Lovestruck in Fortune's Bay: A Fortune's Bay Novella Read online

  Lovestruck in Fortune’s Bay

  A Fortune’s Bay Novella

  Joslyn Westbrook

  Copyright © 2018 by Joslyn Westbrook

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Qamber Designs and Media

  Photo by Lindee Robinson Photography

  Editing by Indie Editing Chick

  Proofreading by Tandy Proofreads

  Created with Vellum

  Welcome to Fortune’s Bay

  Travel to Fortune’s Bay from the comfort of your home and drink in the white sand beaches and crystal clear waters. The sun always shines in this fictional small tourist town in the South-West of Florida and soulmates always find each other.

  Contents

  A Note To Readers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  The Bay of Love: MAX and BRET

  Acknowledgments

  More Fortune’s Bay Stories!

  Also by Joslyn Westbrook

  About the Author

  A Note To Readers

  At the back of this novella, you will find the exclusive Fortune’s Bay short story, The Bay of Love: MAX and BRET. Previously published in the Fortune’s Bay Short Story Holiday Collection, it is now only available with this novella.

  Readers of my work will know that my stories tend to be on the sexier side, with characters full of sass and snark; however, in Fortune’s Bay, my stories are much sweeter. Enjoy!

  * * *

  Happy Reading from the Friends of Fortune!

  For Jasmine - you make Mommy smile.

  “Falling in love wasn’t really a choice. It just struck me.”

  HELEN FISHER

  Chapter 1

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Chloe Davenport pulled a feather-filled pillow over her head, hoping, praying it would somehow block out the rumble. Only the pillow, full of its fluff and glory, made her sneeze.

  Damn feathers.

  She never imagined her first morning in Fortune’s Bay would kick off with a bang.

  A loud, rumbling bang.

  It was bad enough she barely fell asleep only two hours before, wishfully expecting to sleep until noon. The plane from San Francisco, the day before, had been delayed and the layover in Dallas, Texas was longer than anticipated.

  Naturally, when she arrived at the quaint two-bedroom rental she planned to call home for the next several months, Chloe was dead—zombie-level—tired.

  The vroom vroom rumbling sound, that seemed to intensify by the second, came from outside of the sheer curtain-covered window behind her bed.

  Must reposition bed, she thought, knowing her dainty self had enough trouble carrying two suitcases up the stairs into the bedroom. It would be impossible to rearrange furniture.

  With an exaggerated “Ugh”, Chloe tossed the pillow across the room, kicked the duvet off her body, and lay there, momentarily contemplating her next move. She wasn’t quite sure if she should roll out of the bed—a cozy queen-sized poster bed seemingly meant for sleeping in late without any loud-noised intrusions—or stay put, turn on the TV and systematically drown out the annoyance with something more pleasant, like an episode of The Walking Dead. But, in order to turn on the TV, she would have to use the remote control. And since she had yet to become familiar with her temporary residence, Chloe had no flipping clue where said remote was.

  The noise, louder than ever, was beyond unbearable.

  Who revs up a motorcycle at this hour of the morning. She slipped in a quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table, its bright red display of 5:42 a.m. all but shouting at her.

  After rolling out of bed, her bottom plopping onto the cool hardwood floor, Chloe sat there, eyes still shut, wondering what she did to deserve this. Back home in California, she was a thoughtful neighbor.

  No loud music.

  No loud television.

  No loud sex. Well, in all fairness, it would have been kind of difficult to have any type of sex, loud or not, considering she hadn’t been in a relationship for over a year now.

  But Chloe sure as heck was not the type of a neighbor who would be outside at the butt-crack of dawn, loudly revving up a motorcycle, waking up the entire universe. Never mind the fact she didn’t own a motorcycle. Nor had she ever been on one.

  They were frightening.

  As were the guys who rode them…in her opinion.

  Vroom, vroom, vroom, reverberated through the window, walls, and even worse, Chloe’s last nerve.

  A muffled grunt made its way out of her mouth as she sprang to her feet, the outside disturbance loudly teasing her annoyance.

  Stomping all the way to the light switch on the wall by the bedroom door, Chloe flicked the switch upward, hoping, somehow, the light would intimidate the outside noisemaker.

  But it didn’t. Of course.

  And, to make matters worse, the vroom, vroom, was now accompanied by music.

  What the actual hell?

  Well, at least the heathen had good taste in music. Luke Bryan was one of her favorites.

  Breathing in a sigh, Chloe started for the stairs.

  There was only one way to make the noise stop: confront the problem itself.

  Maybe.

  Because, after all, motorcycle guys were mean brutes with chains and knives. Or perhaps that was only what her overactive imagination conjured up?

  But the racket had nothing at all to do with her imagination—overactive or not.

