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  I set my wine glass on a stone coaster long enough to sort through my junk and find the buzzing cell phone.

  It’s Katie, my only friend in town – if I can call her that. We met at the new employee orientation, Monday. I’m in marketing, she’s in sales. But we were the only two people there, both new to town and therefore friends by circumstance as much as anything else.

  I don’t know if she would be my natural choice for a friend. But there is something about being new and friendless that bonds people. And we’re both from big East Coast cities—Baltimore and Boston—finding ourselves in the much smaller and quainter Castle Cove.

  My phone buzzes again, impatiently.

  I look at my pjs and the wine and the paperback on the corner of my coffee table. Do I ignore the call and proceed with my night as planned? Or do I take Katie’s call, knowing she probably wants to hang out?

  Choice 2

  Answer Katie’s phone call

  Call her back later

  Keep going and pretend I didn’t hear.

  Whoever is calling my name can wait. My need to escape is too great.

  Stepping outside, cool air licks my face and neck. It’s humid and damp and very much early April weather befitting a coastal town. Pine and ocean salt hang in the air. And there is something about it that just invites me to breathe deep.

  So I do.

  I hustle across the parking lot toward my car as the sun sinks below the horizon. I’m only a few steps from my car when the hair on the back of my neck rises and my stomach knots.

  I slow my pace. The clear sensation of being watched overtakes me. I scan the parking lot and spot him immediately.

  It’s always been strange to me—the way one’s eyes immediately lock on another’s if they’re staring. It doesn’t matter how crowded the room, or dark the parking lot. It’s like we know when someone is looking a little too hard.

  I lock eyes with the man watching me. He has a cell phone pressed to the side of his head, but I can’t hear what he is saying at this distance.

  But it’s his gaze that holds me steady. Then without warning, he terminates his call and starts toward me. He waves as if to get my attention.

  Choice 3

  Get the hell out of here

  See what he has to say

  Get the hell out of here.

  Rule number 1. When strange, unknown men start approaching you in dark parking lots, you don’t stick around.

  I have my keys out and I’m hustling toward my car when he calls out.

  I don’t stop.

  I have the car open and I’ve thrown my bag inside when he says, “Is that anyway to treat a client?”

  He wraps one hand around the door before I can close it. How in the world did he cross the parking lot so fast? He must’ve been at least a hundred feet away and seemed to cross it in a few steps.

  “I don’t know what kind of business you think I run, buddy, but I’m not your client.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, relinquishing the door. He’s frowning when I shut the door. “I thought you were the new hire at B & B. But if I am mistaken…”

  He says my name like a question.

  A random parking lot intruder wouldn’t know my name, where I work, and refer to himself as my client.

  My heart falters. “Mr. Benedict?”

  He smiles. “So you do know me.”

  With much horror I realize that I just physically fled my new boss. Awesome first impression, and in a way, a perfect end to this perfect week.

  I climb out of my car, leaving my bag in the passenger seat. “Mr. Benedict, I am so sorry.”

  “It’s my mistake.” He takes a step back to accommodate the opening door. “It is my mistake for approaching you like this. You had every right to be cautious. You come from a large city, don’t you?”

  He sounds more amused than offended.

  “I do.” Don’t over apologize, I tell myself. I hate it when women do that. Instead I say, “What can I do for you?”

  “I make it a point of meeting all new residents sooner or later,” he says with a smile. “But for those of whom I employ, it’s especially important.”

  “Right,” I say, gathering my wits at last and managing a smile. I offer my hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  He takes it and turns it over, brushing a light kiss across the knuckles.

  Old school or sexual harassment? Because of how I just acted, I’m going to let this slide.

  “I came by to invite you to the club you’ll be promoting,” he says with a smile even more perfect than Laura’s. Seriously, where do these people go to the dentist? “You seem pressed for time tonight, but I can send a car along tomorrow evening to pick you up.”

  “Oh that isn’t necessary,” I say, wrapping my hands around the car door like I’m using it as a shield against him.

  “I insist,” he says. His gaze is dark and heavy.

  When he takes just to staring, no words, the sense of danger creeps up the back of my neck.

  “Mr. Benedict?” I say nervously, wondering if this is about to take some menacing turn. But that fear melts away almost instantly.

  I find myself overrun with strange thoughts—like how handsome he is. And how great he smells. And how his eyes are so dark that they catch and hold all the light from the lot around us…giving them an unnatural glow, as if there were candles burning within…

  The moment breaks, and he’s brushing another kiss across my knuckles. “I want to keep you, but I can wait until tomorrow night.”

  He turns away suddenly, crossing the parking lot to a red Tesla Roadster parked beneath a streetlight. He climbs in and speeds off while I continue to stand there, face burning.

  In my hand is a business card with his name printed in silver ink on black stock card. But I don’t remember him slipping this into my hand.

  When I climb into my car and adjust the mirror, I feel a spasm in my neck. A sudden clenching and unclenching of the muscles beneath my jaw.

  I gasp a little with the pain and turn the mirror so that I can see it.

