Page 1 of Love Me Tender

Chapter 1

Can’t wait to have you on board, hot stuff!

The email message was followed by a winking smiley-face emoticon with its red tongue hanging out.

Rory Prescott wanted to punch through her 27-inch, ultra-high-def 5K computer screen, pinch the little winkey-face between her fingers, and squish it to death.

Instead she typed “Never call me that again,” resisted the urge to add“asshole,”and hit the send button.

She pushed away from the desk and shoved her feet into her ratty old boots. Grabbing her jacket, she strode out of her one-room apartment and into the fall evening. The crisp, salty ocean air, as familiar as the smell of home-baked cookies, washed over her. A gray layer of marine fog covered the sky.

Tugging her long black hair from her jacket collar, she walked swiftly toward Starfish Avenue. With the start of fall, the tourists had all departed from the coastal northern California town of Bliss Cove, while students of the private Skyline College had returned for the new school year. Now that October was approaching, the town had settled into its usual autumn rhythm of cooler days, busy students, and preparations for the upcoming Harvest Festival.

She turned off Starfish Avenue and walked to a cluster of wood-and-stone buildings located near a redwood grove that spread out into the surrounding forest. White lights twinkled over the ivy-covered main building, which bore a crooked sign reading Mousehole Tavern. Inside, people clustered around the red-and-white checkered tables, laughing and chatting. “Stairway to Heaven” drifted from an old jukebox, and a fire crackled in the stone hearth dominating one wall.

Pulling off her jacket, Rory tossed it onto a coat rack. Her boots clomped on the worn wooden floor as she made her way across the room. She scanned the crowd before her gaze landed on Grant Taylor, the owner of the Mousehole, who was mixing a drink behind the bar.

The tension in her shoulders eased a bit. Though Grant’s back was to her, the sight of his big, solid frame was a welcome reminder that some things in life, and some people, were constant.

“Scotch, straight up.” She slapped her hand on the bartop.

“Whoa.” Grant turned from setting a drink in front of another customer and squinted at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong? I just want a scotch.”

Grant tossed a towel over his shoulder, his eyebrows pulling together beneath his wavy brown hair. Though at thirty-five, he wasn’t that much older than Rory’s thirty, he’d always had a penetrating way of looking at her, like a wise old owl who saw more than he let on.

Sometimes she didn’t mind it because no one got past her shield if she didn’t let them, so it didn’t matter what Grant thought he saw. Other times, she wished he’d just give her what she asked for and go away. She liked knowing he was always here, but she didn’t want him getting too close.

“Five years I’ve owned this place,” he said, “and you’ve never ordered a scotch.”

“How would you remember that?”

He tapped his temple. “It’s my job.”

“Scotch. Straight up.”

With a shrug, Grant poured her drink and set it in front of her. Somewhat unnervingly, he stood there watching as she took a swallow. The liquor burned down her throat.

“What?” she snapped.

He folded his arms over his broad chest. “You okay?”

“Of course I’mokay.” Rory pulled her phone out of her back jeans pocket. She was always okay. As the middle sister of three, she was the independent one, the peacekeeper, the sister who didn’t need anything.

Acutely aware of Grant’s stare, she ducked her head and pulled up an app on her phone. He turned and walked away. At least the phone trick always worked to get rid of him. Technology was to Grant what DEET was to mosquitos.

Rory scrolled the local apartment listings. None of them would offer her a short-term lease. All of the B&Bs and the Outside Inn had been booked up for weeks, thanks to the influx of students, the upcoming parents’ weekend at Skyline, and then the Harvest Festival.

Tossing her phone down, she swallowed more scotch. She could leave Bliss Cove early, but she needed to give her mother time to find and train a replacement at the Sugar Joy Bakery. And truth be told, Rory needed time to get used to the idea of leaving again.

Two years. She had moved back to Bliss Cove from San Jose after her father had died almost two years ago.

She’d expected to stay for a couple of months. She’d help her older sister Callie deal with the paperwork, support their devastated mother, and work to keep Sugar Joy open when Eleanor Prescott wanted to shut the bakery down for good. Then their sister Aria left town, and Rory had felt obligated to stay for just a little longer.

“A little longer” had turned into two years. Rory had been working part-time at Sugar Joy and spent the rest of the time writing technology articles and staying up-to-date on all the changes in the high-tech industry. She’d taken online courses and completed several remote contract jobs.

Now Sugar Joy was thriving, and Eleanor was involved in a relationship with a very nice man, Henry, whom she’d met last spring. Aria and Callie were both blissfully happy in their work and personal lives. The pain of Gordon Prescott’s death was giving way tolifeagain.

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