Flirting with Forever - Jennifer Bernard - E-Book

Flirting with Forever E-Book

Jennifer Bernard

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Beschreibung

From USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Jennifer Bernard comes an opposites-attract standalone romance in the Lost Harbor, Alaska series.


Dr. Ian Finnegan knows all about brains; hearts, not so much. He’s ready to find the perfect match, someone as logical and sensible as he is. When it's suggested that he should improve his seduction skills, he’s not sure where to turn—until he plucks a damsel in distress from the side of a snowy Alaska highway. She might be a “hot mess,” but Chrissie Yates could be just the fun and flirty tutor he needs.
Chrissie hasn’t been back to Lost Harbor since her eccentric recluse of a grandfather sent her away at the age of seventeen. Her family now consists of her beloved yellow lab and her broken-down car. Why Gramps has left her his property, she has no idea. She hopes to get in and out as quickly as she can, but reconnecting with old friends and her quirky hometown makes her yearn for something she didn’t know she needed. Then there’s the sexy newcomer…
Flirting lessons turn to something more passionate, as Chrissie makes Ian feel things he never dreamed. Is it possible he had the wrong idea about who’s right for him? Can he put his new skills to good use … before a deadly storm threatens all he holds dear?

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FLIRTING WITH FOREVER

JENNIFER BERNARD

CONTENTS

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

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

About the Author

Also by Jennifer Bernard

ONE

“Don’t stop, Prince Valiant. You’re my hero. Come on, don’t let me down now. Just a little more. Oh yeah. That’s the way. Nooo…crap.”

Chrissie Yates swung the wheel of Prince Valiant—her nickname for her not-so-trusty gold Pontiac—and coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the quiet mountain pass.

With a sigh, she turned off the sputtering engine. She and Prince Valiant had made it all the way from Arizona, across Canada by way of the Al-Can Highway, into Alaska and halfway down the Aurora Peninsula before her old car had decided it needed a break.

“Seriously, Prince? You couldn’t have broken down just a little closer to civilization?”

Not that there was much in the way of civilization in this stretch of wilderness between Anchorage and Lost Harbor. There was a general store, the Kniknik Mercantile, about thirty miles in her rearview mirror, and a tiny settlement on the other end of this snowy pass. In between, there was nothing but mountains and spruce trees.

She checked her phone. And of course, no cell service.

Sitting back with a sigh, she burrowed her hands into the pockets of her winter coat. In Phoenix, she hadn’t owned a wool anything, so as soon as she’d hit the Yukon, she’d stopped at the first thrift store she saw. This old crimson and black plaid wool coat was all they’d had in her size.

From the backseat, Shuri, her cream-colored yellow lab, nuzzled her neck. Shuri had a knack for knowing when she was upset. She reached back and caressed the dog’s silky ears.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, my sweets. That’s the thing about Alaska. No one’s going to let us freeze by the side of the road.”

She looked out the window at the snowy slopes rising toward the sky. The tracks of snow machines crisscrossed the flanks closest to her. On the other side of the highway, snow machines were banned in favor of skis. She remembered the time she and her friends had come up here and they’d whooped and hollered so much on their Ski-Doos, they’d triggered a mini-avalanche.

Toni and Maya had barely escaped the tumbling snow, while she and Tristan, Toni’s older brother, had seized the chance to make out.

Chrissie hadn’t told any of her old friends that she was coming back to Lost Harbor. She hadn’t told anyone at all. Not even her mother. Like some kind of stunned zombie, she’d given notice at her job, packed up some essentials, and hit the road.

She could have flown up, of course. But she’d needed the time to process the fact that Ohlson Yates was gone. She’d needed the hour after hour of road vanishing behind her. The little towns appearing and disappearing like mirages in a snowy desert. The radio stations coming into tune, then breaking off in a fade of static.

Gramps had essentially raised her, then he’d kicked her out into the world at the age of seventeen. She’d learned a lot of things from him—eccentric inventor that he was—but most of all, she’d learned that she could only rely on herself. Well, also Shuri and Prince Valiant. They were her family now.

And ol’ Prince wasn’t doing so well at the moment.

The vast hush of the Aurora Mountains settled over her. The sun was flirting with the highest peak, which reflected a brilliant flash of snow. In an hour or so, she’d lose the daylight, and she didn’t relish the thought of dealing with a stranger after dark. Up here in the mountains, it would chill down fast. Already, tendrils of fog—more like ice mist—hovered over the road. Best to get on with it.

She scrounged through the chaos of wrappers and chargers and empty energy drink bottles that covered the passenger seat. Her hat was under there somewhere, along with some mismatched mittens—all from the same shop in Whitehorse. Finally she located the soft prickle of the hat’s hot-pink pompom and pulled it out. The hot pink clashed with the scarlet of her wool coat, but at least it was guaranteed to catch the eye.

She stepped out of her car into the chill of the mountain pass. She buttoned her coat all the way to her neck, wishing she’d found a scarf to go with the rest of her extremely random winter wardrobe. Glancing down at herself, she winced. Lovely outfit she had going on. With her bunny boots, plaid coat, and neon pink pompom hat, she looked like the love child of a lumberjack and a tween cheerleader.

