The Setup E-Book

Jennifer Bernard

• Herausgeber: Jennifer Bernard
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Lake Bittersweet
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 397

Beschreibung

He left without warning in the middle of a Lake Bittersweet winter.
Now he’s back... just in time for the holidays.

For Gina Moretti, the holidays are bittersweet thanks to a history of romantic disasters. This holiday season, her friends are taking the reins and are setting her up. Little did she know the whole town would get into the act, but that’s Lake Bittersweet for you. When a date goes sideways, she’s shocked to be rescued by the one-and-only Kirk Williams–her brother’s best friend, who left town long ago and is now a celebrity hero. 

Kirk is back in Lake Bittersweet for some peace and quiet, but once he sees Gina, that’s out of the question. His best friend’s tomboy little sister is now a gorgeous woman with secrets of her own. When she asks him for help tracking down someone from her past, he jumps at the chance to win her trust. As for resisting their intense attraction…he might be famous for his heroic rescues, but he’s not that strong.  

Can Kirk and Gina banish the ghosts of holidays past and claim the future of their dreams …while dealing with family revelations, obsessed fans, and the endless parade of holiday setups? 

Leseprobe

the setup

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

Gina Moretti knew she had a long list of faults, and right at the top was “inability to be polite while raging inwardly.” When that flaw surfaced during a bad date, things could get awkward. There was the time she’d tossed a glass of wine in a date’s face. Once she’d even stabbed a breadstick into a dude’s hand. (Said hand was on her ass, who could blame her?) The best method of surviving a bad date, she’d learned, was to keep her mouth full of food or any handy beverage.

As her date—Phil something—continued his tedious explanation of Bitcoin versus Ethereum, she treated herself to a giant forkful of manicotti. It was a defensive move, she told herself. The equivalent of screaming into a pillow, except with marinara sauce.

“You really know how to put down some food.” Phil broke off from his lecture to give her an approving stare. “Lotta girls don’t like to eat this much on a date.”

Gina shrugged and gestured at her stuffed mouth to explain why she wasn’t answering.

“I mean, I don’t mind it. I figure if you like to eat pasta this much, there’s other stuff you like to put in your mouth.”

Gina nearly choked on her food. Was he making some kind of crass reference to oral sex on a first (and last) date?

“Do you work out, though? Because that’s a lot of calories to burn off. I’m not really into the flab, that’s just me. I keep fit and I appreciate the same from the ladies. Know what I mean? Frank said you’re an athlete, it’s why I asked you out, I’m sort of a hockey fiend, anyway I guess you don’t have to worry too much about…” He trailed off as she desperately forked another large chunk of manicotti into her mouth. “That’s…uh…that’s a lot of food. Is that safe? I took CPR once, but I zoned out and the one time I tried it on someone, they threw up in my mouth.”

Gina felt laughter, along with some nausea, bubble to the surface. Oh God. She was going to choke to death on giggles and tomato sauce and then she was going to kill her brother for this. He’d done it on purpose, hadn’t he? Her second-oldest and most-annoying brother had punked her by setting her up on this date. He must know what a tool this guy was. Not even Frankie was that clueless. He was teasing her, the way all her brothers had since the day she was born. It was the Moretti way.

She held up a finger, then bolted to her feet. “Excuse me,” she managed to mumble, and shot through the Loon Feather Bistro to the ladies’ room. She dashed into a stall and spit out her pasta into the toilet, a blast of sauce and cheese and pure relief.

“Oh my God,” she murmured out loud. The laughter came freely now, until tears were running down her face. “Is that safe?” She repeated his words, picturing his half-alarmed, half-revolted expression, and let the helpless giggles roll out of her.

When she’d flushed the toilet and composed herself, she sat on the seat and texted Frankie. Ur dead 2 me.

A string of laughter emojis was her only answer.

Question: did older brothers EVER grow out of teasing their younger sisters? Bigger question: why had she fallen for this trick? Was she that desperate for a relationship?

Hmm…maybe she kind of was, but not in the way people thought. Recently she’d read something that really rang a bell—which didn’t happen often because she wasn’t a big reader. “The most important relationship in your life is the one you have with yourself”—or something to that effect.

Ding-ding-ding! It felt so true to Gina, because her relationship with herself was a disaster. Somewhere along the line she’d lost her oomph, her mojo, her confidence. The process had started about seventeen years ago, when she’d face-planted at the Olympic training camp. It had continued with her next big disaster, her brief marriage and divorce from Eddie “Junkyard” Jorgen.

Worst of all, both catastrophes had happened just before Christmas, which used to be her favorite holiday. Since the divorce, every year, as soon as she saw the first holiday decorations go up, she braced herself for another disaster. She gritted her teeth through every holiday season and only relaxed after New Year’s Day had passed.

This year, she’d decided to do things differently.

The inspiration had come from her friend Emmaline. She and her new sweetie Conor had launched a hot competition to find her a date for the holidays. When Gina had found out, at first she’d been annoyed, but then she’d thought…why not? If she had to give herself a grade in the man department, it would be an F—or maybe a J for Junkyard. Why not let her best friend take a shot at it?

