Stephanie nodded and drew him into a tight hug so he wouldn’t see her pain.
On the short ride from the city to the airport, Grant experienced a rising sense of panic. He’d never felt this torn in his entire life. All he had to do to get his struggling career back on track was show up for a meeting in LA. Stephanie said she understood. She supported his career and knew this was important to him. But he suspected she didn’t believe him when he said he’d be back.
“I’ll be here for the meeting with Dan.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can handle it by myself. He’s not the first lawyer I’ve dealt with.”
“Still. I want to be there.”
She shrugged. “If you can.”
What am I supposed to do?
The question nagged at him as they rode south in silence on Interstate 95. And then she was taking the airport exit and pulling up to the departures terminal. His bag landed with a thud on the curb, as if she was suddenly anxious to be rid of him.
Maybe she was. Maybe he’d read this all wrong. Last night, she’d referred to their relationship as a fling. While he’d gotten her to admit it had been more than that, maybe it hadn’t been enough for her to change her plans to suit him, to adapt her life to make room for what they might have together.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d read something wrong. He was still grappling with his dilemma when she gave him a quick hug and a lingering kiss.
“Good luck out there. I hope it all works out for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Steph—”
“Don’t. Please.” She held up a hand. “Don’t say something you think I need to hear. Just go. Do what you need to do. I’ll see you when I see you.” Going up on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. “Travel safely.”
Before he could summon the words he wanted to say to her or the reassurances he wanted to leave her with, she was back in her car and giving him a jaunty little wave as she pulled away from the curb.
Abby’s voice echoed through his head, reminding him that he could write anywhere in the whole world. And the only place in the world he wanted to be was with Stephanie.
Suddenly, it wasn’t all right that she was leaving without knowing how he felt. Why hadn’t he told her when he’d had the chance? “Because you’re still an idiot,” he muttered. “
Steph! Wait!
” He chased after her car, but either she didn’t hear him or she chose not to stop. He hoped it was the former.
Racing back to where he’d left his bag on the curb, he shouldered it and flagged down a cab.
“I need to get to Point Judith,” he said when he was settled in the backseat.
The driver turned to him. “For real?”
Grant withdrew his wallet and tossed two one-hundred-dollar bills through the window that separated the front seat from the back. “Drive. Please. And quickly.” Adrenaline had Grant’s heart beating fast, his lungs straining for air and his hands damp with sweat. Realizing how close he’d come to once again doing the exact wrong thing had finally sobered him up.
“At least this time you figured it out before it was too late,” he said, earning a wary glance in the mirror from his driver. At least he hoped it wasn’t too late.
He had about an hour to formulate a plan. Withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket, he got to work.
With a loud blast of its horn, the two-thirty ferry to Gansett Island pulled out of Point Judith. Stephanie had expected it to be more crowded on the Saturday afternoon of Labor Day weekend, but she was relieved not to have to share her picnic table with anyone who might wonder why her eyes were red and swollen.
She pressed a cold paper-towel compress to her eyes, needing to get herself together before she was forced to confront Grant’s family when she got back to the marina.
They were covering the docks in shifts, so it could be anyone from Mac to Evan to Big Mac waiting to greet her. Even Ned and Owen had taken turns so Grant could go with her to the mainland. They were good to each other that way, a family—and friends—anyone without such things would envy.
The thought of never seeing any of them again once she returned to Providence only drew more tears from eyes that should’ve been fresh out of them by now.
Determined to stop crying and get her head together, she withdrew her iPod and a notebook from her bag and began making a list of fourteen years of motions and copies of legal documents she needed to send to Dan Torrington as he prepared to file an emergency motion for a new trial.
“Is this seat taken?”
Absorbed in her music and her work, she shook her head. As a regular on the ferry, she was used to people invading her personal space even when it was obvious that she wasn’t interested in company.
“What’re you doing?”
Astounded by the rude question, she finally dragged her attention off the notebook and found Grant sitting across from her.
Stephanie’s mouth fell open as she tugged the buds from her ears. “What’re you doing here?”
