Bookmarked: a dog-eared romance is now available at Amazon.

Chapter One

BEE DAVIS TEETERED ON THE TOP RUNG of her father’s old wooden ladder, one hand holding a wrench and the other gripping the exposed pipes over her head. While she struggled to secure the head of the wrench around the connection of the two pipes, another bead of water collected at the base of the fitting and dropped into the waiting bucket below with a loud thwap. 

“I don’t know why my dad thought exposed pipes were a good idea for a bookstore,” she muttered through gritted teeth. 

Thwap.

At the base of the ladder, Violet Kim craned her neck, squinting up at Bee through her thick black glasses. Her pastel hair, the same color as her name, was pulled back into a ponytail that swished as she shook her head. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”

Bee glanced down at her employee. Home on summer break from Ithaca College, Violet was an all-star lacrosse player who was built like a house. Bee could see the outline of the young woman’s muscles beneath the sleeves of her tee shirt and had no doubt Violet would be infinitely better suited to repair the pipe than she was. Yet, Bee was the boss, and Bee wasn’t about to make her only employee do anything she couldn’t do herself.  

Thwap.

“I got it,” she said, returning her attention to the pipe and giving it a good twist with the wrench. Only the wrench slipped from her hand and Bee lurched forward with a gasp. The tool clanged hard against the fitting on its way down to the floor and Bee watched in horror as water suddenly sprayed from the pipe connection. Below, Violet shrieked as the torrent rained down upon her head, but to her credit, never let go of the ladder. 

“The tarp!” Bee cried, stumbling down the ladder rungs. She yanked the blue plastic from beneath their feet and thrust it toward Violet. “Quick! Cover the books!”

Violet scrambled to spread the tarp wide. She held it up against the spray, blocking the worst of it from getting to the shelves behind her. “What are you going to do?” she yelled over the noise. 

“Shut off the main valve!” Bee cried, already racing for the basement door. She flew down the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping in the dark. She pulled the shoestring that hung from the single bulb and frantically scanned the maze of pipes along the back wall, searching for the right lever. 

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, pushing her wet hair out of her face, panic rising. Finally, she spotted it and cranked the lever down with all her might. 

She hurried back up the stairs to find Violet dripping wet but grinning in relief. 

“Well, that could have been a disaster,” Bee said sarcastically. 

Violet laughed- a short, sharp bark, and pushed her water-logged bangs out of her eyes. “At least the books are okay.”

Bee put her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage. Violet was right. Most of the books- though not all, she noted- had made it out no worse for the wear. “Thanks to you,” she said. She grinned at Violet. “You did a great job,” she said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Violet shrugged casually and started to shake out the tarp. “You probably would’ve broken your neck wobbling on that ladder like that.” She eyed the old rickety contraption. “You guys need to buy a new one.”

Bee silently agreed. But getting her dad, who held the purse strings of Bookmarked in a tight grip, wouldn’t have. Arthur Davis believed there was no need to buy something new if you already had a ‘perfectly serviceable’ option on hand. She collapsed the ladder and laid it against the wall. 

“I had to turn off the main line,” she said, gingerly picking up one of the books that had gotten the worst of the water. She turned it over in her hand. Essential Pre-Raphaelites. She felt a bloom of the old shame and quickly picked up the equally sodden book next to it. “So if you need to pee, you’ll have to go next door to the Tourism Board.”

Violet nodded. “It’s no big deal,” she said, squatting down to help Bee collect the casualties. “What are we gonna do with these?” she asked. 

Bee stood up, her arms full of wet paper and binding.  “We’ll lay them out to dry overnight,” she said, carrying them to the front of the store. “But honestly, I don’t think it matters much. These types of books don’t sell well.” She deposited the pile onto the wide wooden desk that served as the counter. Privately, she didn’t think they’d sold a single one since the day Arthur had bought them. It had been his way of showing he could be supportive of her decisions. And look how well that had turned out. 

Pasting a smile on her face, she turned to the young woman behind her. “You might as well go home,” she said. “I’ll close up tonight.”

Violet raised her eyebrows. “You sure?” she asked. “I could stay and help—”

Bee waived away her protestations. “No, it’s fine. Go home and get changed. It’s already,” she checked the clock on the wall behind the desk, “five-thirty.” She shot Violet a quick smile. “How many customers can I possibly get in thirty minutes?”

Violet didn’t waste any more of Bee’s time with false protestations. She shrugged and grabbed her tattered backpack. “See you tomorrow?” she asked her hand on the door handle. 

Bee nodded and smiled, but it was starting to feel a little forced. “Sure,” she said. “See you then.” She watched the young woman leave, the bell chiming in her wake, and then looked down at the pile of soggy art history books stacked haphazardly on the front desk. Their swollen pages oozed water onto the worn wood. She sighed, picking one up and watching as clear water dripped from its spine. 

It was fitting, she decided, that her dad’s misguided attempt at support meet this kind of end. She set the book down and looked around the cramped interior of Bookmarked. Very fitting indeed. 

With Violet gone, Bee retrieved the mop from her tiny cramped office slash supply closet in the back and started mopping up the water from the aged wooden floor. She had to give Violet credit; outside of that first blast of water, almost no other books had been harmed. Bee was stowing away the last of the cleaning supplies when the bell above the door sang its welcoming tune. A tourist couple, middle-aged and enamored, stepped inside.