  Charging down the stairs like a bull on a run, Chloe made a beeline toward the front door, unlocked it, then swung it open so hard, the force almost made her lose her balance.

  The cool oceanic breeze slapped the warmth right off her cheeks, which really didn’t matter because both cheeks warmed right back up as soon as she laid eyes on the disturbance.

  The man on the motorcycle was like nothing she imagined. That busy brain led her to believe as soon as she opened the door, a scruffy hoodlum would be seated on the chopper with a bandana wrapped around his head, an untamed beard hanging from his chin, and a cigarette attached to his mouth. Not that anything was wrong with a man who preferred to don any or all of that, mind you.

  However, this guy—the term hottie was actually a better fit—was just as well-crafted as the machine his tight, jean-covered bottom sat on. Short, blondish-brown hair, chiseled build.

  Almost perfect.

  But, perfect-looking or not, he still dragged her out of the sleep she so desperately needed.

  “Hey!” she shouted, chest puffed out to show meaningful intent.

  The cool, fully chiseled, motorcycle guy who pulled a black half-helmet on top of his head, looked toward her. His entire face was outfitted with a quizzical expression while his mouth was set in a hard line.

  �
��Mind cutting out the noise? Some of us are trying to get some sleep around here.” Chloe stood in the doorway, hands on hips, probably looking the way she swore she’d never; just like her grandma did when she scolded the neighborhood kids playing on the front lawn.

  The guy smirked and gifted Chloe a cocky head tilt that, for some odd reason, made her heart race a little faster.

  Eyes now laced with a purposeful glare, he killed the bike’s engine, sitting, his hands positioned on the handlebars. “Uh, sorry about that. I’m not used to having any neighbors.”

  Chloe huffed, glancing first to the left, then to the right, at the two cottages on either side, about to make mention of them, when he spoke first.

  “Yeah, those are empty right now. Renters will raid them in a few months, as they do every year during tourist season.”

  “Well,” Chloe said as she thought of a cheeky reply. “I’m here now and would appreciate it if you would keep that in mind for the next few months.”

  “I’ll certainly try my best. Anything else?” His grin was haughty, almost playful.

  “Coffee. Can you tell me where I can find a good coffee shop? Seeing how I probably can’t fall back asleep now.”

  The guy shrugged and said, “I hear great things about Destiny’s Brew.”

  “Thanks.” She felt as though he was getting a kick out of her growing agitation.

  The vroom vroom sound returned as the chopper was fired up. Hot Motorcycle Guy looked directly at Chloe and yelled, “Nice shirt, by the way,” then winked before he took off in a zig-zag form down the street.

  And it was then, Chloe realized she was still outfitted in an oversized white T-shirt that shouted in big, bold letters, Today’s Mood: Cranky With A Touch Of Psycho.

  Chapter 2

  There were a few things Dylan Hawke tried to avoid like the bubonic plague—two of those things were being late and feisty-hot women.

  At this point he was late.

  And the woman he just encountered?

  Feisty-hot.

  When he placed an ad to rent out the empty unit across from his, he didn’t expect to be contacted by a literary agent with a request to rent the place for a full three months. On top of that, he was faxed a non-disclosure contract, agreeing to keep the name and identity of the occupant, Chloe Davenport, a secret. Naturally, curiosity led to an online search of Ms. Davenport. But no photos came up—only links to what seemed to be a series of romance novels which, of course, he had no clue about. His sister, however, knew all about the author and her series of romance novels called Lovestruck. Apparently, the author’s MO was to surreptitiously slip into a small town—always keeping her identity concealed—study the town and its residents, then pen the new book in her popular series based on the town. Dylan couldn’t help feeling like an insider, knowing the new novel would be Lovestruck in Fortune’s Bay. He signed the non-disclosure, with an amendment that included three advanced, autographed copies of the novel. Based on his internet research, he learned how successful the author was. So, Dylan assumed the Chloe Davenport was a much older, refined woman, probably the age of, or even slightly older, than his mother.

  Nevertheless, he sure as hell never imagined the author would be the twenty-something-looking knock-out who griped at him this morning. The image of her in that T-shirt, her hair a hot mess, hands on hips, made his mouth hastily curve into a smile. He hadn’t smiled about an encounter with a woman for a while.

  And he wasn’t ready.

  “What the heck happened to you? You’re late.” Samantha glanced up from behind the counter, her expression a colorful mix of wonder and worry. Probably because it wasn’t like Dylan to be late.

  “Yeah. Forgot to set my alarm clock,” Dylan grumbled, brushing past her, reaching for the black apron dangling from the hook. “Did you start the pot of decaf? I rode past the Early Brew Crew about a half mile down the street.”

  “Of course. I know the routine, boss.” Samantha let out a soft giggle at the sight of her brother’s glare.

  “It’s way too early for your sarcasm, Sam.”