Typical Chrissie Yates. Only she would hop into a car for an epic drive to Alaska without stopping first to make sure she had the right clothes.

Chrissie was her name, chaos was her game.

“It’s not that I’m stupid, Shuri,” she murmured to her dog, who had wormed her way into the driver’s seat. She tucked the dog’s paws safely inside so she could close the door. “You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that. It’s a little thing called self-sabotage.”

Shuri sat on her haunches on the seat and gazed at her with moist, worried eyes.

“But don’t worry, you are officially exempt from my knack for catastrophe.” She rubbed Shuri’s head the way she liked. No dog could be more loyal and patient than Shuri. She wasn’t sure she deserved her. But she appreciated her. “Hang tight, I’ll get us out of here in no time, sweet stuff.”

Complete and utter faith shone from Shuri’s eyes, even though she probably had no idea what Chrissie was talking about. Or maybe she did. Chrissie had spent all of Washington State listening to an audiobook about the latest research on canine intelligence. Shuri probably knew a lot of things she didn’t.

Gently, she closed the door and walked a few feet ahead of her car. With each step, icy snow crunched under her boots. She hadn’t heard that sound in years. It brought back memories of sledding and snowballs and rosy-cheeked exhilaration. And lots and lots of shoveling.

So far, a few vehicles had whizzed past Prince Valiant but hadn’t stopped. She hadn’t put her hazard lights on, so for all they knew she’d stopped to sneak into the trees for a quick pee.

Now she had to make it clear that she needed help. Standing beside the road in a hot pink hat ought to do it, but just in case, she stuck out her mittened hand as if she was hitchhiking.

She hoped it was still okay to hitchhike around here. When she was growing up in Lost Harbor, she’d hitched rides all the time. But it was certainly possible that things had changed in the last eleven years.

And in fact, the first vehicle to slow down at the sight of her didn’t look at all promising. The crew cab of the expensive-looking truck was filled with at least three men, and that was probably three too many for her. She’d much prefer to hitch a ride with a woman to the nearest gas station. Quickly she pulled out her phone and pretended to be searching for a signal instead of a ride.

The truck came to a stop. She noticed a ripped bumper sticker that said something about “my cold dead hands.”

“Need any help?” one of the men called to her.

“I’m good,” she said cheerfully, pulling the phone away from her face. “Just talking to my husband. Couldn’t get a signal inside my car. He’s a few miles behind me in our other car.”

“There’s no service up in these mountains,” the man said.

Uh oh. Busted. Would he catch on that there was no husband in these mountains either? From his smug smile, she didn’t doubt it.

“Must have gotten lucky, then. I have one bar, that’s all I need.”

“There’s a bar in Crooked Creek,” another of the men called. “We’re headed there now. Just hop on in.”

“No thanks.” They all sounded as if they were already half-drunk.

The first man looked her up and down with narrowed eyes. “Where ya headed?”

“Home,” she answered firmly. “To be with my husband.”

“Thought your husband was right behind you.”

“We’re both headed home.”

“Your license plate said Arizona. This is the wrong direction for Arizona.”

Time to end this conversation. “Thanks for stopping, guys. Don’t want to hold you up any longer.” She put the phone back to her ear and murmured into it, keeping a close watch on the truck out of the corner of her eye. Should she worry about this situation? Do something more than ignore these guys?

Her alarm grew when she realized that they weren’t moving along down the highway. Just her luck that the first truck that stopped would be trouble. She began calculating exit strategies. Lock herself in her car and lean on the horn until her battery ran out? Let Shuri out to show she had backup? Pretend she had a gun in the car? Flag down another vehicle?

A car rounded the curve of the highway and sped toward them. A sedan-type car, like a Mercedes or something. It was a bland beige color that felt promising somehow. Safe and solid.

She waved her arms wildly at it. “There he is now! Honey, I’m over here!” she shouted to the Mercedes. It slowed, and she saw that the driver was shielding his eyes as the rays of the sun slanted through a gap in the mountain peaks. There were two people in the car, and both appeared to be male.

Whew. She hoped at least one of them wouldn’t mind pretending to be her husband.

Of course, it was still two more men than she wanted to catch a ride with. This could be a frying pan/fire situation. But she’d cross that bridge if she came to it.

With relief, she stepped back so the Mercedes could pull over beside her. The window on the passenger side rolled down and a young man stuck out his head. Twenty or so, she’d guess, with a head of wild dark curls and an eager smile.

Conscious of the truck still idling close by, she stepped toward the window. “Hi honey! I sure missed you, sweetheart.”

The kid’s eyebrows flexed and he looked over at the man in the driver’s seat. All she caught from him was a frown, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and some more dark hair. He was clearly older and more age-appropriate to play her husband. But she had to go with the closest guy. Cougar time.

“Can you just go with it?” she murmured. “Please?”

The kid cleared his throat. “Hi, honey,” he said back to her—clearly deepening his normal speaking voice.