As they explored the aisles, Bee observed them from the front desk, her eyes lingering on the way the man’s arm looped around the woman’s waist. The affection was casual, easy—like breathing. He pulled her closer and planted a soft kiss on her temple. For a moment, Bee’s professional smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet yearning. She quickly shook off the feeling and returned to her tasks.

The couple finally made their selections and approached the counter. Bee tallied up the total, and the old brass register chimed its approval.

“Thank you for stopping by,” she said, passing them a paper bag filled with books. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

The woman’s face lit up as if Bee had handed her a priceless treasure. “We will,” she assured Bee. “This is such a charming little town, I don’t think I’m ever going to want to leave.”

The man chuckled. “I think your mom would appreciate it if we came home eventually.”

The woman shushed him. “Oh, stop. She loves being with the kids. This weekend is going be like heaven for her.” She flashed Bee a smile as the man held the door open for her and then they were gone, still mock arguing, grinning at each other like teenagers.

Once they had left, Bee went to the door, flipped the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed,’ and locked up. She watched through the glass as the couple ambled down the sidewalk, their hands clasped together as they moved down the sidewalk toward the lake.

Bee leaned her forehead against the door, her heart heavy. Why was finding someone so difficult? In Eatonhead, her choices were slim: a few lifelong locals and a community of retirees who had made the town their sanctuary. Though she knew each by name, none had touched her heart.

And what she was yearning for—what she saw in that couple—required heart.

With a sigh, she carefully opened the wet books and left them to dry on the front desk. Keys in hand, she flipped the lights off and stepped outside, locking the doors behind her. The late-spring wind played with her damp hair and sent a chill through her wet tee shirt. Shivering, she took a deep breath, pocketed her keys, and set off down the sidewalk. 

Even though it was almost June, the evening air that blew off the lake was chilled. Bee wrapped her arms around her waist and ducked her head against the insistent breeze. The stores of Eatonhead were closing up around her. She smiled and nodded to Barbara, who was wheeling in a sweatshirt display rack back into her shop, The Camp Store. 

“I can’t believe Memorial Day is only a few weeks away,” the older woman commented. “It feels earlier every year!”

“I know, right?” Bee laughed. She gave the other woman a small wave and hurried down the sidewalk. 

Barbara was right. Tourist season was right around the corner. The official kickoff was Memorial Day when the town would host its annual star-spangled bannered picnic in the park. It was a big deal, with BBQ competitions and a fireworks display. After that, summer hours would start for many of the stores in Eatonhead (including Bookmarked) as they stayed open late to catch the tourists who stopped to listen to the live music that played in the park. 

The Memorial Park was the center of town, both literally and figuratively. Elaborate and picturesque, with old-fashioned globe lights dotting the concrete walks that crossed the green grass, it was the place that locals and tourists alike congregated. A large ornate gazebo sat at the southern end like a throne, painted white and green and overseeing all activity on the green lawns. In the summer, the town strung cafe lights from the gazebo to the lamp posts, lighting the whole park up like something out of an old movie. 

Bookmarked, along with The Camp Store and several other shops, lined the eastern edge of the park, while the town’s old movie theatre sat majestically on the opposite side. Now, the theatre was only open on Fridays and Saturdays, but like the rest of the town, it would come alive when the summer season started, playing old black-and-white movies on the weekdays for anyone who might want to stop and watch. 

Bee passed Gusto’s and was treated to a whiff of basil and garlic, making her stomach rumble. She forced her feet to move faster. With any luck, Clark would be cooking tonight, and she would get the real thing. 

Bee dodged the short line that trailed out the bright blue door of the Crooked Lake Creamery as people eagerly awaited their scoops of black raspberry and salted caramel. She turned the corner and headed toward Lake Street- toward home. A dog barked somewhere in the distance as she passed the overgrown hedge of Sandy McAddam’s place. To Bee, it would always be Sandy’s place. Of course, Sandy and her family hadn’t lived there for almost a decade. Her parents had sold the house not long after Bee and Sandy had graduated high school for a tidy sum to out-of-towners. 

It was the same story everywhere in town.

The old Queen Anne on the corner had been bought by a rich old couple back when Bee was just a kid, and now their grandkids summered there. The big old mayoral house down the street, closer to the lake, had been purchased this last year by a well-to-do gay couple and was undergoing renovations. It felt like more than half the houses on Lake Street were dark, waiting for the summer months when their owners would come to town and open them up. 

As she rounded the corner onto Lake Street proper, Bee felt the quiet hush of the neighborhood envelop her. The maple trees’ broad canopies blocked out the setting sun, cloaking the street in perpetual dusk. In the distance, the bustle of the town square faded away until only her soft footfalls broke the silence.

Up ahead, she could see the warm glow of lamplight spilling from the front windows of her father and Clark’s house. Bee’s steps slowed. She paused beneath the maple in front of the house, one hand trailing over the rough bark. She tipped her head back, breathing in the cool evening air. Above her, the branches rustled in a soft breeze. 

She loved this town. 

She almost hated to admit how much she loved it. 

She knew it didn’t have much. There was no Wal-Mart or Target, only the small corner grocery store. There was no home improvement store or golf course. You had to travel up to Penn-Yan or Geneva for something like that. But it did have an abundance of charm, and she knew every one of the locals. It was home. 

It always had been. Even when she’d lived in the city. 

With a sigh, she dropped her hand and climbed the stairs to the porch. They creaked under her weight. Home sweet home, even if the peeling paint and sagging floorboards betrayed its age. She paused at the front door, admiring Clark’s handiwork. He had painted the screen doors a cheerful green. The cool color brightened up the old Victorian. 