Word had spread, and now it seemed everyone in Lake Bittersweet was getting into the “set up Gina” business. She’d decided to embrace the matchmaking madness. What the heck, it kept her busy. Besides, it was nice of her family and friends to try.

Except for Frankie. He deserved a kick in the balls for this one.

She texted her friend Emmaline. Help. Date emergency.

Wine or breadstick? Do I need to bail you out?

Ha ha. No. Hiding out in bathroom.

Her phone rang. “You got this, babe,” said Emmaline. “Just go out there and tell him you’re not interested.”

“He’s a friend of Frank’s. They play hockey together.” Gina groaned. “I should know better. What’s wrong with me?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re perfect.” Emmaline was always so supportive and sweet-natured. Gina’s romantic life might suck, along with her not-so-professional life, but she was lucky in her friends. That was worth a lot. It was good to know she hadn’t screwed up everything in her life.

“It’s the holidays,” Emmaline continued. “You always get weird this time of year.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back to normal next year. January second, mark your calendar.”

“Maybe this year there will be a Christmas miracle.” Oh Emmaline, ever so adorably hopeful. Of course she didn’t know about her first heartbreak humiliation, Coach Peters. No one knew about that one, although unfortunately everyone knew about Junkyard.

“It’ll be a miracle if I don’t kill Frankie, I’ll tell you that.”

Emmaline laughed. “Seriously, I have a good feeling, Gina. Trust me.”

“Speaking of good feelings, what are you and Conor doing right now?” Gina asked, deciding to indulge in a little self-torture. It was better than going back out to her date.

“That’s a delay tactic, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I shouldn’t go along with it, but since you mentioned the magic word, Conor, we’re not doing much. We’re watching a movie while he rubs my feet.”

“I fucking hate you. I mean I love you. You know that. And now I understand the good-feeling thing. That was your feet talking.”

Emmaline took no offense, probably because she knew Gina so well. “My feet are very wise. Now they’re telling you to tell hockey dude that you’re not interested. They also said to mention that the next time you get a call from a number in Maine, you should answer. That’s Conor’s college friend. He thinks you’ll hit it off.”

“Is he Conor’s setup?”

“Yes. Personally I think you’ll like my guy better, but whatever. Conor says he’s super-cool and he designs sailboats for a living. You love canoes, he loves sailboats, it’s like a love-boat connection.”

Honestly, he sounded intimidating. What would she have in common with an Ivy League sailboat designer? She didn’t design canoes, she just loved them and raced them; and now she didn’t even race anymore. She’d been a go-hard scrappy athlete who’d crashed and burned in the Olympic training camp. If they talked about boats, they’d have to talk about that fiasco.

“Seems like a stretch. But he’s probably better than the guy who just made me spit up all my pasta into a toilet.”

Emmaline chuckled. “Love that positivity. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“That’s nice, but I expect you to be making mad passionate love with your foot masseur later.”

“Then I’ll text you after.”

Emmaline hung up before Gina could get out another “I fucking hate you,” which was good because she could never, ever hate Emmaline no matter how many rich, charming, handsome men her friend got engaged to.

She stationed herself in front of the mirror and fluffed her black hair back into its proper bouncy curls. Noticing a speck of tomato sauce on her chin, she splashed water on her face, then refreshed her Iced Raspberry lip gloss. It matched the deep crimson of her clingy jersey dress, which ended just above the knee. The length showed off her favorite boots, black leather with silver grommets and stacked heels.

“You’re a babe,” she told herself. “You can do this.”

As long as “this” didn’t mean smiling politely while Bitcoin Phil said stupid shit, sure, she could do this.

She marched out of the restroom and threaded her way through the tables, spotting her fifth grade teacher, her OB/GYN and a firefighter who’d been crushing on her friend Kendra forever. Jacob must be trying to forget Kendra, because he was on a date with the new history teacher from the high school.

That was life in a small town; not even dating was a private endeavor.

She slid into her seat opposite Phil, who was scrolling on his phone, his plate empty. Oops, she’d missed the rest of dinner, apparently.

“Sorry,” she said. “That took longer than I thought.”

“Forget about it. I…uh…well, I gotta get going.” He glanced at his phone again. “Maybe see you at the rink.”

Wait. She leaned across the table to peer at his phone. “Did you just set up another date while I was in the bathroom?”

Unfazed, he shrugged. “Didn’t seem like this one was going anywhere.”

“You got that right, buster.”

Buster? Where had “buster” come from? Nobody said “buster” outside of old movies. Screwing up another date must have really rattled her.

“The waitress came with the check and I told her to split it. I already paid my part.” As she watched, in wordless shock, he got to his feet. “See you around, Gina. You should think about going Paleo. You got a real problem with carbs.”

She stared after him as he strolled toward the coat check desk by the Loon Feather’s entrance. Somewhat annoyingly, he wasn’t a bad-looking guy—the kind of solid-muscled, sandy-haired Midwestern type she’d grown up with.