For the first time, she noticed that he was wearing kind of an outrageous outfit. The fluffy yellow scarf twined around his neck was more like a feather boa. And was that a leather vest he was wearing?

If he got out of the car, no way would those truck guys believe he was her husband. And if they were at all homophobic or opposed to men wearing feathery boas…Suddenly she felt even more protective of her pretend husband than of herself.

She waved at the truck. “It’s okay, you can go now! My husband and son are here.”

She doubted that more than seven or eight years separated her from the yellow-scarf kid, which made one more reason to end this as quickly as possible. Without waiting for an invitation, she opened the back door and slid inside the warm, luxurious comfort of the heated Mercedes.

With the eyes of the truck crew on her, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on the cheek of the Mercedes driver. A very slight stubble brushed against her lips. With a start, he turned his head abruptly toward her, and she nearly wound up kissing him on the lips.

That was taking it a little too far, considering he was a complete stranger.

A good-looking one, she had to admit, all dark and smoldering behind those horn-rims.

“Uncle Ian,” the boy hissed. “You gotta kiss her.”

“No, you don’t,” she murmured quickly. “You really don’t.”

Slowly, almost suspiciously, the truck rolled past them. They were staring into the car, as if searching for some crack in their happy family facade.

“Uncle Ian.”

With an unhappy growl, Uncle Ian met her lips with his. She didn’t object, partly because she was stunned and partly because she knew the boy was right; they had to make this look real. After the first moment, she didn’t object because it actually felt surprisingly good. His lips were gentle and he smelled nice. Very clean, like Dial soap.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as the truck picked up speed, then merged back onto the highway.

“They’re gone,” said the boy. “You can stop kissing now.”

She and Uncle Ian jerked away from each other with equal speed. Her lips tingled.

“We weren’t kissing,” Ian corrected. “I was touching her lips with my lips.”

“That’s literally what kissing is,” said the kid.

“I don’t want to talk about kissing with you, Bo.” The man’s profile was absurdly well-structured, with firm cheekbones and a classic jawline. But he didn’t seem like someone who paid much attention to appearances. His haircut was unflattering and his glasses were much too heavy for his face.

“Can we talk about sex then?” Bo piped up.

Chrissie smothered a laugh at Uncle Ian’s irritated frown. Clearly he’d spent a good portion of his drive dealing with his live-wire nephew. The least she could do was intervene. “I’m Chrissie. I take it you guys are Ian and Bo. Thanks for the rescue.”

“Who were those guys?” Bo turned wide eyes on her. “They looked like some serious 2A types.”

“I don’t know who they are. Prince Valiant broke down and I was hoping some nice lady would give me a ride to the nearest town with a garage. Instead I got those guys. They wouldn’t take ‘no thanks’ for an answer, so I flagged you down. I really appreciate you stopping.”

She realized the two of them looked confused, and gave a half-laugh. “Sorry, I’ve been on the road by myself too long. Prince Valiant is my car.” She jerked her thumb at her Pontiac. “He got me all the way from Arizona, but couldn’t handle the last hundred miles. Poor fellow.”

“You’re headed to Lost Harbor?” Ian must have done the mileage math.

“Indeed I am. But you don’t have to do me any more favors,” she added quickly. “You’ve done enough.”

Bo snickered. “Uncle Ian hasn’t kissed anyone since the Jurassic Era. You did him a favor.”

Ian’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Don’t you have more ragtime to listen to?”

“Reggaeton, Ian. Not Ragtime. Reggaeton. And this is more fun. You seem cool, Chrissie. Did you really drive all the way from Arizona?”

“Sure did.” She put her hand on the door handle, not wanting to cause any more problems for Ian, who had, after all, volunteered his lips to help her out.

“We’ll take you to Lost Harbor,” Ian said brusquely. She got the feeling he spoke like that in general—direct and maybe a little awkward. “Get what you need from Prince Valiant. We’ll wait.”

She found it shockingly endearing that he called her car by the name she’d given it. He didn’t even say it in a patronizing way. He just accepted that her car was named Prince Valiant.

Impulsively, she decided to take him up on his offer. “That’s very kind of you. I don’t need much. Just Shuri.” As she slid out the door, she heard Bo say, “She must name all her stuff. Maybe Shuri’s her phone. Or her iPad. Or her vibr—”

“Cut it out,” Ian said, wearily.

Laughing silently to herself, she headed for her car. She had a feeling this was going to be a fun ride—at least for her and Bo. Though she felt a little sorry for Uncle Ian.

TWO

Shuri turned out to be a dog. A pretty damn large dog, who sat on its haunches outside Ian’s car as if politely waiting for an invitation. The woman named Chrissie, one hand on the dog’s collar, looked between Ian and Bo. “This is Shuri. She’s a very well-behaved yellow lab. She’s a calm and gentle sweetheart. Are either of you allergic to dogs?”

Not allergic, but also not crazy about getting dog hair in his car. As a surgeon, Dr. Ian Finnegan was meticulous about his surroundings. Or maybe—as Bo kept telling him—it was because he was an OCD control freak.