When Bee pulled open the squeaky screen door, the savory aroma of garlic greeted her, which meant Clark was cooking up something delicious in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Dad,” Bee said, pausing in the doorway to the living room. Bee’s father, Arthur, sat with the newspaper in his battered recliner. 

He peered at her over his glasses. “Bee. How was your day?”

She shrugged. “It was fine.” She eyed his chair. Arthur preferred to be on his feet. “Your hip okay?” 

“Yes,” he said brusquely, going back to his newspaper. 

She hesitated in the doorway for a moment longer, then when it was clear Arthur had no more words for her, she followed her nose to the kitchen. 

Clark Spencer stood at the stove, his bald brown head shining under the overhead light. He wore the black and white striped apron she got him for Christmas a few years ago and hummed as he stirred the pot in front of him. 

“The doors look great,” she said, pecking his cheek. She took a deep breath. “Mmmm. That smells good already.”

Clark turned and smiled. “I thought I’d celebrate the coming of Summer with my nan’s best pomodoro-” Then, he took in her expression. “What’s wrong?” His dark eyes scanned her face, then her body with a frown. “And why are you damp?”

She shrugged. “That pipe is giving me issues again.”

Clark’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh no. Not the one your father—” 

Bee nodded. 

“Yeah,” she said. “That one.”

Clark swore. “That pipe will be the death of this family,” he said. 

She began to pull down the deep pasta bowls from the cupboard. “It’s fine for now,” she said. “I turned off the water, but we need to get it looked at.”

Clark nodded thoughtfully and began scooping pasta into the wide bowls. He handed them to her as he finished each one, and she deposited them on the small round table in the corner of the kitchen.

“Arthur!” Clark called as he untied his apron. “Dinner!” He turned to Bee. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said as he settled into his customary chair at the table and reached for one of the glasses of wine he’d already poured. 

“Do what?” Arthur asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway. He limped to one of the remaining chairs and dropped into it with a grimace. 

“That pipe burst again,” Clark said, taking a drink from his glass. 

“What pipe?” Arthur asked with a frown. 

His husband gave him an exasperated look. “The one you almost killed yourself on!”

Arthur’s expression soured. “I didn’t do anything of the sort.”

Clark snorted. “Yeah, and I’m Mariah Carey.”

“Clark—” Arthur started, but Clark shook his head. 

“Arthur, I don’t want to argue about it,” he said firmly. “But the truth of the matter is that the plumbing in that store is atrocious. I mean, look at your daughter!”

Both men turned to look at Bee as she was squeezing into the last remaining chair. The wooden back scraped against the wall as she moved. Clark winced, and her lips twisted into a silent apology. 

“What about her?” Arthur asked. 

“She’s soaking wet!”

Bee would hardly say she was soaking wet. “I’m fine—” she started, but Clark held up a hand. 

“She had to turn off the water in the building today just to keep that pipe from exploding.”

That wasn’t exactly what happened, and Bee opened her mouth to say so, but Arthur beat her to it. He looked at her with renewed intensity. 

“You did what now?”

“The water was getting everywhere,” she explained, “so I had to turn off the main line—”

“And just how exactly am I supposed to sell that apartment with no water?” he cut in. “Why didn’t you just fix it?”

She frowned at him. “I tried,” she said, “but it only made things worse—”

Her father grumbled. “Great, now I’ll have to call Joe in the morning and get it patched up.”

Her frown deepened. “With all due respect, Dad, I think we need more than just a patch job. We need to have the whole system replaced, maybe move it to the back wall or something—”

“And cut off water to the apartment upstairs? Can’t do that. We need the rental income.” Arthur waved his hand in dismissal. 

Bee sucked in a breath, anger simmering beneath the surface. Not this again. “If we expanded the store upstairs, we wouldn’t need the apartment revenue. That space has been vacant since I came home. It’s been two years. No one wants it.”

Arthur’s face reddened. “We’ve been over this. The renovation would cost a fortune.”

“But think of the potential! We could double our inventory. Barb at The Camp Shop did it, and business is booming.” Bee leaned forward, willing her father to consider.

He banged his fist on the table, making the silverware jump. “You want to turn my store into a novelty shop? Selling sweatshirts and scented candles?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bee shot back.

Clark reached over and grasped Arthur’s arm. “Hey now, let’s all just take a breath.” 

But the damage was done. Bee’s eyes watered as she stared down at her congealing dinner, the pasta blurring together. She pressed her lips into a firm line and stood up, the chair back scraping the wall again. 

“You know what? I’m not hungry,” she bit out, throwing her napkin on the table. 

BEE SLAMMED THE SCREEN DOOR BEHIND HER, the bang echoing in the quiet evening air. She sank onto the top step of the front porch, wrapping her arms around her knees. The empty street stretched before her, the homes dark and still. 

She heard the squeak of the door as Clark stepped outside. He eased down beside her with a soft groan, the old wood creaking under his weight. 

“He doesn’t mean it, you know,” Clark said gently. “He just has a hard time with change.”

Bee kept her eyes fixed on the vacant houses across the road. “He thinks I’m trying to ruin everything he built.” 

“Hey now, none of that.” Clark bumped her shoulder. “You’ve got ideas, is all. Good ones, if you ask me.” 

“Then why can’t he see that?” She dropped her forehead onto her knees. “I’m trying to help, not take over.”