A glass of wine appeared in her line of sight. The waitress set it down on the table before her. “It’s on me,” she said with a wink, then added the check. “But the rest of it still needs to be paid, sorry.”

“That’s all right. That manicotti was out of this world. Worth every,” she looked at the bill and winced, “kajillion pennies.”

The waitress laughed, then bent down to whisper in her ear. “Actually, the wine isn’t from me. It’s from someone who doesn’t want you to know he sent it. But he’s super-hot and not at all creepy, so I’m just going to tell you.”

“What? Who?”

Gina looked around the restaurant, confused. Had Mr. Geller from fifth grade sent her a glass of wine? She wouldn’t describe the sixty-year-old with the wispy moustache as “super-hot,” but hotness was in the eye of the beholder.

Maybe Jacob the firefighter? A sympathy gesture? But Jacob’s table was empty; he and his date were probably moving on to the next phase of their romantic evening.

“At the bar,” whispered the waitress.

Gina swiveled her head toward the bar and spotted a lone man who looked vaguely familiar. She stared for a long, astonished moment. Was that…who she thought it was? Was it possible? If so, she might need an entire bottle of wine.

“Tell him no thanks,” she told the waitress, then flung up a hand. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.” She slid a credit card from her wallet and handed it to the waitress, then got to her feet. Carrying the glass of wine in one hand, she marched toward the bar.

As she came close, getting a better look at his profile, she saw she was correct. It was Kirk Williams, in the flesh. Kirk was back in Lake Bittersweet, just casually hanging out at the bar of the Loon Feather Bistro as if he hadn’t left almost twenty years ago without even a goodbye.

Part of her wanted to fling that glass of wine right in his face. But that would be an unjustified waste of good wine. He wasn’t a date, after all. As if that would ever happen. He was practically a celebrity now.

She placed the glass of wine on the bar next to him. He looked up, surprise in his hazel-green eyes, fatigue in his face. She’d forgotten how freaking good-looking he was, even though she’d seen him on TV enough times that she should have remembered.

“Hi, Kirk,” she said, with dignity.

“Hi, Gina.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to send a drink to a woman who’s on a date with someone else?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t a come-on, just some moral support. Looked like you could use it, considering the fifteen-minute bathroom break.”

“You timed it? Seems a little creepy.”

“Rough estimate.” He smiled at her, all warmth and sparkle. She didn’t trust it. Kirk Williams could probably get any woman to fall at his feet, but not her. She put him in the same category as her brothers because he’d practically grown up at their house. Back then, he’d been on the quiet side, wiry, a late bloomer who girls didn’t notice until late in high school.

“Damn, it’s good to see you, Gina. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

From the appreciative glint in his eyes, he meant that as a compliment. Figured, since she’d been a gap-toothed tomboy the last time she’d seen him. “Likewise. You were wearing a lot more foundation the last time I saw you on TV.”

He snorted, shifting gears to match her teasing approach. “Thanks for watching. Need an autograph?”

“Definitely. How much can I sell it for? Ten bucks on eBay?”

“Five ninety-nine on a good day.”

Crap. So he wasn’t as arrogant as he probably deserved to be, given his semi-famous hero status. After Kirk had left Lake Bittersweet, he’d joined the Army and somehow managed to save his entire squad from an ambush. He’d been hailed as a hero far and wide. Then he’d written a book about some of his experiences in the military—which she hadn’t read—and gotten even more famous. Also, he was super-hot, just like the waitress had said, so he’d wound up with a lot of press coverage.

He’d never bothered to come back until now, even though Kirk had been her brother George’s best friend. Despite her ups and downs with her brothers, she’d defend them all to the death, as they would her. So on George’s behalf, she was furious with Kirk. Or ought to be.

It was hard to hang onto that indignation under that bright hazel gaze.

“What are you doing here? Does Georgie know you’re back?”

“No, I just got into town. No one knows. Except you, now.” That magic smile, as if she was special because she was the first to spot him.

“I’ll be sure to alert the newspaper. And the mayor. She’ll probably want to issue a proclamation.”

Her wry tone made him wince. “I’m begging you…”

“Ooh, I love it when famous people beg me for stuff.” She flashed a grin at him. “Unfortunately, they’re usually asking about extra towels or bug spray.”

“Bug spray?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Look, Gina, can we start over? If you don’t want that wine, hand it over. I probably need it more than you do by now.”

“Ha. Let me guess. No one teases the famous author and national hero Kirk Williams anymore? You’re out of practice? You’d better get into shape before you see my brothers.” She paused. “Are you going to see them? Seriously, what are you doing here?”

He folded his arms across his chest as he rotated his stool ever so slightly. “You don’t seem all that happy to see me. You look like you’re one breath away from tossing that wine in my face.”

Did he know about her wine-tossing history? Or was he just guessing?

“Are those your breadsticks?” She pointed at the jar filled with crunchy spears.

With a cautious glance, he moved them farther away from her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What have you heard?”