“I have a blanket for her,” Chrissie said quickly. “She can curl up on that. I promise she’s good in cars. She only threw up a few times on the trip up.” At Ian’s automatic reaction, she added, “I’m kidding. She has issues, but they’re more about bumping into walls. She doesn’t have the best depth perception. But she’s an excellent road-tripper, so long as you don’t ask her to navigate.”

Bo was grinning widely. “You’re funny.”

“Thank you.” She met Ian’s gaze. “Is it okay? I can find another ride if it’s not. Don’t worry about that.”

He had no doubt that she could. There was something…irresistible about her. Like a wind ruffling the surface of Misty Bay. The water couldn’t help reacting, and neither could he in the face of her charm. She had sparkling blue eyes and windswept blond hair, a quick smile, fine-grained skin and a crescent-shaped scar next to her mouth. Not the kind of thing he would normally notice, that scar, but they had kissed, after all.

Not kissed, just touched their mouths together due to exigent circumstances, he corrected himself. Important distinction to keep in mind.

“It’s fine,” he told her.

Chrissie’s face lit up in a blazing smile. He blinked, as if the sun was getting in his eyes again. She spread a blanket over one half of the backseat and then stepped back to help Shuri inside. The dog scrambled awkwardly onto the seat, making Ian wince at the thought of those toenails digging into the leather. Toenails? Paw-nails? What was the right term? He’d never owned a dog, since he’d been laser-focused on neurosurgery his entire adult life and had never had time for anything more than the occasional cat-sitting.

Maybe if he’d had a pet, he’d be more prepared to be Bo’s adult-in-charge. The kid ran circles around him. Then again, Bo wasn’t really a kid; he was nineteen and his own person. At his age, his neurons were all firing at peak efficiency. No wonder an ancient thirty-seven-year-old like himself couldn’t keep up.

After getting Shuri settled, Chrissie disappeared again, then returned dragging a single large suitcase across the snow. “Is there any extra room in your trunk? Otherwise I can hold this on my lap.”

“Are you moving in?” he asked dryly. “It was just a kiss, not a proposal.”

Bo let out a belly laugh. “Jokes, Uncle Ian. Keep it up, dude.”

A smile quivered in the corner of Chrissie’s lips. “Believe me, I have no intention of moving in anywhere in Alaska. You can rest easy on that point.”

He popped the trunk for her, and she disappeared behind the car. What was her problem with Alaska? he wondered. There must be a story there. In the seven years he’d been living here, the magnificence and isolation had settled into his bones. It suited him, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now.

But it wasn’t his problem. He had enough of his own. Starting with the kid in the passenger seat next to him.

Had he made a mistake, inviting Bo to Alaska? Elinor had been worried about his aimlessness and lack of job prospects. Ian had mentioned something about there being plenty of work in Alaska, and the next thing he knew, he’d been buying Bo a ticket.

And it wasn’t even summer yet. It was only March. Bo had arrived a week ago, and Ian had quickly realized that Anchorage wasn’t the right place for the two of them. Bo wanted adventure, not another city. Lost Harbor was a much better choice, especially once the boardwalk opened up for the summer. Bo could wait tables, process fish, scoop ice cream. His nephew would fit right in at one of the coffee shops where the teenagers hung out.

Like the one Gretel Morrison ran.

Thinking about her still hurt just a bit, so he shifted his attention away from that topic. Overcoming his infatuation with Gretel had taken all his mental powers—but he’d done it. Maybe he should offer a course at the hospital. Train your Brain: Understanding that Love is Nothing More than a Neurochemical Illusion.

“Uncle Ian? Are you thinking of another joke? Don’t hurt yourself, my man.”

He realized he’d been chuckling out loud at his course idea. “I tell jokes,” he said, a bit stiffly. “It’s not unusual.”

“Really? Mom says you’re all about work and have no time for anything social. She says I should leave you alone as much as possible because what you do is extremely important and lives depend on you.”

“That’s…flattering.”

Ian’s family always referred to him like that, as if he was a workaholic machine of some kind. As if he didn’t have regular human emotions. Which was absurd. Just because he didn’t indulge them in the same way didn’t mean he didn’t have them.

“But I told her she doesn’t really know you,” Bo was saying. “You’re a lot more rad than she says you are.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

“You’re welcome, Uncle Ian. Don’t worry, I’ll always defend you. You’re the only one in the family who’s abby-normal like me.”

Bo aimed a happy smile at him. Was the kid wearing eyeliner or were his eyes just naturally dark-rimmed? Was that normal for boys of his age? Or abby-normal, whatever that meant? Ian had no idea. He saw all kinds of young people in his work, but he didn’t pay attention to such things. He could analyze every aspect of a patient’s MRI before he could describe their appearance.

Chrissie slid into the backseat of the car. She brought a whiff of freshness with her, a combination of the icy mist suspended in the outside air and something floral. Shampoo perhaps, or hand lotion.

He shifted his focus from thinking about her hair to the road ahead. The sun had dropped below the peaks and the long Alaska sunset had commenced.