Clark smoothed down her hair. “Your father’s stubborn. You know that better than anyone.” He cupped her chin, turning her to meet his eyes. “But he loves you, Bee. Deep as the ocean. He’ll come around, you’ll see.”  

Bee’s throat tightened, and she nodded. 

“Remember when you first headed off to college?” Clark asked, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “You were so excited to get out there and take on the world.”

Bee nodded, a wistful smile touching her lips. “I couldn’t wait to finally be out on my own.”

“Your dad and I were so proud of you. You got that internship at the Metropolitan right after graduating, and then they hired you full-time.” Clark shook his head. “You were really going places.” Clark let out a heavy sigh and wrapped one long arm around her. “I know you gave up a lot to come back and help with the bookstore. It kills me to think you blew your chance at that life.”

He looked down at her, his dark eyes serious. “Do you want to go back, honey? We wouldn’t blame you in the least—”

She quickly shook her head no. “It’s too late for that,” she said, her throat tightening as she fought back a swell of emotion. “I’d have to start all over.” And there was no point in that. 

Clark hugged her tight. “We just want you to be happy, honey.”

She looked down at her hands. “I am happy,” she said. It wasn’t much of a lie- she really was happy- for the most part.  

Clark sighed, and she got the impression that he didn’t believe her, but he let her have her lie for now. The fading sunlight stretched long shadows across the worn wooden planks of the porch steps as Bee and Clark sat side-by-side in pensive silence. Clark’s knees creaked audibly as he slowly stood up and turned to Bee.

“Would you mind running down to the market to grab a loaf of bread? Your father will need some for his toast in the morning,” Clark asked, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.  

“Of course,” Bee replied, standing up and brushing off her jeans. The little grocery store was just around the corner from their tiny Victorian house. 

“My knee’s acting up something awful today, or I’d go myself,” Clark said apologetically, rubbing at the offending joint.  

Bee waved off his concern and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his black bald head. “It’s no trouble at all. I could use the walk to clear my head after...everything.” 

With a weak smile, Bee turned and set off down the porch steps. She couldn’t resist taking in a deep breath of the sweet spring air, scented with lilac and honeysuckle. As she strolled down the quiet street bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, she felt the day’s tension and sadness over her argument with her father start to lift from her shoulders. By the time she reached the cheery glow of the grocery store windows, the tight knot in her chest had loosened, and she felt- not better so much as… clearer. 

Chapter Two

SWEAT GLISTENED ON KIT’S TANNED SKIN as he collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving. The blonde nestled into his side, her breasts pressed against his skin as she traced lazy circles on his chest. 

“Do you really have to go?” She pouted, gazing up at him through long lashes. 

He stroked her hair, staring up at the ceiling. “Just for the summer,” he said absently. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Her hand wandered down his stomach, toying with the hair that curled tightly below his belly button, and a shimmer of heat stirred in his groin again. She raised herself up on the bed, forcing him to look at her. “If you’re going to be gone that long, you should really make it up to me.” She grinned wickedly as she threw one leg over him and pressed herself against his stirring length. She was slick from the sex they’d just had, warm and slippery. 

He felt himself getting harder at the sensation and groaned. She was going to be the death of him. But she had a point—Eatonhead was going to be a desert. The only women were either eighty, or he’d known them since high school. He might as well take advantage of what she was offering while he could. 

He reached up and tweaked her nipple, making her gasp as arousal clouded her eyes. Taking advantage of her distraction, Kit rolled her onto her back, nudging her thighs apart and settling himself against her warmth. 

“You drive a hard bargain.” He kissed the curve of her neck, relishing her soft moan. “But I suppose I could be persuaded...” 

His hands roamed her body, stroking and teasing until she was writhing beneath him again, as ready and willing as always. As much as he hated to admit it, he’d miss this. He should be packing, but right now, he had more important things to focus on. 

Like making sure she didn’t forget him any time soon.

KIT STEPPED OFF THE PLANE into the Ithaca Tompkins International Airport, the stale recycled air hitting him like a wall. The wood and marble paneled walls were polished and slick, more for receiving special guests bound for Cornell University, not welcoming someone like him home.

Home. 

The thought of it was like a sour belch in his belly. It made his stomach cramp and his mouth twist down. He’d run away from this place years ago, never wanting to return, but yet, here he was. 

Coming home.

As he stalked through the halls, he scanned the crowds, looking for signs to the rental pickup, when he spotted a familiar petite figure waving eagerly at him. He gaped and before he could brace himself, she was rushing over to embrace him, filling his nose with the sweet floral notes of her perfume.

“Mom?” 

“Surprise!” His mother beamed and pecked him on the cheek. “I wanted to pick you up!” Lorraine’s soft gray hair and delicate features were so unlike his own rugged looks a stranger would be hard-pressed to guess they were mother and son. Where he was tall, she was short. Where he was dark, she was light. Only their matching brown eyes hinted at their relationship. She grabbed him into another hug. “Oh! I’m so happy! My baby is home again!”

“I told you I was going to get a rental,” Kit said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice as he reluctantly returned the hug. 

Lorraine waved a hand. “Oh, save your money. Besides! I wanted to come get you myself.” 

Before he could argue further, she had taken his bag and was steering him out the doors to the parking lot. “Wait till you see what I’m driving now,” she said with a grin over her shoulder.

Kit had to admit he was impressed when his mother led him across the sunny parking lot and stopped in front of a gleaming silver car. His eyes lingered on the sleek curves of the BMW as he despite his bag and closed the trunk. “This is nice, Mom,” he said, unable to keep the envy from his voice. 