“Funny thing happened when you dumped me at the curb and drove off leaving a cloud of dust behind you. And P.S., you drive like a maniac.”
Frowning at his description of their parting and her driving, she said, “What funny thing happened?”
He leaned into the table, took the pen from her hand and linked their fingers. “I discovered I don’t want to be without you. Not even for the three days I’d planned to be in LA.”
Stephanie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But… But what about the job? You need the job! You can’t just blow off the meeting.”
“Before I get into that, Uncle Frank called.”
A shaft of tension traveled through her. “And?”
“Judge Seymour will hear new evidence in Charlie’s case on October 31. He wants to hear your side of the story—the same story you told me and Uncle Frank.”
She was so shocked by news she’d waited half a lifetime to hear, she felt like she’d been electrocuted. “How did that happen?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Uncle Frank told Judge Seymour that he’d recently had the opportunity to speak with you and hear your story. Because he has a family connection to you, Uncle Frank can’t hear the case himself.”
“What ‘family’ connection does your uncle have to me?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. Anyway, he asked his colleague, Seymour, to look into it. Apparently, there’ve been several of Dugan’s old cases that fall into the same questionable category as Charlie’s. They’re anxious to right any of the old wrongs that might’ve occurred when Dugan’s illness was in the early stages.”
Stephanie needed a minute to process it all. “I can’t… I mean…” She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I’ll never be able to properly thank you for this.”
“You don’t have to. All I did was make a couple of calls.”
“You did a lot more than that, and you know it. But you didn’t have to chase after me to tell me this. You could’ve called. You need to be at that meeting in LA! It’s such a great opportunity.”
“Yes, it is.” A smile stretched across his face. “But here’s the thing—I don’t
want
to write that movie. I want to write
your
movie, the story that gave me the first buzz I’ve had in years. In the next few days, you’ll get a call from my agent with an offer for the rights to your story. He’ll make the same offer to Charlie. It’ll be for a lot of money—the kind of money that’ll set you both up for life. I’ve discovered I have a taste for producing my own stories rather than waiting for someone to take a chance on me. I’m taking a chance on you and your story, and I’m feeling the buzz
big time
, baby.”
He looked so high on life that if she didn’t know him so well, she’d think he’d been smoking something illegal. And even though her heart beat a wild staccato, she eyed him warily. “And you have that kind of money?”
Raising an eyebrow into a positively rakish expression, he said, “Do you have any idea what houses in Malibu are going for these days?”
Stephanie shook her head. “I know what you’re doing.”
Amusement danced in his gorgeous eyes, which nearly caused her to lose her train of thought. “And what’s that?”
“You’re trying to make sure I’ll be okay without you.”
His smile faded. “Wow, I really buried the lead here, didn’t I?”
“What the heck does that mean?”
He reached for her other hand and held both of them tightly. “I love you. I’m
in
love with you. I want to marry you and live with you and write our movie and maybe have a couple of kids together—with lots of drugs in a hospital. I want everything with you, Stephanie.” He brought her hands to his lips. “The only question, my love, is do you want everything with me?”
She stared at him for the longest time as his words worked their way through the fog in her brain to settle in her heart. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said, flabbergasted by the turn of events.
His brows knitted with confusion. “What wasn’t supposed to happen?”
Damn if her eyes weren’t full of tears—again! “You, me, the happy ending. That only happens to other people. Not to me.”
Grant released her hands, got up and came around to her side of the table. When he had her arranged on his lap the way he wanted her, he kissed the tears off her face. “You know what the best part about being a writer is?”
She shook her head.
“You get to finesse the ending any way you want, and I say this story ends with a happily ever after. Are you with me on that?”
“Yes,” she said, hugging him fiercely. “Yes, I’m with you.”
“Good.” He held her just as tightly. “And was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
Smiling through her tears, she met his gaze. “I love you, too, and yes, of course I want everything with you. And then some.”
“I couldn’t have written it any better myself.”
Thank you for reading
Falling for Love
! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please help other people find this book:
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Turn the page for a sneak peek at Evan McCarthy’s book,
Hoping for Love
.