“I really appreciate this, you guys,” Chrissie said. “I’m more than happy to chip in for gas and snacks and so forth.”

“Will share the usuals,” Ian said, quoting the Bush Lines. Every day, the Lost Harbor radio station read announcements sent in from residents of far-flung settlements and camps in the area.

“Oh my God, I haven’t heard that phrase in over ten years,” Chrissie exclaimed. “That takes me back. I once asked a boy on a date over the Bush Lines.”

Ian put his car in gear and pulled back onto the highway, wheels crunching over the ridge of crusted snow left by the plow. “Did you grow up in Lost Harbor?”

“I did. I was born there. Left when I was seventeen.”

Bo swiveled around so he was staring at her in fascination. “What was it like growing up in Alaska?”

“Cold.” Succinct. He appreciated that. “Where are you from, Bo?”

“I’m a man of the world.” He tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder. “I don’t consider myself tethered to one geographical location.”

“He spends a lot of time online,” Ian clarified dryly.

Chrissie nodded and settled one hand on her snoozing dog. “I hear ya. One of these days, we’ll all discard our physical forms and exist only as electrical impulses traveling between brains.”

Ian cast her a startled glance in the rearview mirror. “Are you a scientist?”

“No.” She laughed. “But I love science fiction. I’m more of a jack-of-all-trades, like a lot of people raised here.”

Should he revise his opinion of her? He’d written her off as scattered and flaky. What else could explain the fact that she’d traveled all the way from Arizona in a car she wasn’t a hundred percent sure about? The Al-Can Highway was no joke, especially in the winter.

Or so he’d heard. He’d never driven it himself. Never in a million years would he allow himself to take that much time to go from one dot on the map to another. Airplanes existed for a reason.

“I want to be a jack-of-all-trades,” Bo announced. “How can I do that?”

“It’s easy,” Chrissie said cheerfully. “Just flit from one thing to another and leave as soon you get bored. Honestly, it’s the only way to live.”

Bo looked so inspired that Ian decided he had to step in.

“I completely disagree. It’s much better to choose something you enjoy and stick with it until you’re an expert.” In the rearview mirror, he shot Chrissie a look loaded with disapproval. He hoped she’d get the message. He might be willing to give her a ride but he didn’t want her nutty ideas taking hold with his young and impressionable nephew.

She didn’t notice his scathing glance because she was petting her dog. “I’m sorry, but that’s just naive. Not everyone is lucky enough to find something they love to do. Most of us just stumble along and do the best we can. Or try to.”

“Stumbling sounds like something I can do,” Bo said brightly.

Oh no, Ian couldn’t let this go on. Two minutes in his car and this woman was already having a bad effect on his nephew.

“Maybe you don’t give things enough time,” he told her. “If you’re always flitting from one thing to another, you don’t give anything a chance. That’s an ineffective and unproductive way to exist.”

Her eyes finally met his in the rearview mirror. Their blue sparkle turned more fiery. “Excuse me? Are you calling me ineffective and unproductive after knowing me for five minutes?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, because he realized how rude he’d sounded. Social interaction wasn’t his strong suit. He could perform incredibly complex hours-long surgeries, but when it came to something as simple as a conversation with a stranger, he failed. He was trying to get better at it. The matchmaker he’d recently hired had emphasized that point.

“I apologize,” he began.

She burst out laughing and waved off his apology. “The sweet Lord knows you’re absolutely right. How can you know me so well when you only just met me? Ineffective and unproductive…hmm, maybe I should put that on my business card.”

Bo whooped with laughter. “You really are funny. You should put that on your card too.”

The two of them were both laughing now, and Ian realized he was on the outside of their shared joke. It wasn’t the first time this had happened; in fact it was a familiar feeling.

It didn’t usually bother him, but for some reason with Chrissie, it did. He wanted to converse with her. There was something so inviting and charming about her, and intelligent, too. She seemed like someone with a lot of stories to tell. Which was very different from him, unless stories about carotid endarterectomies counted.

“I apologize for my choice of words,” he said, more formally than he wanted. As soon as he said it, he cringed inwardly. If he was trying not to be such a stiff, he wasn’t going about it the right way.

Again, she waved a hand in the air. “Here’s the thing about me. I’m very well aware of my flaws. Pointing them out does not offend me. I could give you a long list at this very moment, but it would probably take the entire trip, and I’d much rather hear more about you guys. You’re uncle and nephew, I take it? Do you live in Lost Harbor or are you visiting?”

Bo piped up before Ian could answer. Which was a good thing, because he wanted some time to mull over Chrissie’s words. Had he ever known someone so comfortable with themselves? He didn’t think so. It was a rare quality and one he himself didn’t possess. If he detected a flaw in himself, he dedicated himself to eliminating it.

For instance, his social ineptness. That was priority number one. It was the key to everything he wanted to achieve next: a thriving relationship, a solid partner. At thirty-seven, it was time. Hence, the matchmaker.