  There, about two inches beneath my jaw is wet. I touch my fingers to it again and find it warm and sticky. It’s a little red, but there’s no bruise or cut. Nothing mars the skin but this strange moisture.

  Did a bird poop on me or something? But I don’t see anything on my shoulder or in my hair.

  How strange, I think and turn on the car.

  Why is that first moment when I get home so glorious? I kick off my shoes, feel my heels soften into the plush carpet and sigh. I toss the bag onto the sofa and say hello to the cat, Sushi. He meows, batting the edge of his food dish desperately. It’s mostly full, with a small quarter-sized part of the bowl showing at the bottom. Yet he’s crying like he’s going to perish of hunger at any moment. It’s hard to resist him though. With his soft gray fur, white-socked feet and big amber eyes—he knows I’m easy prey.

  “All right, all right,” I say and add another half scoop to the bowl. He lets me pet him for a minute before batting my hand away. I’m surprised that I get away with that much petting, honestly.

  Sushi has been on edge since we’ve arrived in Castle Cove. I’m sure it’s the new town, new apartment, and he’ll warm up to the place soon.

  I call the pizza place listed on my fridge magnet The Castle Cove Slice and order a medium pizza with sausage and peppers. Stuffed crust. I do this while fishing the bottle opener out of the drawer and uncorking the chilled Moscato.

  Okay, so no, while I have changed my zip code to escape my ex, I have not yet made adjustments to my diet or my drinking.

  Baby steps.

  Less than five minutes later, I’m in my pajamas, cold wine glass in hand, and only thirty minutes until my pizza arrives. My bag buzzes again.

  I set my wine glass on a stone coaster long enough to sort through my junk and find the buzzing cell phone.

  It’s Katie, my only friend in town – if I can call her that. We met at the new empl
oyee orientation, Monday. I’m in marketing, she’s in sales. But we were the only two people there, both new to town and therefore friends by circumstance as much as anything else.

  I don’t know if she is my natural choice for a friend. But there is something about being new and friendless that bonds people. And we’re both from big East Coast cities—Baltimore and Boston—finding ourselves in the much smaller and quainter Castle Cove.

  My phone buzzes again, impatiently.

  I look at my pjs and the wine and the paperback on the corner of my coffee table. Do I ignore the call and proceed with my night as planned? Or do I take Katie’s call, knowing she probably wants to hang out?

  Choice 4

  Answer Katie’s phone call

  Call her back later

  See what he has to say.

  It’s clear this guy needs something. I can play hero for this damsel.

  “Do you need help?” I call.

  “I’m looking for someone,” he says, crossing the parking lot with a smile. He says my name. “Do you know her?”

  “You’re looking for me,” I tell him.

  “I’m Ethan Benedict,” he says and extends his hand. “I wanted to welcome you to B & B and to express how glad I am that you are on the team.”

  I’m suddenly so glad that I didn’t run to my car screaming. That would have made a wonderful impression. And I have no idea why, but I want to impress him. Maybe it’s the dark eyes or the smoldering good looks, but the urge is strong.

  “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

  “Has your first week gone well?” he asks, the smile still bright.

  A darting thought of Spencer flashes across my mind. I hope it doesn’t show on my face before I manage, “Castle Cove is gorgeous. And I’m sure once I learn my way around town, I’ll feel right at home.”

  “I am glad to hear you like our city,” he gives me a pleased smile that makes my knees quiver. “We work very hard to make it so.”

  “You’re doing a great job,” I assure him. And it’s true. The city’s landscape is some of the most beautiful I’ve seen in the country. The thick lush forest leading to a sloping mountain in the distance, a rocky coast on three sides. Ocean and cliffs and woods galore. It reminds me of the time my mother and I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway, LA to San Diego.

  And if it wasn’t the breath-taking natural features, it’s the city’s architecture. A quaint Old Town with cobblestone. Cliffside and downtown with its gothic stone. Each neighborhood is like a captured moment of time.

  “Castle Cove has a fascinating history,” he says, as if reading my mind. “We strive to preserve our past, while leaving ourselves open to the future—and whatever it may bring.”

  Up close I realize he’s so much more than cute. Is it the hint of an accent? Hungarian maybe?

  “I’d love to tell you more about it. Come by Labyrinth and have a drink with me tomorrow night.”

  It isn’t a request. And he is my boss. After all, business associates drink together all the time. Yet, that gleam in his eye…

  “Sure. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  He opens my car door for me and holds it until I climb inside.

  When he shuts the door, he gives my roof a little tap, bids me goodnight, and crosses the parking lot with his hands in his pockets. I think the tune he whistles is “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

  I sit there for a long time after watching his red Tesla Roadster pull out of the parking lot onto Pine Creek road.

  “Well, this is a complication,” I say to no one in particular. “My boss is hot.”

  I turn the key and drive home.

  Why is that first moment when I get home so glorious? I kick off my shoes, feel my heels soften into the plush carpet and sigh. I toss the bag onto the sofa and say hello to the cat, Sushi. He meows, batting the edge of his food dish. It’s mostly full, with a small quarter-sized part of the bowl showing at the bottom. Yet he’s crying like he’s going to perish of hunger at any moment. It’s hard to resist him though. With his soft gray fur, white-socked feet and big amber eyes—he knows I’m easy prey.

