Page 2 of Wanting a Family Man

The man straightened as she came even with him and she halted, stepping out of his way so they wouldn’t risk knocking each other into the water.

Oh, shit.He wasTrystan Fraser.

A year and a half ago, Tiffany had sent her a link to a trailer forNever Alonewith the text,I’m dating this guy’s dad!

TheNever Aloneseries chronicled Trystan’s adventures and outdoor survival tips as he trekked into remote locations around the globe. He took only what he could carry, then documented how he was never really alone. There was always wildlife and insects and a thriving ecosystem around him.

Cloe had watched way too many hours of him talking intimately into the camera while she’d been in protective custody. That’s what really made her falter into speechlessness—awe at facing her celebrity crush.

He was taller than she had expected, familiar yet infinitely more handsome with his neatly trimmed dark hair and straight brows and strong bone structure beneath a naturally tanned complexion. He also radiated a dynamic self-confidence that was even more powerful in person than on screen. He wassexier, which was saying something because she lived for the handful of episodes where he took his shirt off.

While she stood there agog, mute and practically drooling, his gaze swept over her in a way that felt like male interest—which gave her a lurching yes-no response that swung wildly between invitation and rejection. He had a girlfriend, didn’t he?

He gave her a friendly nod and a self-deprecating smile that said,Yeah, I’m that guy from that show.

Oh God.She winced inwardly. He must get this fangirl reaction a lot. How mortifying.

“Are we leaving today or what?” another man asked, making her realize there were two men already in the boat.

Did they see how obvious she was behaving?

“Yeah.” Trystan moved around her and stepped aboard, using his foot to push the boat away from the wharf as he did. The engine was already rumbling. The boat motored into an arc away from the wharf.

Wait. Was thatthem? All of Wilf Fraser’s sons? Which one had custody of Storm?

Cloe had glanced at their socials many times, hoping to spot her niece in one of their photos, so she recognized the man who remained on his feet at the helm. That was the eldest, Reid. The one who’d spoken was settling into the shotgun seat. He was Logan, the middle brother. Trystan settled behind the driver’s seat, facing backward.

He held her gaze another moment, until they were too far away for her to even call out to stop them.

She wanted to kick herself. Had she really just let them get away like that? She could have wept. What anidiot.

No crying, she scolded herself. She’d done enough of that, and it didn’t fix anything. She was tired and hungry. That was the problem.

She decided to treat herself to breakfast in the pub restaurant while she figured out her next move and took a table on the patio so she could watch for the men to return.

Over eggs and toast, she learned that yes, those had been the Fraser men heading to Bella Bella, where she’d just come from. Which figured. They hadn’t had a baby with them, though. Did that mean Storm was still here with someone? Her nanny, maybe?

“I was hoping to speak to one of them,” Cloe told the server when she brought her bill. “I don’t have a phone. Do you know where I could leave a message?”

“Go into the office. Take the stairs beside the hardware store or…” She pointed to a house on the bluff that overlooked the marina. “That’s where Reid and his wife live. Emma’s probably home with the baby. You could talk to her.”

Emma. That was the name of Tiff’s nanny. Cloe scraped the recesses of her mind for what Tiffany had said about her. She was from Australia, wasn’t she? No. New Zealand?

That didn’t matter. Cloe’s heart clutched with nervous excitement at how close she was to seeing Storm.

“Thank you.” She tipped as well as her dwindling cash would allow and left, shouldering her small backpack and making her way across the grassy verge where a couple of picnic tables overlooked the marina.

She was getting a better look at this place now that she was on foot. It was cute, but for someone who’d grown up in LA, it was mind-bogglingly small.

All the essentials seemed to be here, though. A licensed eatery, a hardware store, a grocery store that also served as post office and liquor store, a laundromat, and an espresso bar that also sold gifts, housewares, and ice cream.

She paused outside the grocery store to read the flyers on the corkboard, hoping to see a cheap room to rent. There was only an offer of free kittens and someone selling used tires.

As she reached the far side of what might be called a town square, she arrived at the two hotel lodges. One was utilitarian, but looked newly refurbished. The other was likely the one that Tiffany had regarded as the jewel that would draw a wealthier clientele to the cove. It was built of massive logs and tons of glass. Each room had a wide balcony that overlooked the water.

That building was the first thing that struck Cloe as pure Tiff. Her sister had longed to be someone who “did something.” She had wanted to be a boss—not the metaphorical kind. The kind who owned a company and hired people and was taken seriously. She had always been drawn to home décor and house flipping and everything high-end so all of this seemed right up her alley.

Cloe stepped inside long enough to learn from reception that even the rooms in the “old” lodge were priced sky-high. Also, they were booked out through October and, no, they didn’t need help in housekeeping at this time.

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