He tuned back into the conversation, in which Bo was happily explaining his plan to get a summer job in Lost Harbor, while Ian had rented a house there for the next eight months or so.

“Uncle Ian’s a neurosurgeon and usually he’s based in Anchorage, but he travels around to other places in Alaska to consult.” The pride in Bo’s voice brought his confidence back.

Arrogance, some called it.

“I’ve decided to make Lost Harbor my base for the summer,” he explained.

“I’m sure they’re honored.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere. “I want Bo to have plenty of support for his first job away from home.”

“Also, my mom would literally murder him if anything bad happens. She’s so overprotective. Uncle Ian had to do some fancy talking to let me come up here. It’s my first time leaving home. I don’t even know how to wash dishes.”

“You put them in the dishwasher. It’s not hard.” Chrissie’s eyes had their sparkle back.

“Maybe you can teach me,” he said eagerly. “You can come over for dinner. Uncle Ian says we have to take turns making dinner so I can learn how to cook.”

“Hmm. Would you be insulted if I came on a night when your uncle’s doing the cooking?” In the rearview mirror, she sent Ian a wink.

He nearly drove off the road, but caught himself in time and muttered something about a chunk of ice.

Was Chrissie flirting with him?

He didn’t know how to flirt. That was a big part of his problem. He didn’t recognize when women were flirting with him. He didn’t realize when his own behavior came across as flirting. The whole thing was a big confusing mystery to him.

“Never mind,” Chrissie said in a soothing voice. Clearly she’d picked up on his discomfort. “It’s unlikely that I’ll have time for dinner. I won’t be in Lost Harbor long, and I’ll be quite busy, I’m sorry to say.”

“Doing what?” Bo asked.

Ian sent him a frown, since that seemed like a very nosy question. But she didn’t seem to mind.

“My grandfather recently died, and I inherited his…” She hesitated, sparking both Ian and Bo’s curiosity.

“His stuff?” Bo asked.

“His estate?” Ian spoke at the same moment.

She laughed. “Yes to both. But it’s not so much an estate as…” Again, that odd hesitation.

“What is it?” Bo had swung all the way around, and was hanging on her every word.

She sighed. “Well, I’ve inherited something called Yatesville.”

THREE

Apparently that statement sounded just as oddball as she’d predicted. Bo turned his entire body around on his seat and kneeled so he faced her. “Did you say Yatesville?”

“Yes. That’s what my grandfather called it. After Yates, which is our last name. He, uh, tried to secede from Alaska and form his own little territory, but that didn’t go anywhere. He had a lot of wild ideas and plans.”

Bo was still looking at her with fascinated dark-rimmed eyes. “What’s Yatesville like?”

“Honestly, it’s mostly a lot of acreage with some cabins and yurts and a half-finished house. Oh, and it has a lighthouse.”

“A lighthouse?”

“Well, a non-functioning lighthouse. It was decommissioned years ago, before my grandfather bought the land. It appealed to his hermit tendencies. Alaska is home to a lot of eccentrics, in case you haven’t discovered that yet. My gramps was the ultimate eccentric.”

“Did you ever sleep in it?”

“I did. I had slumber parties there with my friends.”

Bo bowed down to her, as best he could from his position. “You might be the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

She stole a glance at Ian, wondering if he too now considered her cool, rather than “ineffective and unproductive.” He was focused on the road ahead, where a semi-truck was laboring to climb a steep part of the highway. Its rear tires were spitting bits of ice like a rooster tail behind it. She had the feeling that she could rip off her top right then and there and he wouldn’t notice—that was how closely he was watching the truck.

To be honest, it was a little sexy, that singleminded intensity.

She shook it off. “You’ll have to come see it for yourself, Bo, if you have time in between job interviews.”

“Sweet.”

Ian downshifted and, with an understated roar of German engineering, passed the truck. He performed the maneuver with a deliberate precision that made her laugh a little.

When they were well past the truck, with an empty highway ahead of them, he shot her an irritated frown. “What’s so amusing?”

“The way you passed that truck. It was…”

“He drives like an old lady, doesn’t he?” Bo rolled his dramatically lined eyes. “Waste of a fancy car.”

“I didn’t say that. It was just very…precise.”

“That’s because I calculated the angle and the speed for optimal success,” Ian said.

“That certainly does explain it.” Chrissie wasn’t sure why, but she found this man highly entertaining. He was so serious, and yet so easy to poke fun at. And so damn good-looking at the same time. Cheekbones like that were wasted on the man. He ought to be posing for an Italian espresso ad or something.

“Safety first,” Ian said virtuously. “Perhaps you should thank me rather than mocking me.”

Even after knowing him only for a few minutes, she could tell that he wasn’t actually offended by her teasing, and was maybe even teasing her back in his own dry way.

She screwed up her face. “How about a little of both? Can you live with that?”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

“I am at your mercy, after all. You could put Shuri and me out on the road any time you like.”

“But then I’d be stuck with that enormous trunk of yours.”

Oh ho. She knew it. He was teasing her back.

Even Bo picked up on it. “More jokes, Uncle Ian. I’m putting you in my story.” He jabbed at his phone.