Lorraine smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eye, and threw open the driver’s side door. “Robert got it for me before he passed,” Lorraine said, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. Then her bright smile returned. “But isn’t it gorgeous? It drives like a dream.”

Kit nodded as he slid into the passenger seat and reached for his seat belt. He felt a pang of guilt. His mother had been through a lot these past few years. The least he could do was indulge this attempt to take care of him, as misguided as it was.

“Yeah, it’s really nice, Mom,” he said. He adjusted the seat to give himself more legroom and then made himself concentrate on his mother. “So, how are you holding up?”

She smiled at him, but it looked forced. “Oh, you know me. I’m fine, honey.” She reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ve got your old room all ready for you.”

The sun glared harshly through the windshield as Lorraine guided the car out of the parking lot and down the hill into Ithaca. His mother jabbered on as they drove through the college town. 

“So tell me about Miami. How’s work?”

“Good,” he said, watching the town slip by. “Never a dull moment.”

Lorraine’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. “You meet anyone special yet?”

He grit his teeth, watching the landscape slowly transform from town into countryside. His mother had a one-track mind. “No, Mom. I’m just…” he sighed. “I’m just living.”

She reached over and patted his hand, her touch gentle but firm. “I know,” she said knowingly. There was a glint in her eyes that he couldn’t read, and she opened her mouth to say more but then seemed to stop herself. 

He hadn’t made this drive back to Eatonhead in over seven years, and yet the backroads hadn’t changed one bit. Ramshackle barns still stood crooked next to weathered farmhouses, the fields just as dull and vacant as he remembered. 

“Thanks for coming all this way, honey,” his mother said, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. “I know Miami’s much more exciting than this dusty old town.”

Kit turned to Lorraine and gave her a weak smile. “You don’t need to thank me, Mom. I’m happy to be here for you.” 

He wasn’t being totally honest, of course. This place held nothing but boredom for him now. But ever since Lorraine’s husband Robert had passed, she’d sounded so small and fragile over the phone. He couldn’t deny her anything, even if it meant subjecting himself to weeks of monotony in a dead-end town. 

Lorraine’s eyes crinkled with warmth, her hand still resting gently on his forearm. “You were always good to me. We’ll have fun, just like old times.” 

But Kit could hear the quiver in her voice. He knew facing life alone was breaking her heart. An ache of helplessness squeezed his chest. He had to find a way to cheer her up, even if it killed him. For now, he just gave her hand a supportive squeeze and turned his gaze back to the long stretch of road ahead.

The winding country road stretched before them, and the afternoon sun slanted through the windshield, casting everything in a golden glow as they drove past rolling green hills dotted with dandelions. Lorraine glanced over at Kit as he stared out the passenger window. 

“How’s Johnnie doing these days?” she asked. 

Kit turned, brown eyes meeting hers. “He’s good. Settled down, wife and kids now.” His gaze drifted back to the passing scenery. “Not as hands-on with the business anymore. He prefers to manage things from the office.”

“And you?” Lorraine asked gently. “Have you thought about the future?”

Kit let out a short laugh. “Me? No way.” He grinned at her. “I’m not made for that kind of life. Need to keep moving, find the next adventure.” 

Lorraine nodded a rueful smile on her lips. “You’ve always been that way, ever since you were a boy. Always off to the next thing before you’d even finished the first.” 

Kit looked down, conflicted emotions playing across his face. He cared for his mother, but her meddling wore on him. “The tours are perfect for me,” he said firmly. “They give me the lifestyle I want.”

“Of course,” Lorraine replied. She focused on the road ahead, but he could see the disappointment on her face. They drove on in silence for a moment before his mother’s face brightened. 

“Oh! You’ll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store the other day!”

“Who?” he asked, humoring her. 

“Rose! And when I told her you were coming up, so got so excited! She’s just over the moon that you’re coming back to town.”

Kit let out an exaggerated groan, sinking lower in his seat. “Come on, Mom. I haven’t seen her since we graduated. That was over fifteen years ago.”

“I know, I know,” Lorraine waved her hand dismissively. “But she’s still just as pretty as she was back then. And so sweet, too, even with those three little ones running her ragged. Such a shame about her husband leaving her like that,” Lorraine tsked. 

Kit tuned out his mother’s rambling, memories of him and Rose flooding his mind. Their intense teenage romance had burned hot and fast until it inevitably flamed out right before graduation. Kit’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t that reckless kid anymore. He had no interest in rekindling some old flame. But knowing his mother, she had already set the wheels in motion. 

“Oh, that reminds me!” Lorraine said brightly, interrupting his thoughts. “I told them you’d go in my place tonight.”

Kit blinked, tuning back in. Wait? What? An event? Tonight? His mother was looking at him expectantly. 

“What?” he asked. “Go where?”

Lorraine tsked, keeping her eyes on the road. “To the fundraiser! Weren’t you listening? It’s going to be so nice; they hired a band and everything. Rose will be there too.” She smiled over at him. “You should go, get out, and meet people your own age.”

“If you knew it was tonight, why didn’t you just buy two tickets?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to waste the money.”

Kit frowned, his shoulders tensing. “Don’t you need to be there yourself? For the planning committee or something?” His mother was always joining some kind of committee.   

“Oh, my knee is just killing me today,” Lorraine said breezily with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think I can make it. But you’ll have fun!”

Kit bit back a retort, noticing how energetically she was pressing the gas pedal for someone with a bad knee. 