  “All right, all right,” I say and add another half scoop to the bowl. He lets me pet him for a minute before batting my hand away. I’m surprised that I get away with that much, honestly.

  Sushi has been on edge since we’ve arrived in Castle Cove. I’m sure it’s the new town, new apartment, and he’ll warm up to the place soon.

  I call the pizza place listed on my fridge magnet, The Castle Cove Slice, and order a medium pizza with sausage and peppers. Stuffed crust. I do this while fishing the bottle opener out of the drawer and uncorking the chilled Moscato.

  Okay, so no, while I have changed my zip code to escape my ex, I have not yet made adjustments to my diet or my drinking.

  Baby steps.

  Less than five minutes later, I’m in my pajamas, cold wine glass in hand, and only thirty minutes until my pizza arrives. My bag buzzes again.

  I set my wine glass on a stone coaster long enough to sort through my junk and find the buzzing cell phone.

  It’s Katie, my only friend in town – if I can call her that. We met at the new employee orientation, Monday. I’m in marketing, she’s in sales. But we were the only two people there, both new to town and therefore friends by circumstance as much as anything else.

  I don’t know if she would be my natural choice for a friend. But there is something about being new and friendless that bonds people. And we’re both from big East Coast cities—Baltimore and Boston—finding ourselves in the much smaller and quainter Castle Cove.

  My phone buzzes again, impatiently.

  I look at my pjs and the wine and the paperback on the corner of my coffee table. Do I ignore the call and proceed with my night as planned? Or do I take Katie’s call, knowing she probably wants to hang out?

  Choice 5

  Answer Katie’s phone call

  Call her back later

  Answer Katie’s phone call.

  I answer the call. Ignoring calls isn’t a great way to start a friendship and I have thirty minutes before the pizza comes anyway. I sigh, lift my wine glass from its coaster and press accept. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I thought I was going to get your voicemail again,” she says. “I called about thirty minutes ago.”

  I recognize the petulant tone from our training sessions. “Sorry. I was in Laura’s office.”

  “In trouble already?”

  “Ha—no. She wants me to go to Labyrinth.”

  Katie cries out. Her squeal makes me pull the phone away from my ear. Sushi’s ear twitches. “Oh my god, yes! Take me!”

  “I barely know you. Shouldn’t we go for coffee first?”

  “Har-har. I’m serious!”

  I sip my Moscato. “I’m going tomorrow night. You can come if you want.”

  “Yes, I want. Are you kidding? Half the people who line up aren’t even let in.”

  “I’m pumped,” I deadpan.

  Katie takes no notice. “Rick says it’s been packed since it opened. Your job must be so easy.”

  I think of Spencer’s hateful glares. So easy indeed.

  Katie barrels on in that sharp east coast voice of hers. “Rick thinks Labyrinth probably aims to be famous nationwide. Like Avalon in LA.”

  I’m noting all the Rick in the conversation. He’s in Katie’s department and has seemed pretty into her from day one. But I don’t dare ask if something is developing there. I’m not sure I want to know or if we are close enough for such questions.

  “LA has more to offer than a fancy nightclub,” I say. “I can’t imagine people will come all the way to Castle Cove just for a nightclub.”

  She doesn’t seem to hear me. “Okay so Labyrinth tomorrow, but what about tonight? We could check out one of the bars in the Red Light district.”

  I snort, and wine burns my nose. But hey, I’m not in a tub eating canned spaghetti and crying. Progress. “What kind of girl do you think I
am?”

  “You’re right. You’re too tame for that,” she says, and I try to decide if I should be offended. “Actually, there’s a bar closer to campus. I think it’s called Alpha’s. Rick goes there. He says it’s the best bar in town.”

  “And will Rick be there tonight?” I tease.

  “I don’t know,” she says, and I can hear the unmistakable smile. “Let’s find out.”

  “You lost me at the word bar,” I say, taking another generous sip from my Moscato. Sushi leaps up on his cat tree tucked into the corner of the living room and gazes lazily out at the darkening streets.

  “Come on, Alpha’s might be a nice warmup for tomorrow.”

  “This Moscato is a nice warmup. And hey, I didn’t have to pay three times the price for it.” I hate how bars overprice their drinks. I can drink a whole bottle of Moscato for the price of one martini.

  “Come on! Alpha’s is whispering your name.”

  I laugh, relaxing into the cushions. The alcohol is kicking in finally, working on these stiff muscles in my neck. “Katie, if I could hear a bar whispering my name, I’d get the hell out of this town.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t in your pajamas already?”

  “With a pizza on the way. I’m not going out tonight. Sorry.”

  “Oh, come on!” she begs. “It’s a new city. New dating pool. I know you need it as bad as I do.”

  She has no idea how true that is. I didn’t give her any details about my failed relationship with Greg or my life before Castle Cove. I referred to it vaguely as a bad breakup.

  “Come on. Be my wing man!” she begs. “It’s no fun going to a bar alone. And you might really like Alpha’s. I hear it’s more like a pub. Very chill. What do you say?”