“Heard? Nothing. Just remembered the Great Pretzel Battle of whatever year that was. Wasn’t there bloodshed?”

She rolled up the left sleeve of her dress. “I still have a scar. Worth it, though. I won.”

“You did. Most competitive kid sister in all of Minnesota.”

“I’m sorry, just Minnesota?” She found herself grinning at him with the exact same sassy challenge that was her childhood default mode. It was such a good feeling that it chased away the bad aftertaste of Bitcoin Phil.

Talk about a miracle.

two

The gorgeous woman who used to be everyone’s little sister finally smiled at him. Gina’s grin was all-encompassing, spreading from her dark flashing eyes to the merry curve of her lips. Even her rambunctious curls seemed to get onboard.

Kirk’s heart glitched a little. Weird. He’d never thought of Gina as anything other than a kid, sometimes irritating, sometimes endearing.

“I’ve changed, mostly. I’m not that feral little girl anymore.”

He wasn’t so sure he believed that. “No more snack battles?”

“Okay, there was one, but it was more of an ambush involving a breadstick and a bad date. A different one. There’ve been a few.”

“I’m sure he deserved it, whoever he was.”

“Honestly, he really didn’t. I was in a mood. He was collateral damage.”

“Was there actual damage?”

“Slight abrasion,” she admitted. “Also, he crosses the street whenever he sees me now.”

He moved the jar of breadsticks even farther away, making her laugh. That was how she’d been as a child too, always ready to abandon her grudge and break into laughter.

Her phone buzzed and she tugged it from her purse. As she scanned the message, he took a moment to slide his gaze down the curves of her body in that red dress. “Gotta go,” she said as she dropped the phone back in her purse. Then she caught the direction of his glance and glared at him. “Were you checking me out?”

“Is that…no…maybe…sorry, I just haven’t seen you in a while. Just trying to catch up.”

“Well, catch up to this. You have a lot to answer for, Kirk Williams. I don’t know why you’re back after all these years, but you shouldn’t have just left like that, with hardly a goodbye. My family was really sad about it.”

He frowned slightly. Georgie had never mentioned that, and he’d kept in touch, at least sporadically.

“Then you got famous and you never bothered to so much as call. My poor mother.”

He hated the idea of hurting Anna Moretti’s feelings, but then again, he had sent a gift basket almost every Christmas. Chocolates, fruit. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten about the Morettis. They’d practically raised him from the age of about fourteen. Mario Moretti had encouraged him to join the military, Anna had made sure he was fed when his own father forgot. George and Frank and Mario Jr. had treated him like another brother. And Gina…well, she’d always been around, trying like the scrapper she was to keep up at hockey or paddling or climbing trees.

“I was planning to stop in. Do you think they’d mind?”

Gina’s eyes flashed to his, then her dazzling smile returned. “You’d probably make my mother’s entire year if you did that. She still boasts about you, even though you ditched us.”

Ouch. Maybe he needed to amp up the chocolate tribute.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude if they’re all wrapped up in the holidays. I remember how crazy things get at the Morettis’ this time of year.”

At the mention of the holidays, Gina made a sound like a soft groan. “Wait, are you here through the holidays?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then I hope you didn’t make any other plans, because you know Mama will want you at our house. And since you ghosted us—”

“I get it, I get it,” he laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m in.”

Secretly, he had been assuming the Morettis would include him in their Christmas celebrations. His best Christmas memories came from the time he’d spent at their place. But he hadn’t realized they were hurt and angry with him. He’d have to do something about that, right away.

The waitress appeared at Gina’s elbow with a credit card slip to sign. Damn, her loser date hadn’t even paid the bill? Kirk wished there was some graceful way he could take care of it, but Gina would probably empty a bottle of wine over his head if he tried that.

She must have caught his expression, because her cheeks flushed as she signed.

“Dating is the worst, isn’t it?” he said, going for the sympathetic approach. “Sometimes I think there ought to be a prenup before a date. Everyone knows in advance who’s paying, what the budget is, and what the expectations are for afterwards.”

The waitress burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh, I absolutely love that idea!”

Gina chuckled too, but the waitress’ laugh drowned her out.

And then she kept talking. “The bartender just told me who you are, I can’t believe Kirk Williams is back in Lake Bittersweet. Do you think I could get your autograph?” She edged past Gina and handed him a bar napkin.

Gina backed away, giving them space, as she teasingly mouthed “eBay” at him.

He quickly signed the napkin, then tried to jump to his feet to catch up with Gina before she reached the exit.

Which was when he remembered he needed crutches to go anywhere, and by the time he found them propped under the bar top, Gina was gone.

* * *

While the bartender ran his credit card, Kirk propped himself on his crutches. The waitress hovered nearby.

“Is that from…you know, the Incident?”

“No,” he said. “More recent. Yeah, I know, I’m a magnet for trouble.” He took his credit card from the bartender and slid it into his pocket.

“Well, if you need anything, any help or…I mean, I get off in a few hours.”