Chapter 1
This moment had been a long time coming. Since fourth grade, if Grace was being truthful. That was how long she’d been madly, passionately, insanely in lust—at the very least—with Trey Parsons. Of course, she couldn’t have chosen to give her heart to a mere mortal. No, she’d set her sights on a god among men, a four-sport athlete she’d had no choice but to adore from afar all through middle school and high school. While he’d been the star of field and court, she’d been known as “The Whale,” and not because of her swimming skills.
Now, ten years and a hundred and twenty pounds later, she was getting busy with her own personal god—that was if she didn’t wet the bed first. Her bladder was going to explode any second now, which, from what she’d heard about “the act,” was not the part of her that was supposed to explode.
They were in the V-berth of his father’s fancy boat, tied up at McCarthy’s Gansett Island Marina for the night—the night she
would
part with her virginity if it was the last thing she ever did. And while she wished she could focus on the divine feeling of his lips and tongue on her nipple, a more pressing need had her full attention.
She pushed on his shoulder. “Trey.”
He raised his head. “What?”
“I need to get up.”
Taking her hand, he flashed a sexy grin and pressed her palm against his pulsating erection. “I’m already up, babe.”
Grace pulled her hand back. “Not you.
Me
. I have to pee.”
Frustrated, he flopped on the bed. “Hurry up already.”
She reached for his discarded T-shirt and started to put it on.
“What’re you getting dressed for? Just go.” He took the shirt from her. “You don’t need this.”
The Grace Ryan who’d never been naked in front of another living soul clung to the shirt. But the Grace who was more than ready for a whole new life let him take it from her.
He caressed her face. “Go on. It’s okay.”
The tender—and unexpected—gesture gave her the courage she needed to slide off the bunk and duck into the tiny head without obsessing too much about what her backside must look like to him. As she sat on the toilet, wondering if he’d hear her peeing through the wall almost made it impossible for her to go.
Oh, I’m so not cut out for this
, Old Grace thought.
Yes, you are
, New Grace replied.
You have as much right to a hot night with a hot guy as any other girl
.
You’ve certainly earned it
.
That much was true. With her arms crossed over her abundant breasts—the one part of her that hadn’t benefitted from the weight loss—she took care of business and stood just as the phone Trey had left on the counter chimed with a text message.
Honestly, she didn’t intend to look at it, but he was Trey Parsons after all, the stud king of Mystic, Connecticut, and she didn’t trust him as far as she could spit him. So, she looked.
From “Quigs,” or Tom Quigley, Trey’s best friend since grade school:
Did u nail the whale yet? Remember $500 in it for ya if you bring back proof of the cherry bomb.
Grace was suddenly chilled to the bone, frozen with shock and horror. It had all been a big joke! Weeks of dates and flowers and “romance” had all been a big,
fat
joke! And to think she’d almost given him her virginity so he could use it like a trophy to impress his asshole friends! Red-hot rage the likes of which she’d never before experienced surged through her.
“What the hell are you doing in there?” Trey called, no doubt impatient to seal the deal so he could collect his prize money.
Grace wished she could storm out there and tell him off, but the fact that she was naked made it hard for her to think about anything other than the fact that she was naked—and humiliated. Again.
Staring in the small mirror, she forced back the pain, focused on the rage and opened the door.
“I thought you just had to pee.” Had she ever noticed that he pouted like a petulant child when he didn’t get his way? “You were in there so long I lost my boner.”
Grace threw the phone at him, narrowly missing his head. Too bad. “You left it in the bathroom.” She pulled on her clothes with frantic, jerky movements, desperate to cover herself and get out of there.
“What’re you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
His blond hair was mussed from her fingers, and his blue eyes shot daggers at her. What had she ever seen in him anyway? “
Why?
”
“I’m going for a walk.”
“
What the hell?
I thought we were having sex here.”
“
Were
is the key word. I need more time to think about it.” What she needed was to figure out a way home that wouldn’t involve calling the parents who hadn’t wanted her to go on this overnight in the first place.
“You gotta be freaking kidding me. We’ve been dating for weeks! How much more
time
do you need?”