“Mom, I just got into town. Can’t we do this another time?” 

Lorraine kept her eyes on the road. “Nonsense. Everyone is expecting you tonight.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“What about clothes? I didn’t bring anything for that kind of event.”

“I still have all of Robert’s things. He was the same height as you, and I’m sure we can find something of his that would be right for the occasion.”

Resigned to his fate, Kit turned his attention to the scenery passing by in a blur - the quaint village of Eatonhead, the thick forests, the sparkling blue lake. 

Several minutes later, his mother’s lake house soon crested into view, its cheerful dark blue clapboard lit by the bright afternoon sun. 

Lorraine’s voice softened as she pulled to a stop in front of the garages. “I know it’s not your scene, but it would mean so much to me if you went. Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself.” 

Kit looked into her hopeful eyes and felt his resistance fading. “Alright, I’ll go- for a bit. But you owe me one.” 

KIT STOOD IN FRONT OF THE FULL-LENGTH MIRROR, frowning at his reflection. The borrowed black pants sagged at his waist but, otherwise, fit his tall frame decently enough. At least Robert had been blessed with height. Kit buttoned up the pale blue oxford shirt, leaving the top couple buttons undone. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his piercing brown eyes glinting with irritation. 

“I look like I’m ready for a day on the golf course,” he muttered. 

His mother breezed into the room, holding a thin black tie. “Oh nonsense, you look handsome. Here,” she said reaching up to put the tie around his neck. “This will spruce it up.”Kit sighed but let her fuss over him. 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he said. “If I’m going to be paraded around like a show pony all summer, I might as well have stayed in Miami.”

His mother paused and looked him in the eye, her expression softening. “It’s one event for a good cause. Try to enjoy yourself.” 

Kit huffed skeptically but gave her a small smile. “Maybe Robert left behind some cufflinks in that treasure trove of yours. If I’m going to play the part, might as well go all in.”

KIT CRUISED INTO EATONHEAD, the familiar sights of the town making him feel both nostalgic and restless. He parked the silver BMW near the library, taking a moment to survey the changes since his last visit. The school buildings had received a much-needed facelift, and even the Bed and Breakfast owned by Rose’s parents gleamed with new paint. 

“Still picture-perfect,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the car, hands in his pockets, and made his way down the street toward the park. The park was unchanged, the old-fashioned globe streetlights casting a warm glow in the growing twilight. The trees swayed gently overhead as he made his way down the sidewalk toward the Park Inn.

As he rounded the corner, Kit noticed the vivid yellow doors of the bookstore were still the same, a comforting piece of familiarity amidst the changes. The ice cream shop, however, had been transformed by stark black and white paint – a modern touch on an old favorite.

As he approached the Park Inn, he saw clusters of people gathered outside. Laughter and conversation filled the crisp air as people clutched their wine glasses or beer bottles, trying to keep warm despite the chill. The restaurants around the square hadn’t put out their outdoor dining tables yet, but that didn’t stop the determined residents of Eatonhead from socializing on the sidewalk.

“Kit!” A woman’s voice called out, momentarily drowning the murmur of conversations around him. He turned his head to see Rose jogging awkwardly across the street, her wineglass held aloft like a prize. As she drew nearer, he couldn’t help but notice how different she looked now. Gone was the punk black hair. In its place was a cloud of pale blonde that drifted down her shoulders and laid placidly upon a chest that was much larger than he remembered. She was a different person now; three kids and an absent husband would do that, he reasoned. As she enveloped him in a hug, he couldn’t help but notice that even her newfound curves weren’t enough to pique his interest. Overpowering floral perfume assaulted his nose and he quickly pulled back.

“Hey, Rose,” he greeted her with a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. Still, he plastered a smile on his face for his mother’s sake. 

“Come on, let’s meet the others,” Rose said enthusiastically, linking her arm with Kit’s and guiding him towards the gathering of people outside the Park Inn. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of reluctance, but he steeled himself for an evening of small talk and local gossip.

“Everyone, this is Kit,” Rose announced, gesturing grandly to the man beside her. Kit found himself in the center of a circle of curious faces: town council members, local business owners, and other familiar figures from his past.

“Kit Lawrence?” said one council asked, extending a hand. “Lorraine’s son? What brings you to town?”

“Family stuff,” he replied vaguely, shaking hands and offering polite smiles. He could feel their curiosity like a tangible weight, pressing down on him as they fired off questions about his life post-Eatonhead. Where did he live? What did he do? Once they found out about Miami and his gig as a guide to the rich and famous, the questions increased. They wanted to live vicariously through his exotic stories, and Kit felt his mood plummeting. 

“Sounds exciting,” another council member chimed in as Kit recounted a particularly wild night with some rich tourists. 

“Exciting, yeah,” he admitted, his voice lacking enthusiasm. “But it’s nice to be back home for a bit.” He tried to inject some warmth into the statement, even as his chest tightened at the thought of being stuck in this small town once more.

As the conversation continued, Kit leaned against the brick wall of the Park Inn, eyes scanning the small crowd that had gathered. He played his part: the charming, good-natured bad boy who had left Eatonhead behind for a life of adventure. But beneath the surface, his heart ached for something that didn’t feel like playing a role. 

“Excuse me,” Kit muttered, extricating himself from the group. He stepped inside the Park Inn and was met with a cacophony of voices and laughter. The room was packed with more people than he’d ever seen in one place in Eatonhead. He made his way to the registration table at the front, where a volunteer handed him a name tag and a second sticker with a number on it. Slapping both onto his shirt, he headed towards the bar.