He settled the crutches into place, his sore muscles groaning. This wasn’t his first stint on crutches; as he’d told the waitress, he was a magnet for injuries. Probably because he tended to throw himself into situations without thinking them through. He could probably use help once he got to the house he was leasing. But he didn’t want help. He wanted to get through this glitch in his life and get back to work.

The problem was that he’d inadvertently played the hero once again, and back in Boston, it had been big news. He’d been jogging through the park when a small child had toddled into his path. Of course he’d stopped to check on him, not realizing he was interrupting a kidnapping attempt. Not just any kidnapping attempt, either—the boy was the son of a local baked bean heiress. He’d fought with the kidnapper and wound up with a broken left tibia and tons of local media attention.

Too much attention, some of it from overenthusiastic fans. Messages poured in from all corners of the internet. They kept calling him a hero, which made him so uncomfortable. The poor kid had literally stumbled into his path. How was it heroic to do what anyone would have done?

But one of the messages had come from the sister he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. Her profile photo showed that she still had the same vibrant red hair and cheeky grin that had earned her the nickname “Sassy.” She wore cat-eye sunglasses and was blowing a kiss at whoever was taking the photo.

We should talk. Meet in Lake Bittersweet?

That sounded better than dealing with media requests and autograph-seekers and intrusive fans. Until all the fuss died down, here he was.

“That’s a really nice offer, thanks,” he told the waitress. “But I’m fine. I’m getting used to these things.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where I work.” She winked at him and returned to her customers.

“Thanks again.” He crutched his way through the tables, bracing himself for more greetings from people who remembered him. But none came.

That was exactly why he’d chosen the Loon Feather Bistro, because he hadn’t expected to see anyone he knew here. Most Lake Bittersweet locals only went to the most expensive restaurant in town for the most special of all occasions. Fiftieth anniversaries, lottery wins, record trout catches. It was mostly tourists here.

And, apparently, bad dates with beautiful Morettis.

Seeing Gina had been a shocker. When he’d first noticed her, he literally hadn’t recognized her. He’d simply appreciated the curly-haired knockout in the red dress. Eyeing her date, he’d wondered if they were a long-time couple or if it was a proposal situation. He was checking the mystery woman’s hands for rings when his gaze followed an enormous forkful of food from her plate to her mouth.

That was when he realized her face was familiar. It was the same face he’d seen covered in peanut butter smears from the sandwiches Mrs. Moretti sent with them on their canoe trips. He’d seen that face getting stuffed with popcorn on movie night in the Morettis’ den.

It was freaking Gina Moretti, wearing the hell out of a red dress.

Had he ever seen her in a dress before? Never. Okay, maybe on Sundays, when the Moretti parents dragged their clan to church. But not a red dress, not a dress that painted every curve with seductive allure.

Apparently that was what happened when you left town. People grew up. Scrappy little gap-toothed kids turned into stunning women.

When he reached the car he’d rented, he stuck the crutches in the backseat and hopped on one foot to the driver’s door. It was awkward, of course, but he knew how incredibly lucky he was. The child’s kidnapper had been armed, but his wild shots had missed. If Kirk had gotten shot, that little kid might not have gone home.

Even his injury wasn’t too bad. At the rehab center, he’d gotten close to an older woman who’d gotten her leg amputated above the knee. Along with the physical therapy, she was working on loving “Lucille,” as she called her stump. He, on the other hand, would make a full recovery, if he did his PT and didn’t do anything reckless. Yeah, he was lucky. Not a hero. Lucky.

He programmed the address of the house he’d rented—one of the summer vacation homes—into the car’s GPS. It had been so long since he’d been to Lake Bittersweet, he didn’t trust his memory. As he drove, he decided he’d better call George before Gina spread the word that he was in town. He and George still kept in touch. The only reason he hadn’t told him that he was coming to Lake Bittersweet was that he wanted to keep it quiet. He didn’t want any reporters trying to contact him here. Or, God forbid, any of the fans who knew every word of his book and lurked outside his building wanting to talk.

“Gina told me,” George said as soon as he picked up. “Sneaky bastard, I’m not even mad. Good to have you back. Where are you staying? You can stay with us. You gotta stay with us.”

‘Us’ meant him and his boyfriend, Otto. Georgie had come out to his family a few years after Kirk left, and if Kirk had one regret, it was that he hadn’t been around to help him through that. He hadn’t been all that surprised, even though George had never opened up to him about it. Maybe he hadn’t been ready, but sometimes Kirk wondered if George just hadn’t trusted him enough. Or maybe he figured Kirk had enough problems of his own.

Which he had.

“Thanks, but I rented a place. Big expensive one on the lake. It has a home gym and a pool. It’ll be good for my rehab.”

“Yeah? How’s that going? Is that why you’re here? Don’t they have better rehab places in Boston?”

Trust George to give him the third degree. He was a lawyer, after all. He didn’t miss much.

“I just needed to get out of town for a while.”

“You have to spend Christmas with us,” George said firmly. “None of us will survive the Mama Moretti meltdown if you don’t.”