“I don’t know.” She grabbed her phone and headed for the cabin door. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t rush on my account.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed him staring at his phone. Good. Let him figure out that she was on to his sick little plan. As she climbed off the boat onto the pier at McCarthy’s, her hands and legs trembled from shock and anger. On her way up the dock, pain overtook the anger. After everything she’d been through—years of obesity, the huge decision to have gastric bypass surgery, and all her hard work to lose the weight—and keep it off for more than a year—she was still “the fat girl” to people like Trey who’d never known her as anything else.
Thank goodness she’d discovered what a total asshole Trey was before things had gone any further. When she thought about being naked in bed with him and how close they’d come… “Ugh!” She sank her fingers into her hair, wishing she could scrub the images from her brain.
While they’d been frolicking aboard the boat, the sun had set over Gansett’s Salt Pond. A crowd was gathered at the Tiki Hut, where two guitarists played old favorites, not that Grace paid much attention as she walked past the bar. She had far more pressing issues—such as getting as far away from Trey Parsons as possible.
“Excuse me,” she said to an older man who leaned against a cab reading the newspaper.
He glanced up at her, a friendly smile on his face. “How can I help ya?”
“I was wondering—what time does the last ferry leave?”
“Ya just missed it. Left at eight.”
Grace sagged under the weight of the realization that she was stuck on the island until morning. “Can you recommend a place where I might be able to get a room for the evening?”
He let out a guffaw. “On Labor Day weekend? Hate to tell ya, doll, but everything’s been booked for months. There’s not a room to be had on the entire island. Biggest weekend of the year, ’cept for Gansett Race Week.”
Grace conjured up an image of the camper-size sofa in the boat’s salon. It was small, but it would do for one night. “Thanks for your help,” she said.
“Any time.”
Since she had no choice, she turned and made her way slowly and reluctantly back to the boat, taking her time to avoid Trey for that much longer. On the way, she spent a moment appreciating the two supremely handsome men who were performing at the Tiki Bar. One of them had shaggy blond hair and a smile that wouldn’t quit. He seemed in his element playing the guitar and singing for the appreciative crowd.
The other had dark hair—Patrick Dempsey hair, she decided—a muscular build and a face that belonged in movies. He too seemed right at home on stage and sang with his partner as if they’d been performing together for years.
Leaning against the gift shop building, Grace hummed along to “Brown-Eyed Girl” and “Turn the Page” before she reluctantly continued down the pier to deal with Trey. As she approached the spot where the boat was supposed to be, she did a double take. It was gone.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “That
bastard
!”
She stared at the empty spot at the dock for a long moment before the truth sank in. He’d left her there alone, taking her purse and clothes with him. She was stuck on Gansett Island with no boyfriend, no place to stay and no money. In the span of an instant, she went from hurt to angry to scared and then to sad. What was supposed to have been one of the greatest nights of her life had turned into yet another disaster.
This
, Evan McCarthy thought,
is as good as it gets
. Strumming his guitar in perfect harmony with his best friend from childhood on a warm late-summer evening at the docks where he’d spent an idyllic childhood. Playing the home crowd at McCarthy’s Gansett Island Marina beat any stage in any venue, and he’d played his share of stages and venues.
He and his friend, Owen Lawry, exchanged glances as they played the last notes of “Bad Moon Rising” and launched into their anthem, “Take it Easy.” Life was good. His CD would be out by Christmas, he’d had an awesome time with his brothers, sister and extended family during his sister’s wedding and the tropical storm that followed. He’d gotten a new niece out of the storm, born to his brother Mac and sister-in-law Maddie.
After a scary accident earlier in the summer, his father seemed to be on the mend from a head injury and broken arm. Even though “Big Mac” McCarthy wasn’t quite his old self yet, he was better than he’d been, which was good enough for Evan.
Best of all, a table of young, pretty women had been sending flirtatious signals to him and Owen all evening. Evan had no doubt they’d have their pick of the ladies at closing time. Since he was still staying with his folks up the hill at “The White House,” the name the islanders had bestowed upon the McCarthy family home, he hoped the ladies had their own rooms at whatever hotel they were calling home for the weekend.
