Page 9 of Somewhere You Belong

But in small towns like Carrington Cove, people make it their business to knowyourbusiness, and that is not something I want to flirt with while I’m here, especially if those people look anything like that man, someone Idefinitelywanted to flirt with.

I’ve watched enough Hallmark movies to know what to avoid in a small town, and the man in question was wearing a freaking flannel.

That’s like red flag number one!

It’s not as if I’ve never seen a good-looking man before. I mean, I live in the capital of our country. They’re everywhere—dressed in custom tailored suits, clutching briefcases like they hold all their power, smirking over cups of gourmet coffee, and eye-fucking you as you walk down the street in your heels and pencil skirt. Until they find out you’re the owner of a multimillion-dollar business, and they only see you as a threat to their manhood.

Speaking of manhood, the image of that restaurant owner pops back into my mind for the fifth time since I left his bar, including the noticeable bulge in his jeans, indicating the size of his own manhood.

Jesus, Willow. Get a grip.

Ogling the citizens of this town while I’m here is definitely not onmyto-do list, so I do my best to block out our brief interaction, start my car, and pull out of the parking space I found down the small one-way street near the building. I just needed a drink to take the edge off after the six-hour drive from Washington, D.C., and the eerie feeling I got as I crossed into the town limits—like this place held secrets and feelings, both of which I’ve been avoiding most of my life.

Turns out two drinks still wasn’t enough to keep those feelings at bay.

After receiving that letter, let’s just say unresolved feelings are all I’ve been able to focus on for the past few days—feelings a woman like me doesn’t have time for.

I make my way down the two-lane road that winds along the coast, passing by small shops and businesses nestled tightly together along the boardwalk while the cove that offers the town’s namesake glistens under the moonlight.

Part of me wonders what it would have been like to grow up in a place like this, where everyone knows your name, life is a lot slower, and people born here rarely ever leave.

Would my life be different if I grew up here?

The sign for the Carrington Cove Inn comes into view on my right just another mile up the road, so I take the exit and then pull into one of the empty parking spaces left in the lot. For a small inn, this place sure seems to be popular.

“Good evening.” The cheery gray-haired woman behind the counter greets me as soon as I step inside.

“Hello. I have a reservation.” I reach into my purse for my wallet.

“Okay, great. Can I have your name, please?”

“Willow Marshall,” I reply, pulling out my credit card as the woman clicks away on the keyboard.

“I’m Dolly,” she offers with a smile before glancing back at the screen. “Ah, yes. There you are. Good thing you called ahead. We’re booked solid for the weekend.”

“It did look like the lot was full out there.”

“Tourists. Our little town depends on them for survival.”

“Well, I’m not here for a vacation, that’s for sure,” I mutter under my breath.

The woman narrows her eyes at me, but a smile remains on her face. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away?” I grin, appreciating how friendly this woman is compared to the bar owner from earlier.

Her eyes dance up and down my body. “Business attire, a purse that costs more than my mortgage probably…”

I decide not to give her a response to that remark because I’m pretty sure the answer is a resounding yes.

“What brings you to town then?”

I hand her my credit card and she finishes checking me in. “Just tying up some loose ends,” I reply.

“Loose ends? Sounds messy.”

“Messier than I need it to be or have time for.” I flash her a tight-lipped smile as I take my card back from her. “So what room am I in?”

“104. It’s the fourth room down that hallway to your right.”

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