He thought about Gina’s accusation that he’d hurt George and the whole family by not being in touch. George gave no hint of that. Maybe Gina had been exaggerating. She loved drama; the whole family did.

“Nice of you to ask. Good thing, too, since I already bought presents for everyone.”

George laughed. “Smart man.”

“But I have to start over with Gina’s present. I got her a slingshot like the ones we used to make, except not made of sticks.”

George chortled. “Actually, she probably wouldn’t say no to that.”

They both laughed, but Kirk felt a twinge of…something…that they were laughing about Gina. Teasing the Moretti brothers’ little sister had been harmless fun that he’d joined in on…but how had it felt for her? She’d always either laughed or punched someone in the nose or stormed off in a fury.

He turned off on the winding one-lane road that led to the fancy summer houses. So different from Edgeview, where he’d grown up. That neighborhood was all the way on the west side of town and he had no intention of going back there. That part of his life was over.

As he cruised along Lakeshore Lane, he peered at each stately home as he passed by, seeing no lights anywhere. Good. He’d probably be the only person on this side of the lake. Some peace and quiet was exactly what he needed.

“That was the last thing I expected to see, little Gina on a hot date at the Loon Feather.”

“Well, get used to it. Everyone’s trying to set her up these days. It’s a whole thing. Frank is pissed that she didn’t like his workout buddy. He wants another shot, says there’s some bartender from Braddock that she’ll like. But she told him he’s lost setup privileges for the next year because this guy was so bad. It’s his own fault. Frankie never learns not to mess with Gina.”

Kirk appreciated the affection in George’s voice when he talked about Gina; much different from the little sister-big brother dynamic he remembered.

“Why does Gina even need a setup? She’s gorgeous. I didn’t even recognize her.”

“Oh, she doesn’t. Gina never has any trouble meeting men. But they never last long so she’s decided to broaden her horizons. She might be trying to get Mama off her back too. Don’t we know it’s our sacred duty to be fruitful?” He mimicked Anna Moretti’s dramatic complaints with so much accuracy that Kirk had to laugh. “I keep telling her I’m a fruit so I’m doing my part. Doesn’t seem to help.”

Kirk laughed as he checked his odometer, which he’d set when he’d first turned onto the lakeside road. Exactly three miles, bingo. “Looks like I’m here. I’ve got to find the keypad and get myself settled in.”

“Good luck, and call me if you need anything. Damn, man, I can’t believe you’re here. You’re coming over for dinner, okay? Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’ll check in soon,” Kirk answered vaguely. As much as he wanted to see his old friends, he knew that as soon as he did, more would surface. He’d be pulled into the social life of Lake Bittersweet and there would be no escape.

Not that he minded being social. But being back in Lake Bittersweet was a big deal for him. So many memories lurked around every corner. He needed to take this slow. He was still a little shocked that his sister Sassy had suggested meeting here. She’d left long before he had.

He pulled into the driveway of the Mason place. Jerome Mason owned a high-end security firm. The house had top-flight security systems everywhere. Cameras covered every inch of the property and an invisible electric fence protected the perimeter. In the summer it was deactivated, since people in Lake Bittersweet tended to cut across the corners of shoreside properties to reach the lake. But Mason had told him how to set the perimeter alarm, and he intended to do it.

A complicated algorithm changed the passcode for the security system every couple of days. He’d been given a cheat sheet so he never got locked out. It was in code too, just in case.

Normally he would have considered such extensive security to be paranoia. He’d served in Afghanistan. He’d nearly died in that ambush. He’d learned how to handle the adrenaline rush of fear. He certainly wasn’t afraid of the residents of the peaceful lakeside community where he’d grown up.

But with all the over-the-top media attention, he wanted a safe haven. He wanted to hole up somewhere quiet and peaceful and very, very different from the Edgeview hovel he’d grown up in.

He might be back in Lake Bittersweet, but he wasn’t going back to the kid he used to be. Could a state-of-the-art security system take care of that too?

It took him a few tries with the keypad to get the code right. Finally he heard a click and was able to open the door to his new temporary home. His crutches echoed on the tiled floor of the foyer. He used his phone to find the light switch, until he remembered that the lights were keyed to his voice. He’d actually sent Jerome Mason a voice recording so that he could preprogram it that way.

“Turn on the lights,” he said out loud, feeling a little moronic to be speaking to an empty house.

Bright illumination suddenly filled the foyer. He flung up a hand to protect his eyes. “Dim the lights,” he said quickly. He was plunged into darkness again.

“More light.”

Back to full brightness.

So maybe the “dim” function wasn’t working. Or maybe the computer didn’t understand the word “dim.” This wasn’t a Star Trek spaceship, after all. He considered disabling the whole system, but decided to mess with it in the morning.

He stumped through the house where he’d be spending the next month or so, and realized that it had a few issues. First, it was carpeted throughout with thick gray shag-like carpeting that snagged his crutches at every step. It was like walking through quicksand. The only rooms without the carpeting were the kitchen, bathrooms and the home gym.