Ian groaned. “Please leave me off your social media.”

“Don’t worry, I use an alias for you. On my Instagram you’re Dr. Brain.”

Ian let out a heavy sigh, and abruptly switched his attention to Chrissie. His sudden glance in the mirror sent a surprising little sizzle across her nerve endings. She didn’t know what to make of it, but decided it wasn’t worth worrying about. Obviously Ian wasn’t anyone who would ever be interested in her. She was much too “unproductive.”

“What was your grandfather’s name?”

“Ohlson Yates. Did you ever meet him? He was quite a hermit in his last years. The last time I talked to him he said he hadn’t been out in a month.”

“I don’t believe so, but unless he needed a neurology consult, I wouldn’t have.”

“That would never happen. He avoided doctors.”

Which was a polite way of saying that Gramps had despised the entire medical profession and had once amputated his own frostbitten toe.

“This lighthouse. Can you see it from the harbor?”

“Yes, except for very foggy days. Have you seen it?”

“I’ve noticed it, but I’ve never seen it in operation.”

He seemed interested, and Bo was busy with his phone, so she continued. “It’s just a building at this point. A relic. My grandfather used it as a retreat and an extra workspace. He had a shortwave radio set up there. He was an inventor,” she explained. “He invented exactly one thing that made him any profit, but he kept trying.”

“What was his invention?”

“It’s…kind of ridiculous. He didn’t like to talk about it.”

“Didn’t you say he’s dead?”

Okay then. Uncle Ian sure did cut right to the heart of the matter.

“He is. But I didn’t even mention it in his obituary, that’s how embarrassed he was about it. I thought it was awesome, but that’s me.”

Bo put aside his phone and jumped back into the conversation. “A weapon of mass destruction? A biologically engineered virus? A zombie vaccine?”

Chrissie burst into a surprised laugh. “God, no. He invented spray cheese, more or less. He came up with a way to put processed cheese in a can.”

Ian laughed first, a bark of amusement, then Bo joined in. She kept going, trying to tell the story through spurts of laughter. “It was…revolutionary for its…time. No one had ever…seen…anything like it.”

Then she couldn’t say any more because her giggles had taken over.

And because suddenly she missed her grandfather terribly. “Next time you say spray cheese, you’ll be chopping firewood for the next week,” he’d thundered at her. “The stuff is banned from Yatesville. The concept is banned. The words. All of it.”

She’d even had to explain it to her friends. “Whatever you do, don’t mention cheese. He’ll start growling.”

God, Gramps had been a handful. An odd, eccentric genius. But she’d loved him so much, and he’d loved her, in his grouchy way—until he’d banished her from Yatesville too. With no warning. No explanation.

Her laughter ended on a painful hiccup.

In the meantime, Shuri had woken up, startled by all the noise. Chrissie used that excuse to focus on her dog instead of their conversation. This was the most she’d talked to anyone since she’d left Arizona and it took some adjusting to.

Not that she had a problem with her own company. She didn’t. Ever since Gramps had kicked her out, she’d worked hard to rely on herself. Every time she’d let someone in, she’d gotten screwed. She’d learned her lesson. Other people were fun to have around, but you couldn’t count on them.

“That lighthouse has seen better days.” Ian’s voice interrupted her little mental trip to the past. “It looks like it might fall into the bay.”

She didn’t like hearing that. Even though she had a love-hate relationship with Yatesville and everything connected to it, she didn’t want it to crumble away. “Don’t underestimate that lighthouse. It’s been standing for at least seventy years, and it’s survived a hellacious number of winter storms.”

“That must have been soooo cool,” said Bo. “Were there storms when you were living there?”

“Of course. Blizzards, rainstorms, windstorms, hail storms. Every winter we’d get stranded for a week or so during a snowstorm. I missed a lot of school. When I went to school, that is. Mostly my grandfather homeschooled me, but I took some classes in town too. I remember one time I didn’t want to miss a final so I drove our tractor to school through the snow.”

“You can drive a tractor?”

Chrissie laughed at his fascination. “I can drive a lot of things, thanks to my grandfather. You should have seen me putting on mascara while I was driving that thing to school.”

Bo collapsed back into his seat and groaned. “I knew I was boring, but I didn’t know how boring. It sucks growing up in the suburbs.”

Chrissie wasn’t sure why a boy with a feather boa and eyeliner considered himself boring; then again, maybe that was the reason for the boa and eyeliner. “When I was growing up, I would have given my right kidney for a normal house in a normal place. The grass is always greener on the other side of the Yatesville border.”

She noticed that Ian hadn’t said much in the last few minutes. He was probably adding more entries to the ledger of her flaws. Missed lots of school.Wore mascara. Had very eccentric childhood. Conclusion: unsuitable. She wouldn’t be surprised if he chose to drop her off at the next exit before she had too bad an influence on his nephew.

Someone like Ian, with his comfortable Mercedes and his orderly existence—not a single discarded wrapper to be found on the floorboards, or even a stray crumb—must look at her as just an unredeemable hot mess.