“Beer, please,” he said to the man on the other side, leaning against the polished wood. 

“We’ve got Budweiser, Corona, Southern Tier—” the bartender started to rattle off his stock, but Kit interrupted him with a shake of his head. 

“I really don’t care,” he said, his eyes scanning the long and narrow room. “Whatever you’ve got.” 

“IPA?”

Kit nodded distractedly. “Sure, sounds great.”

At the other end of the bar, three women stood sipping glasses of pale wine. The shortest one, with tight curly blonde hair and a navy dress, was speaking. “Can you believe she wore that?” She tittered to her cohorts, gesturing towards an unsuspecting woman across the room. “She looks like a walking fashion disaster.”

It took Kit a second to place the voice, and when he did, he grimaced. Even in high school, Jean Baxter had been cruel, always ready to cut others down to size. Time apparently hadn’t changed her; if anything, it seemed to have sharpened her tongue.

“Here you go,” the bartender interrupted his thoughts, sliding a cold glass bottle towards him.

“Thanks,” he said, accepting his beer and taking a sip, hoping the bitterness would wash away the taste of Jean’s gossip. Beer in hand, he walked around the empty room and scanned the tables for his assigned seat. When he found it, his stomach dropped. The card on the setting beside his own read Rose Russo. 

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. Determined not to be cornered by her for the entire evening, he picked up his name card and swiftly walked across the room to another table. He swiftly swapped his name card with another at random.

“Sorry, buddy,” he whispered, placing the stolen card on his original seat. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” With a final glance toward the door, he retreated to his new table, hoping to find solace in the company of strangers.

Kit settled into his new seat and took a swig of his beer. Around him, the rest of the crowd began filing in and taking their seats as a portly gray-haired man approached the microphone. From the other side of the room, Rose caught sight of him and shot him a confused glance, waving him down, but Kit quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t seen her.

To his right, a woman around his own age sat down. Her striking auburn hair was complemented by a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that perched on her nose. She was dressed simply in a black sheath dress and exuded an air of quiet elegance. 

Her clear gray eyes widened behind her glasses when she saw him. “You’re not Clark,” she stated matter-of-factly, her gaze appraising him frankly.

“Guilty as charged,” Kit replied with a forced chuckle. “I have no idea who Clark is, but I can assure you I’m not him.” He offered an easy shrug, trying to feign innocence and hide his own involvement. “Maybe Clark couldn’t make it tonight?”

“That’s impossible,” she countered, her brows knitting together. “He and I came together.” Her eyes scanned the room before landing on a man she seemed to recognize. She raised a hand and waved, her face softening into a smile.

Kit turned, already anticipating where Clark would be seated, and found himself locking eyes with the older black man now sitting next to Rose. He waved apologetically, and Rose sent him another puzzled wave in return.

“Sorry,” he said, turning back to the woman next to him. “Looks like your date and I accidentally swapped seats,” Kit said, raising his beer to his lips.

She frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but at that movement, the lights dimmed, and the speaker at the podium in the front of the room began to welcome them. She shot him one last look and turned her attention to the front of the room.

Kit found himself stealing sidelong glances at her, captivated by the curve of her neck and the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders. Freckles peeked out from beneath the shoulders of her dress and he found himself wondering how far they went down her back. 

“Thank you all for your support of Eatonhead’s Memorial Park Gazebo,” the speaker beamed from his podium, gesturing to the crowd. “Before we begin with the fundraising activities, we wanted to honor one of our very special residents and long-time business owner, Clark Spencer!”

And then, without warning, the man pointed directly at Kit, who froze with the beer halfway to his lips.

Chapter Three

AT THE PODIUM, the man’s face was slightly flushed, and he furrowed his brow as he scanned the seated guests. “Well now, we have an imposter at table two!” 

The man grinned as he scanned the room, the spotlight glinting off his round glasses. “Seems Clark has gone missing. Did you sneak off for a bathroom break, old friend?”

Chuckles rose from the crowd. The older black gentleman sitting next to Rose creakily got to his feet. 

“Nope!” he called out. Kit watched as he made his way up to the front of the room. When he reached the podium,  he took the mic from the host’s outstretched hand. “Though at my age,” he continued, “those come more frequently.” More laughter. The man’s eyes crinkled kindly as he looked over at Kit. 

“My apologies for the mix-up. Clearly, the staff mistook me for someone far more handsome.” 

Heat rose in Kit’s cheeks as laughter erupted again. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to look nonchalant. 

Clark launched into a speech, his deep voice smooth and melodic. Kit only half-listened. Clark Spencer. Even after all these years away, that name rang familiar. The man had made waves as Eatonhead’s first openly gay resident back in the nineties. Even though Eatonhead fancied itself to be a progressive town, it had been quite the scandal at the time. 

A sudden realization washed over Kit as he recalled that Clark had a long-term partner who owned the bookstore in town. Their daughter had gone to school with him. Kit snuck a glance at the redhead next to him. Those stormy gray eyes, that cascade of auburn waves. Her name was on the tip of his tongue… Up at the podium, Clark was thanking his partner Arthur, owner of the local bookshop. And his daughter—

It clicked half a second before Clark uttered her name. Bee. Bee Davis.

He looked at her again. The last time he’d seen her, she had her nose stuck in a book. She’d been an ice queen back in high school, brushing off any attempt to talk with her with an icy glare, but she looked more… mellow now, he reasoned.