Next, the house was huge. It was actually three stories high, and the best bedroom took up the entire third floor—probably for the sake of the views. He’d have to use one of the guest rooms on the second floor, or find a place to sleep on the ground floor. That meant he’d be stumping up and down the stairs a lot—which were also carpeted.

And what about cleaning? No way was he going to be able to maintain this nightmare of a carpet. Was there a special vacuum cleaner or was the house computer in charge of that?

“Vacuum the carpet,” he said out loud.

No response from the security system. Obviously, mundane household tasks were not in its programming. I don’t do windows, he imagined it saying.

His left thigh ached. He needed to do his exercises before he hit the sack. If he skipped even one day, he could feel the difference. Especially after driving, which always seemed to send his thigh into an angry pulsing tantrum.

He decided to leave his bags in the car for the night. The house was supposed to be stocked with amenities such as toothbrushes. He’d deal with everything else tomorrow.

At least the home gym was exactly what he needed it to be. That one room made up for the damn carpet. It had everything—soft floor mats, hard floor mats, parallel bars, a stationary bicycle, a treadmill for when he graduated to that phase, a Peloton, an elliptical, a weight machine and free weights. He also noticed Thera-bands in a variety of colors. Clearly someone here had recovered from surgery and knew the drill.

There was even a massage room at the far end of the gym. If only it came with a live-in masseuse, it would be perfect. And that indoor pool, so blue and inviting with its underwater lights and subtle chlorine scent. I’ll be in you soon.

He lay down on the softest mat he could find and did some gentle stretching. But as soon as he got horizontal, he felt an overwhelming need to close his eyes. Just a minute of rest, he told himself. Then I’ll get back to work. Then I’ll climb up those stairs again and choose a bedroom with a view and…he was out.

three

In December, the lake was painted in shades of steel-gray and deep evergreen. Creamy curls of foam danced on the surface, chased by the winter wind. Even though Gina didn’t compete anymore, she still loved paddling, especially on a misty morning when ice crystals danced against her face with every stroke.

She didn’t often run into anyone else this early in the morning. But of all people of course it would be Ronnie Kenosha, her very first canoe teacher. She’d know his canoe anywhere; he still made birch bark canoes in the traditional Ojibwe style, with pine lashings and beautiful patterns painted on the side.

He was up ahead, gliding close to the piney shoreline. She made a “caw-caw” sound that traveled through the mist.

He turned to greet her, then paused his canoe so she could catch up.

“Thought I’d see you out here,” he told her when they were rafted up together in the shallows. Ronnie was one of her very favorite people in the entire world. He wore his long graying hair in a single braid and didn’t bother with neoprene paddling gear, even in December.

“You were looking for me? Aren’t there easier ways than paddling in twenty degree temps?”

“Is there?” He seemed unconcerned. “My granddaughter needs a coach. She’s got some real talent. Reminds me of you.”

“Then it’s a good thing she has you for a grandfather. You’re the best coach in Minnesota.”

In fact, he’d spoiled her. She’d thought all coaches were like Mr. Kenosha—fair, kind, patient.

“No no, firecracker. She needs you. I’m too old now. Don’t got the energy.”

Panic flooded her. “Are you okay?”

“Yah, I’m okay. Just old. Think about it. She’s sixteen, name’s Amber. Amber Kenosha. Come see us sometime.”

“You know I’m not a coach. I just teach group classes. Has she taken one of my classes? I don’t remember her name.”

“Nah, I’ve been teaching her. She goes to school in Braddock. She’s real good, I promise. Olympic good.”

The word made her freeze. She had no business getting near the Olympics, not after what had happened. Teaching classes was one thing. Canoe basics, the strokes, proper technique, no problem. But private coaching was an entirely different matter. Who was she to teach anyone, when she’d failed so utterly in her own quest for excellence?

She hated to turn down her favorite teacher, but it was for the best. “Can’t do it, not even for you. I’m the fulltime manager at the Blue Drake now. And actually,” she checked the waterproof watch strapped to the outside of her neoprene glove, “I’m late. I have to do a favor for Sally Trammell.”

“Dream Getaways?” She could read his thoughts behind his impassive expression. Why are you wasting your talent serving tourists?

“Yeah. She needs me to check someone in. But I’m honored that you thought of me, Ronnie. I’ll see if I can find someone really good for Amber.”

She released her paddle from his canoe and they drifted away from each other.

Biting her lip, she refused to allow herself to look back at Ronnie. They’d never talked about her failure at the Olympic training camp. Had he been disappointed? How could he not be?

She dug her paddle into the water, increasing her speed until it felt like she was flying across the lake. At least her Olympic-size failure hadn’t destroyed the joy she felt while paddling. She’d be happy to stay out here all day.

But she’d promised Sally.

Sally had ambushed her two days ago at the SweetBitter Café. She’d even gone so far as to buy Gina a chocolate chip muffin, which meant she was really desperate.