Not that she could argue with that.

FOUR

“Where should we drop you off?” Ian asked when they crested the last hill outside Lost Harbor.

It took her a moment to answer. A rush of emotion washed over her at the sight of Misty Bay and the little town nestled in the curve of the long arm of land that formed the boardwalk. The backdrop of majestic snowcapped mountain peaks, jagged against the indigo twilight sky, made Lost Harbor look tiny and insignificant, just a collection of fairy lights clinging to the edge of the wilderness.

From this distance, she couldn’t make out the old lighthouse, but she could see the rocky promontory where it sat. Her original plan had been to drive straight to Yatesville, but that was before Prince Valiant had broken down. She couldn’t ask them to drive all the way out there.

Honestly, she was a little relieved that she didn’t have to face the ghosts yet. But what now? She didn’t want to waste money on a hotel, especially when she didn’t know how much her car was going to cost to fix. She could reach out to one of her old friends, but no one knew she was coming. She wasn’t even sure how welcome she would be.

She sorted through the options. Tristan probably hated her now, for good reason. Maya, Jessica, Toni…which one would be most likely to welcome her back, no questions asked?

“Do you know the Olde Salt Saloon?” she finally answered. That was where Toni worked, last she knew.

“I know of it. That’s really where you want to go?”

Once again, she caught an expression of disdain on Ian’s face. He probably thought she wanted her welcome back to Lost Harbor to be a stiff drink.

She could probably use one, but that wasn’t the point. But she refused to explain it to this arrogant too-serious man.

“Yes. It’s been a long trip, you know?”

“What’s the Olde Salt Saloon?” asked Bo eagerly.

“Fisherman hangout. It’s not for the young’uns. They’re strict about ID’s.” She didn’t want to be responsible for any underage drinking on top of being a bad influence.

“How do you know if you haven’t been living here?”

“Smartass. Because I know. They’ve always been that way. I only managed to sneak in twice the entire time I lived in Lost Harbor. I actually had to wear a disguise, I dressed up as—”

“We get the point,” Ian interrupted.

She bit her lip. He was right, she had no business giving Bo any tips about how to sneak into the Olde Salt. “Sorry,” she muttered. “My point is, there are other places in town where you can meet people your own age. You can do much better than the Olde Salt.”

She decided that she should just stay quiet for the rest of the drive. Even though she really liked Bo, making friends with him wasn’t worth running afoul of his uncle. Ian was attractive enough that she’d found herself flirting with him a bit. Just a kind of test flirt.

But now she could see that it was a lost cause. He’d just have to be someone whose cheekbones and smolder she admired from afar. Close contact was guaranteed to be a disaster.

She didn’t want any more disasters. Too often she felt like a rowboat that kept getting tossed onto the rocks, over and over, until it was barely holding itself in one piece. This trip back to Lost Harbor—and especially Yatesville—was going to be tough. She had to keep her shit together.

Her intention was to say a polite goodbye and a thank you, hand over some cash for her share of the gas, and be done with the Ian and Bo show. But Bo wasn’t having it.

“You said I could see the lighthouse sometime. What’s your number? I’ll put it in my phone, under ‘New Role Model.’”

She glanced at Ian, wondering how he was taking that possibility. His expression showed no reaction, which she took to mean he didn’t care one way or another.

Bo handed her his phone and she punched in her number. “But you have to promise to find a better role model, unless ‘hot mess’ is your goal in life.” She gave him back his phone. “Good luck with your job search.”

“Thank you.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t mind Uncle Ian. He’s a lot nicer than he acts.”

“I heard that,” Ian grumbled.

“Hey, anyone who rescues me from a truck full of unsavory characters and brings me all the way to my destination is a prince in my book. Thanks to you both.”

As if she wasn’t ready to say goodbye, Shuri butted Ian’s arm with her head. Surprising Chrissie to no end, Ian actually gave her a pat, and even a scratch behind her ears. Maybe he was nicer than he acted.

With Shuri on her heels, she climbed out of the car and went around to the trunk to retrieve her suitcase. And then the beige Mercedes glided into the night, disappearing down the long two-lane road that connected the boardwalk to the town center of Lost Harbor.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the Olde Salt. It looked smaller than she remembered, but other than that the old saloon hadn’t changed much. Its old foundation had sunk even more unevenly into the reinforced silt that underlay the boardwalk, giving it a drunken tilt. A few more shingles were missing off the outer walls, probably ripped off by a winter gale. But the warm light glowing through the multipaned windows still promised a welcome to half-frozen fishermen and anyone else brave enough to duck under the too-low doorjamb.

And hey—this time, she was an actual adult and could simply walk into the Olde Salt without disguising herself as a tax attorney, complete with briefcase and fake glasses.

Her gaze swept past the tavern to the harbor and the boats docked for the night. In March, the fishing charters didn’t operate, but the commercial fishermen went out whenever conditions allowed. Only a few of the trawlers had lights on at this hour. The familiar smell of the harbor—seaweed and diesel fumes and woodsmoke—struck a nostalgic note.