Page 23 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

“Sure,” she smiles, “There’s actually a great little swimming hole in the woods. Locals only,” she adds. “I probably shouldn’t even mention it, but hey, I loved you in Nightfall.” She names one of my first jobs from years ago, a trashy teen vampire soap.

“Wow, deep cut,” I joke. “I haven’t thought about that show in years.”

She laughs. “What can I say? You really sold me that you were your own evil twin!”

The potter gives me directions to the pond – and makes me swear never to reveal the location to anyone who hasn’t spent at least a decade in Blackberry Cove – so I stop back at the cottage to drop off the vases and pack a beach bag, then set off on my big day out in nature.

It’s a fresh, blue-skied summer day, and as I stride across the open fields with the ocean glittering in the distance; I have to admit, this place is growing on me. Sure, I’m still pining for that perfect iced dirty chai, and missing the magic of my regular spa masseuse, but Brooke was right with all her teasing: if I’m going to be cast out of Hollywood in exile…

There are worse places to wind up than right here.

I snap a photo of woods and trees, then send it to her to post online for me.

“Hashtag, restore, revive, relax,’?” she replies, a moment later.

I snort. It’s vague, bland, and upbeat. Which makes it the perfect caption for a pic on my official social media account.

“You are getting way too good at this.” I text back.

“It’s a gift!”

I tuck my phone away, on the lookout for the sign that’s supposed to be posted, pointing me past the woods. Sure enough, there’s an old wooden marker that sends me through the trees, and out to another wide open field.

I keep hiking, feeling more upbeat than I have done in weeks. That caption isn’t all bullshit, I realize with a wry grin. Nature has its perks. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and there are no pesky photographers hiding out on the trail like back in LA – ready to capture you in all your sweaty, red-faced glory. I can’t ever get away from them in the city, but here?

Well, the only person I can’t escape in Blackberry Cove seems to be Duke Hendricks,

all six foot two of impatient frowning and questionable taste in backwards baseball caps.

Just my luck.

I walk a little faster, hot now in the midday sun. Of course, it’s just the sun making my temperature rise, and not the memories of last night: sitting there in the passenger seat with my heart racing, waiting for his kiss…

The kiss that didn’t come, because Duke has no interest in kissing me, I remind myself sternly. Just like I have zero real interest in locking lips with him. I mean, imagine it!

I do.

Vividly.

Duke’s strong arms pulling me closer… his stubbled jaw against my cheek… that flash of amusement in his blue eyes turning to something hotter. Hungrier…

I shake it off. That’s one black mark against Blackberry Cove at least: I haven’t been able to get away from the guy. In LA, I could break up with a man and literally never lay eyes on him again – especially if he lives on the West Side. But here? Duke’s everywhere. On the highway, driving by the Sandpiper, and?—

Striding out of the woods, right in front of me.

What the hell?

I stop dead in my tracks, gaping at him – and not even sure it really is him, or just some apparition my mind has conjured up to torment me.

A bare-chested apparition, wearing faded jeans and boots, with his T-shirt bunched in his hand. His hair looks damp for some reason, water dripping down his neck, and over those broad shoulders…

My jaw drops.

OK, this overactive imagination of mine is going too far. I mean, does it really need to hallucinate the vision of Duke without his shirt on, his skin tanned, and dusted with dark hair that trails all the way down to his?—

“Are you stalking me?” the imaginary Duke sees and stops, scowling.

I blink, processing the vision.

---