“Okay, I’m going for the hard sell, kiddo. It’s Christmas and if you don’t do this, I won’t make it to my daughter’s and my grandkids might forget who I am. My daughter has twenty people coming and she’ll have a completely emotional breakdown if I’m not there to help.”

Sally fluffed her bob of silver hair and adjusted her orange-framed eyeglasses. She had retired to Lake Bittersweet from a career as a high-powered advertising exec, and still seemed to move twice as fast as the locals.

“Oh brother. That’s low, Sally, even for a recovering marketing expert.”

Sally blinked at her pleadingly behind those orange frames.

Gina sighed heavily. “Which house are we talking about?”

“The Mason house. The high-tech one on the eastern shore.”

“Mason. He’s the security expert, right? The one with all the computers?”

“Yes, and he’s extremely particular about who sets foot in his house. You’re the only one I trust.”

Security expert. A little bell had rung in Gina’s head.

For the last few weeks, she’d been trying to locate the man who had stolen her mojo, Coach Peters. The general idea was to confront him and tell him what a piece of shit he was, and hope that would help her move on from that experience. But she’d had no luck.

Would a security expert know how to find him?

Maybe she could ask Jerome Mason for a little help in exchange for stocking his cupboards and vacuuming his carpets?

Gina blew on the foam of her extra-shot cappuccino. “What’s Mason like? Is he pretty friendly to us lowly locals?”

“Mason?” Sally cocked her head. “I hear he’s recently divorced. I’ll set you up with him if you’ll do this tiny favor for me.”

Gina coughed on a mouthful of foam. “No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? Word is you’re open to setups.”

Oh God, Sally knew? This was getting out of hand.

Sally went on. “I have a rolodex full of contacts who have grown sons—”

Gina cut her off with quick zip of a gesture. “One more word and I’ll shove the job off on my brother Frank. Last time he used a vacuum cleaner he nearly vacuumed up my nephew’s pet gerbil.”

Sally shut her mouth with a snap. Then, cautiously, “Is that a yes?”

“Lord, you’re relentless. Yes, fine, I’ll do it. Go save your daughter from holiday mental collapse.”

“You’re an angel, darling girl.”

“You know that’s not true. I have one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Please don’t try to set me up with anyone. I have to set some limits. People are getting way too into this.”

“Fine. Honestly, if I knew anyone really eligible I’d save him for my other daughter.”

After her morning paddle, Gina stopped in at the SweetBitter for her usual cappuccino.

The owner—and her good friend—Rick brought her a glass filled with thick foamy liquid the color of grass.

“What’s this for?”

“How was your date last night?”

“Well, I hid out in the bathroom while he made a date with someone else. And I still don’t understand Bitcoin.”

He grinned with satisfaction. “I knew Frankie would fuck it up. Here, this is my bad date antidote. I’ve honed the recipe over years of dating disasters, and it has a one hundred percent success rate.”

Gina eyed it suspiciously. “What does it do, exactly? Make you so ill you forget about the date?”

“Pretty much,” Rick said cheerfully. “Enjoy.”

She took it to go, and headed for the eastern shore of the lake, where the fancy houses were located. The smoothie sat in her cupholder, changing from a disturbingly vibrant green to a horrifying brown as it oxidized. If a bad date had a color, that would probably be it.

* * *

A loud sound was blaring at him, telling him to wake up, get out of bed. But Kirk was trapped in the past.

It was just before Christmas and someone was knocking at the door of their house. No one ever came to their house. Why would they? It was dumpy and miserable and Poppa would yell until they left anyway. Kirk ran to open the door before the knocking woke Poppa up. As usual, he was in his recliner in front of the TV.

A couple—a middle-aged man and woman—wearing Santa hats stood on the doorstep. One carried a bag full of wrapped presents. “Merry Christmas!” they sang together. “We hear there’s a little boy in this house who’s on the nice list this year!”

He shook his head, even though man-oh-man, he wanted those presents. Whatever they were. But it was too embarrassing and his father would flip out. “No, thank you, ma’am. Sir.”

“You aren’t,” the woman checked her list, “Kirk?”

Could he say he was George Moretti? Or Frankie? No, he couldn’t lie right to her face. “My Poppa already got me so many presents. There’s a big pile under the tree.” He tried to come up with some specifics, calling on the Christmas lists the Morettis had been obsessing about. “I think there’s a Nintendo and a new hockey stick and a scooter and a Hula Hoop.”

The Santa lady looked puzzled. Oops, the Hula Hoop was Gina’s Christmas wish.

“You should go over there.” He pointed to a house across the street where a family had just moved in. They had seven kids and could probably use some extra presents. “But thanks anyway. Merry Christmas.”

“You’re a sweet boy, you know that?”

“Imagine,” he heard the woman Santa saying to the man Santa as they crossed the street. “Imagine being so generous at such a young age. Quite the little hero.”

I’m not a hero! he wanted to yell. You don’t understand!

The loud sound came again. He blinked himself awake on the cushiony workout mat. Right. Lake Bittersweet. The Mason house.