Page 2 of Me and Mr. Just Right

But that wasn’t the kind of information you divulged to a complete stranger, even if you were recognizably famous and running from the world,andhis rumbly voice made you want to curl into him like a kitten,andhe smelled, inexplicably, like sunshine.

Especially notthen. Lia tipped her head and took him in carefully. How did Mr. Ruggedly Handsome feel about celebrity mash-up names? That was her new litmus test for how much to trust someone from now on.

Oh, Lia. So optimistic, thinking you’ll trust people again.

The plane lurched to the side, and someone’s soda cup rolled past her feet, leaving a sticky brown line in its wake.

“If you get the chance, make sure you head to the beach at low tide.” His deliciously low voice yanked her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She tore her gaze from the soda staining the corner of her canvas bag. “Why?” Her throat was dry.

“If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.” He gave her a mischievous smile, and the stranglehold her fingers had on the armrest relaxed. Perhaps he worked for the Petersburg tourist center. Or he was the mayor or something, because he clearly loved this city. “Also, if you have time, look for the bookstore—it’s in a Victorian-style home—and walk around the Norwegian village.”

Focus on those dimples.“Any book recommendations?”

“What do you like to read?”

“Poetry. Historical.”

He leaned even closer, like he was divulging some secret only the two of them could hear, but also like he was trying to block her view of the woman across the aisle crying hysterically. “They have an entire Alaska section. You really can’t go wrong there. For fiction, I loveThe Snow Child. For nonfiction, they have several collections of journals from travelers, or guides for animal and plant life in southeast Alaska.”

Lia didn’t pull away, even though she should. Mostly because she didn’t want to see the crying lady, but partly because this close, she could see the tiny freckles on his nose that added a unexpectedly boyish touch to his face. “Are you trying to distract me?” she whispered.

His lips twitched into a half smile that made her stomach squeeze. “A little bit. Is it working?”

“A little bit,” she repeated. If the last sight she saw was those eyes, well, there were worse ways to go. “I fly often, but never on planes this small.”

“I take this flight at least once a month.” He relaxed back into his seat, to her disappointment. He peeked over his shoulder at the crying woman, who was being comforted by her seatmate, before looking back at Lia. “It’s pretty rough at least half the time, but we always make it out okay. And the reward of Petersburg is worth it. Don’t let the clouds fool you. Southeast Alaska is paradise.”

“You live here?”

“Sometimes.”

What did that mean?

Before she could ask him, the pilot came over the speaker. “Sorry about all that bumping around, folks. Welcome to Petersburg, Alaska. Local time is 1407. Weather is sixty-five degrees and cloudy, but I see some sun poking through. We’ll have you landed in about fifteen minutes.”

The plane evened out enough for Lia to put her hands in her lap. Mr. Ruggedly Handsome gave her a crooked grin and turned to the crying woman across the aisle. He took her hand and started deep-breathing exercises that the woman copied until her shuddering breaths calmed.

When the plane landed, more than one person cheered.

Lia’s seatmate indicated that she should precede him from the plane while he waited for the panicked woman, who looked extra pale. Just before exiting, Lia couldn’t resist peeking back to find him hauling bags down for an older couple. Men like him didn’t exist in her world.

She stepped from the plane and onto the stairs that descended onto the tarmac, inhaling a deep breath of cool air. July in Alaska might be heaven. Though she loved Nashville—well, she did,before—she didn’t hate escaping the wet cocoon of heat this time of year.

A light mist fell from the sky, and Lia slung her soda-dampened bag over her shoulder as she followed the passengers out to the front of the trailer turned airport. She stayed apart from everyone, with her head turned toward the road, until their bags were driven out to them on a cart.

Her soul sighed with relief when she spotted her guitar on top. This guitar predated Bo and even Gwen. Most of Lia’s songs were written with her fingers strumming over that body. She snatched it from a worker and then knelt to open the case to assure herself it was, in fact, in one piece. It had survived the Petersburg Plane Incident in Lia’s Heartbreak Tour. Or what would her PR firm, her manager, her recording studio, and her family call this adventure if she’d told them about it? The Pity-Party Tour? The She’s Lost Her Mojo Tour?

The Sour Grapes Tour, Inner Gwen whispered.

Regardless, the invite list had one person on it: Lia Halifax.

She closed the case and then did what she should have done the second she’d stepped off the plane—rifled through her back for her floppy hat and oversized sunglasses. Armor on, she turned toward the tiny parking lot and spotted a young woman standing in front of a dark blue truck, holding a sign that said “Lia.”

She was much younger than Lia expected—early twenties, maybe. She wore cutoff shorts with a black hoodie, and her long brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. Most of all, Lia adored her waterproof boots. She’d turned down the cuff to reveal red-and-white octopus fabric beneath the latex.

“Rose?” Lia asked as she approached.

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