Sue should have given it to you, Heather.” Now, Aunt Beth patted my hand.
“Nah. My little girl’s moved on to bigger and better things. Isn’t that right?” Dad grinned at me. “I’ll tell you, Jessie’s got a fine B&B at Heron Views, but the guests come for your baking, honey.”
I smiled, internally cringing a bit. It was Jessie’s success, not mine. It was her business, not mine. I loved my best friend to the moon and back, and I swore, one day, I’d be able to repay her for hiring me when Aunt Sue screwed me over. But I hated the reminder I was nothing more than a castoff.
“And I’ve got no doubt you’ll win the baked goods booth at the festival.” Dad winked at me.
“Oh, that’ll be sticking it to Sue.” Aunt Beth tittered behind her tea napkin. “You’ve won first place how many years now? Yes, you show Sue, dear.”
I only care about sticking it to Logan. The nerve of that man just coming right on in and ruining the bakery I’d perfected.
She nodded, like that would make it so. “You win the baked goods ribbon—again—and no one will want to go to the so-called corner café. They’ll be out of business in a flash.”
Aunt Beth was on the right track. My revenge would be winning that booth at the festival, the highest level of praise in terms of food judgment around here. But…how? The kitchen at the B&B was small for commercial-sized orders. Not to mention, if I won at the festival, I could count on even more custom orders from people in town to come in.
So how could I grow my bakery without a…well, a bakery?
“I hope I can enter the booth, and I’d love to win, but I don’t have much space in the kitchen.”
“Maybe you could work for Logan?” Aunt Beth asked. “He’s easy on the eyes.”
“He’s my competitor,” I said, keeping the snarl to a minimum just to be polite. “And that’s all he’ll ever be.” Work for Logan? Over my dead body.
“Then perhaps it’s time we look for a house for you,” Dad said gently. “Now that your good-for-nothing fiancé is out of the picture.”
“Ohhh.” Aunt Beth growled it. “I still can’t believe Adam cheated on you,” Aunt Beth whispered. “The nerve!”
Dad didn’t linger on the sore topic. “You’ve got that money saved up, seeing you didn’t spend it on the wedding.”
Sure. My fat wedding budget. My nest egg. It was all just sitting there, but if I spent it on my business, that was as good as giving up what I’d been so excited for. Marriage. A homeowner as a newlywed. Maybe adopting a puppy before talking about kids—once our jobs were secure, of course.
Now? I had no clue how to pick up the pieces of all I’d lost.
My former job, my former man, my former status as a bride-to-be.
“You’ll make it work. It’s what, three weeks away?” Dad asked, ever confident in his only child.
I slid my phone closer to me and opened the calendar app. One, two, three, almost four weeks. Less than a month to make a dessert for each festival-goer who’d stop by the booth. That was the trick. Not just anyone could enter the contest. You had to make enough for anyone who checked it out. Which could get up to nearly a thousand mouths to sample baked goods.
“Twenty-three days,” I replied, that specific number sticking in my mind for its other unique yet more familiar importance in my life.
Great. Twenty-three days. I’ll have to handle the festival goods just when I’m on my period. Every woman hated their cycle for some reason or another, but mine were a form of dark magic from the evilest demons. Just what I’d need at the worst time—
Wait. If I was worried about being on my period then, that would have meant I was on one now. And I hadn’t had one since…
Fingers shaking, I scrolled back on my phone.
“Oh, fuck no.”
Aunt Beth gasped at my whisper. “Heather!”
Bile rose in my throat. It wasn’t the first time lately either. No, no, no, no. I began to pant.
“Honey?” Dad asked, alarm in his tone.
My stomach revolted again at the realization that I was very late. “Oh…” Fuck. No.
The last time I had a period was back before Adam had cheated on me. When I was still a super happy—okay, tolerably happy, and understandably stressed—bride-to-be. I’d stopped the pill because we were getting married, and I assumed…w ell, never mind all that now.
What mattered was the fact I was two months late!
How could I have missed this?
I swallowed hard, my heart racing faster.
It had to be impossible. Adam and I had been arguing so much toward the end, and I couldn’t think back to how long it had been since we’d had sex. Then again, I was just so stressed. Losing the bakery, finding out Adam cheated…maybe I just skipped ovulating due to stress. It was feasible.
Because in order to worry about the chance I might be pregnant, I would’ve had to have slept with someone other than Adam.
And—
Oh, no…
I grabbed my purse and ran out of the VFW hall, leaving the wake without a goodbye. Running, I weaved past more people on the sidewalk, not stopping until I got to the pharmacy and bought a test.
For two months, I could have been pregnant. I smacked my face with my trembling hand as I rushed into the bathroom in the back of the store. The privacy of my parents’ house would have been nice, but I just had to know. Right now. The very idea of carrying his baby…
“No. Just no,” I whispered as I set the stick on the counter after I peed on it.
Pacing, I tried the profanity-laced counted breaths Evie had coached me on so long ago. “One motherfucker in.” I wheezed out that breath. “One motherfucker out.” I sucked in another breath, nearly gagging on the gardenia air freshener. “Two mother—”
Mother. I could be a mother.
I closed my eyes and sat on the toilet lid, tapping my foot for the rest of the wait.
“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s gotta be done.” I stood on unsteady legs and checked the test.
Pregnant.
I blinked hard at the two lines.
Pregnant.