  Letting out a stifled yawn, Dylan tied the apron around his waist, ignoring the set of dark brown eyes penetrating him.

  “So you’re still not sleeping, huh?”

  The query sounded much more like an assertion.

  Dylan shook his head at his sister’s question. Sarcasm and probing, especially before noon, annoyed him.

  “None of your business, Sam. How about we just get the store open? The regulars will be walking in soon enough.”

  And by the regulars, Dylan meant the spunky group of retirees who’d been patronizing the small, trendy coffee shop for as long as it had been open.

  The two siblings, separated in age only by minutes, scrambled to get the pots of coffee ready, the bakery display stocked, and carafes of cream and milk out, before Dylan managed to get the doors to Destiny’s Brew open just as the regular customers walked up.

  “Good morning Marge, Dan, Hillary, and Mitch.” Dylan held the door open with a wide smile plastered on his face, as his four regular customers—AKA the Early Brew Crew—waltzed in, energized from their ritualized morning walk.

  Each of them smiled back, offering their hellos as they made their way to the counter, collecting cups full of decaf coffee. Then, as per habit, all claimed a communal table smack dab in the center of the coffee shop, sat, and began their usual morning banter.

  Not much of a morning talker, Dylan made his way to the shop’s back office, grabbed his clipboard, and began taking inventory.

  “You want coffee?” Samantha stood in the doorway to the supply room, holding up a cup for her brother as if it were some sort of a peace offering.

  Enticed by the coffee’s aroma, Dylan looked up from the clipboard. “Thanks.” He grabbed the cup, took in the tantalizing scent, and sipped.

  There was no denying, the shop’s signature blend was hard to resist. It had been drawing in locals and tourists since the day the doors opened years ago.

  “Maybe that sip will cure your morning grumpiness,” Samantha joked.

  “Yeah. Maybe.” He snickered, knowing his smart-ass tone was more signature than the famous blend of coffee he was sipping.

  “Did your renter move in yet?”

  Dylan’s mouth curved into that smile he wished thoughts of his new neighbor didn’t produce. “Yep. She’s there.”

  “She? Your new neighbor’s a she?”

  Literally saved by the bell, Dylan smirked at the sound of the ding-like chime, alerting the two someone either exited or entered the coffee shop. Conversing with his twin about his new renter was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “You should go up front, tend to the customers, while I finish up the inventory.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Boss. Why the hell did she always have to call him that? After all, they were equal partners since taking over the shop from their aunt and uncle a little over two years ago. And if any of them were the boss, it would be more Samantha. Up until about six months before, Dylan’s involvement had been a part-time gig, since he was living and working in their hometown of Boston about ninety-five percent of the time. But when his life was suddenly turned upside down, he made the choice to move to Fortune’s Bay full-time, pouring all of his attention into the coffee shop. Destiny’s Brew was the ultimate distraction.

  About an hour later, still in the back office, Dylan completed the inventory, then placed an order in with the local supplier. He could hear the cackle, coming from the Early Brew Crew, growing louder. There was always some discussion the group fell into and this morning was probably no different. Still, he figured it best to head to the front and help his sister, who was most likely ready for a break by now anyway.

  “Sam, you ready for a—”

  Dylan’s mouth dropped mid-sentence when his eyes caught who was sitting at the communal table, animatedly conversing with the Crew.

  “Am I ready for a what?” Samantha tossed a towel
at her brother—his jaw dropped, gaze fixed on the center table.

  “Uh—” He blinked, his reflexes barely catching the towel. “A break. You ready for your break?”

  Seemingly eager to get off her feet, Samantha all but squealed in delight. Sure, she was the more dramatic of the two, but still, no one should be that excited about a break.

  “Heck yeah, I’m ready for a break.” She poured herself some freshly brewed coffee, almost instantly taking the mug to her mouth for a sip. “Besides, the Crew has some new fox they’re sinking their teeth into, giving the newbie a rundown of good ‘ole Destiny and all things Fortune’s Bay for almost an hour.” She shrugged as she moved past him. “I may as well offer my two cents.”

  And by her two cents, Dylan knew his sister would likely share how their Aunt Katie and Uncle Stan, the original owners of the coffee shop, were brought together by means of Destiny.

  Use of the word ‘fox’ to describe Chloe D was spot on. Now perched between Hillary and Dan, the foxy author was fully engrossed in convo. Her golden hair, no longer a hot mess, a smile that undoubtedly won hearts, and eyes that—

  Caught him staring.

  Look away, Dylan Hawke. Look the hell away, he internally scolded.

  But it was too late. Chloe D’s chair scraped against the hardwood floor as she stood, head slightly atilt.

  “Aren’t you the guy who—”

  “You barked at this morning?” Dylan was agape at his own quip-sational interruption.