A nice fling over the long weekend would be just what the doctor ordered after a summer of nonstop work. He’d been feeling cooped up lately, cagey and unsettled. A little mindless sex would straighten him right out—the sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. When was the last time he’d blown off some steam? The fact that he couldn’t remember was worrisome.
He joined Owen for the chorus to “Take it Easy,” high off the adrenaline of performing before an appreciative audience.
Owen grinned at him, no doubt enjoying this evening as much as Evan. The gig was actually Owen’s. Evan’s folks had convinced O to stay on until Columbus Day, and he’d cajoled Evan into joining him tonight. It hadn’t required much arm twisting, since Evan hadn’t been doing anything but hanging around the house trying to dodge his mother’s increasingly probing inquiries into his nonexistent love life.
The one thing Evan McCarthy avoided like the clap was commitment, which was the last thing his mother wanted to hear, especially with his siblings falling like dominoes lately. First Mac, then Janey and Joe, now Grant, who was gaga over Stephanie. Even their friend Luke Harris had gone down hard this summer. Evan had no idea what was in the water lately, but whatever it was, he wasn’t thirsty.
Thank God at least Owen shared Evan’s commitment to bachelorhood. So did Evan’s brother Adam, who’d gone back to New York once the ferries started running again after the storm. The three of them had to stick together in the midst of all this marriage mayhem.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman sitting at a table by herself. She swiped at tears as she stared off in the distance. Unlike the other women in the crowd, she wasn’t paying them an ounce of attention. Evan told himself that was okay even as his ego registered the hit.
Owen nudged him, nodded toward the same woman and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Evan shrugged as they started into “Love the One You’re With.” As he sang along, he kept half an eye on the unhappy woman in the corner. Thanks to the overhead lights on the pier, he could see that she had shiny, dark, shoulder-length hair, the kind of hair that would feel like silk when you ran your fingers through it. What he could see of her face struck him as exceptionally pretty—or it would have been if it hadn’t been red and blotchy from crying.
When they finished the song, Owen announced they’d be taking a short break. Usually this was the point in the program where they lined up after-hours entertainment. At their table of admirers, the perky blonde he’d been making eyes with gave Evan a come-hither smile, full of invitation. All he had to do was walk over there and close the deal they’d been negotiating for hours now.
“What’s with the weepy chick in the corner?” Owen asked as they set their guitars into stands.
“No clue.”
“Doesn’t look like she’s here with anyone.”
Evan looked over at her again, noting that she continued to stare off into space as if she had no clue she was in the midst of a bar full of people having fun.
“We’re not under any obligation here, are we?” Owen asked warily, eyeing the table full of friendly women.
“You’re not, that’s for sure.”
“Dude, just because your folks own the place—”
“WWBMD?”
Confused, Owen started at him. “Huh?”
“What would Big Mac do?” Evan asked, knowing the answer to his question before he asked it.
Owen winced. “Bring a gun to a knife fight, why doncha?” He accepted a couple of beers from a waitress and handed one to Evan.
“I could ignore it and go about my life, but his voice would be in my head, ruining whatever fun I might be trying to have,” Evan said. “He’d be saying, ‘How could you leave that gal crying all alone, son? Especially when she’s a guest at our place? That’s not the kind of man I raised you to be.’”
Owen busted up laughing. “Jesus, you sound just like him.”
“Years of intensive training, my friend.” Evan took another look at the young woman, confirming she was still there and still miserable. With a resigned sigh, he said, “Wish me luck.”
Owen touched his bottle to Evan’s. “Go get her, tiger. I’ll entertain the other ladies for both of us.”
“Gee, you’re a pal.” Like a condemned man heading to the gallows, Evan started toward the corner table. As he passed the perky blonde, he sent his regrets with a shrug and a rueful grin. Would’ve been fun. He approached the corner table and plopped down, startling the crying woman. “Now tell me this—what in the world could’ve ruined such a great night for such a pretty lady?”