If it wasn’t Adam’s… I staggered out of the bathroom, hardly looking where I was going as I went for the exit. I needed air. I needed somewhere to hide. I needed a time machine to turn back time, so I could stop myself from being a total idiot and rebounding with a one-night stand.
Not just with anyone. But—
Staring at the ground, I didn’t stop until I’d fully crashed into a wall of muscles. The smell of the crisp shirt hit me at once. Turpentine. Leather. All man. God, he smelled the same.
I righted myself and cringed, facing the enemy who was ruining the bakery that should be mine.
“Heather?” he asked, holding his hand out toward me as though to steady me from falling on my ass.
Of course, I’d run into him now.
Logan Price. The father of my baby.
Chapter Two
Logan
At least she was consistent.
Every time I’d seen Heather this summer—from a distance, of course—she’d faced me with the same sequence of expressions.
First, the scowl of scorn. It wasn’t a resting bitch face but an active fuck-off face, one I was almost tempted to heed immediately. Perhaps we hadn’t left on such great terms after that one night we’d slept together, and according to Evie, I’d taken her bakery turf. So that snarly look might be justified.
Next came the blushing avoidance of eye contact. Most likely because she was recalling how perfectly we’d fit together when we’d given in to lust. I still thought she’d slept with me as a means of venting her anger. So be it—hell, it was a mad sort of release for me, too. But there was no denying that was the hottest night of my life.
Finally, the closed-lip, prim, and polite attempt at neutral regard. Because while there was plenty for me to learn about this woman, I knew this without a doubt. Heather was the good girl. The nice one. A sweetheart. Kind and generous, docile and compassionate.
Never mind we’d claimed each other the enemy, she would still try to compose herself as a calm person above all that drama. I had a hunch she’d compose herself no matter how much shit hit the fan. But how long could she do that without breaking? No one could be that chill.
“Logan.” As she backed up from me, she dipped her chin in a regal-like nod. The stiff jerk was such a joke to how I remembered her acknowledging me at the B&B. With urgent, demanding kisses. Moans and gasps. Her trembling legs as she came—
I cleared my throat. “Hey, Heather. You all right?” I chased away the memories of having her then and focused on the state of alarm that she’d zombie-walked down the sidewalk with now.
Her lips pinched tighter. “Yup. Never been better.”
Liar. She looked like she wanted to puke.
“Funny running into you here. Now.”
“Here?” Her unease faded, replaced with the mask of disdain, that cycle of scorn starting again. She crossed her arms and exaggerated looking across the street, raising her brows at the awning for Kormane’s Korner.
It’s not even on the fucking corner. I resisted rubbing my hand over my face. Giving in to the previous owner’s request for the name was the stupidest business decision I’d ever made.
Nope. Scratch that. Plenty of other mistakes took the cream.
Thinking I could weather the storms of investment with my ex-wife was one of my biggest errors.
And assuming buying and running a bakery-slash-café would be a simple process.
And figuring I could be content with just one night with this woman glowering at me.
“What is so amusing about running into me here and now?” she snapped. “I’m not enough of a joke everywhere else and at any other time that I—”
I stepped right up into her face, more than annoyed with that self-depreciation. Didn’t it ever get old? Sure, she’d had some bad luck with that idiot she was engaged to, but come on. That was old news. He was old news. “I never said you were a joke.”
Her eyes narrowed a smidge as she faced me off, perhaps startled at my closeness but not intimidated to back away. “Fine. I said it, then.” Shoving one hand at me, she demanded some space. “Don’t you have better stuff to do? You know, ruin some more businesses around town?”
I gritted my teeth. I was not ruining anything—I wasn’t enough of a quitter to admit defeat. Did I know what I was doing at that bakery? No. Would I figure it out? Of course. I had to if I wanted a living because creating or selling a painting wasn’t happening.
I’d survive. Starting with her. By extending the riskiest olive branch in the existence of time.
“I meant it was funny running into you here because you’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”
Do it. Go for it. Because at this rate, what else did I have to lose? No employable person in the vicinity of this damn small town knew how to produce decent food. I’d even settle for the basics of edible and hope for decent later.
One slim brow arched up, and I refused to go weak now.
Her chuff cut me off. “What for?”
It sounded too much like What do you want me for?
Slowly, I gave in to a smile. What did I want from Heather? Oh, there was a lot. It wasn’t at the top of real-life, avoid-being-penniless priorities, but I’d sell my soul for another chance to taste her, to hold her, to love on her. Even if it was a repeat of the angry sex we’d fallen into. Sue me, that was the first thing that came to mind. Two months ago, I’d gotten a sample of the kind of passion this woman hid, and it was on my mind every day since.
It seemed I took too long to answer because she’d moved onto step two: embarrassment. Her cheeks pinkening as she broke eye contact.
As if she’d ever give me another chance.
Before I could speak again, she rounded it up to the third and last phase of consideration for me. At the end of this trifecta: her controlled, polite blankness.
“What do you want, Logan?”
I straightened. Raised my hand to rub it over my jaw but stopped midway. I couldn’t ask her while I fidgeted.
Just ask her.
“Will you work for me at the bakery?”
Cars drove down Main, and chatter from people walking from Deano’s ice cream parlor faded in the distance. A breeze brushed by, lifting the strands of her light-brown hair at her temples, but the sun burned hotter than hell on my back. No, it was the scorching anxiety of waiting for her reaction that had sweat beading.
Waiting for her reaction…that didn’t come.
She stood there staring at me, her face rigid in shock and body paralyzed.