“Your dad owns the bookstore, right?” Kit asked nonchalantly, trying to play dumb.

“Arthur is my father, yes,” she replied, her voice guarded but polite. 

He leaned toward her and smiled crookedly, pouring all his charm into the action. “Then, if that’s the case, I think we went to school together.” His heart was pounding in his ears, and he felt like a teenager again. 

Her brows drew together. “Did we?”

He stuck out a hand. “Kit Lawrence.”

Her eyes widened in recognition. “Ah,” she said, slipping her cool hand into his warm one. “The prodigal son returns.” He didn’t miss the way her eyes automatically drifted toward Rose’s table. He gritted his teeth and kept his smile firmly in place. Would he never outrun his past? 

She pulled her hand back and took a sip of her wine, eyes glinting. “So what brings you back to Eatonhead?” she asked quietly, eying her step father up at the podium as he spoke about how he’d used his Italian grandmother’s recipes to open Gusto’s way back when.

“My mother asked me to come home for the summer,” he explained. “Her latest husband died and she’s feeling a little down.”

She set her wine glass back down on the table and looked chagrined. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard about Robert’s passing, but I hadn’t seen your mom around town. I guess I assumed she had left the area.” 

He shook his head, a wry grin playing on his lips as he imagined his mother stubbornly navigating her way through their old house. “Nope, she’s still up there, tottering around.”

Bee bit her lip, regret causing her expressive gray eyes to dim. “I didn’t know. If I had, I would’ve stopped by and made sure she got out.”

Kit dismissed her sentiment with a casual wave of his hand. “It’s fine, really. My mom is tougher than she looks.” He paused, his gaze flicking around the room before settling back on Bee. “But I’m here now to keep her company for the summer. Actually,” he admitted, “I’ve been thinking about trying to get her to move. She has a sister in South Carolina. It would be good for her to be around family.”

At the front of the room, Clark finished his speech, his dark eyes briefly locking onto Kit’s before he returned to his seat at Rose’s table. The applause that filled the room was warm and genuine.

The clatter of dishes and the aroma of sizzling meat filled the air as servers began delivering plates to the guests. Kit tore his gaze away from Bee’s expressive gray eyes, momentarily distracted by the large steak that was set down in front of him. 

“Clark loves steak,” Bee commented, glancing at his plate with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Are you a vegan? We could trade if you need something else…”

Kit looked at her plate, taking in the vibrant colors of her salad. It looked fresh and inviting, but the juicy steak still held more appeal. “No, thanks. The steak is fine.” The Park Inn wasn’t exactly a five-star restaurant, but he wasn’t going to turn down a slab of meat when it was presented to him. He cut into it and shoved his fork into his mouth. He had to admit; it wasn’t too shabby for small-town steak. 

Around them, the other patrons chattered, filling the room with a pleasant buzzing. 

“So what are you up to these days?” he asked, spearing a cube of steak and sticking it in his mouth. When she didn’t answer, his eyes flickered to her and found Bee staring at her plate with a furrowed brow. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as if she were holding back something unpleasant. 

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Bee blinked up at him, a surprised expression crossing her face before she forced a smile. “No,” she said, “everything’s fine.”

She went back to staring at her salad and Kit sliced off another hank of his steak, silently cursing his mom. Why did she have to sign him up for this stupid fundraiser? Was it just because Rose was here?

Beside him, Bee sighed and closed her eyes. “Actaully, you know what? Everything’s not fine,” she said. “Today’s been... rough,” she admitted, her gray eyes clouding with frustration. “And Jean’s not helping.”

His eyebrows shot up in response. So that was what had been bothering her. Following her gaze, he spotted Jean’s unmistakable mop of curly blonde hair. Kit paused, his fork hovering over his plate, as he caught snippets of Jean’s conversation. She was criticizing Clark and the food, boasting that she could have done a better job catering the event herself. From what Kit remembered, Jean wasn’t known for her culinary skills.

Kit shook his head, dismissing her concerns. “Don’t worry about Jean Baxter,” he said, taking another bite of his steak. 

Bee blinked at him, clearly not expecting that answer. “Why not?”

Kit glanced at her briefly before returning to his steak. “She’s never going to be satisfied with anything, so she has to bring everyone else down to her level of misery.”

Bee considered his words for a moment, her eyes drifting back over to Jean’s table. “I guess you’re right,” she said slowly. “Jean has always been petty.”

She picked at her salad, popping a grape tomato into her mouth. “It’s just hard not to let her get to me sometimes. She’s constantly coming around, spreading rumors and talking behind my back.”

Kit nodded in understanding, cutting another piece of steak. “Yeah, I know people like her. They revel in their own drama and negativity. Probably because they’re deeply unhappy with their own lives.”

He chewed thoughtfully. “The best revenge is living well, right? Don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she bothered you.”

Bee smiled slightly, appreciating his perspective. “That’s a good point. I shouldn’t care what Jean thinks anyway.” She lifted her chin. “And this event is to support the community, which is way more important than her petty barbs.”

“Exactly,” Kit said. “Rise above it. She’s irrelevant.” He lifted his beer bottle towards her in a little salute.

Bee chuckled, lifting her own glass of wine to clink against his bottle. “To rising above,” she said. They both took a drink, the mood lightening between them.

“Thanks for the reality check,” Bee added. “I got swept up in the drama for a minute there.”

Kit smiled. “Anytime.” He took a bite of potatoes. “So, what do you do when you’re not being tormented by the likes of Jean Baxter?”

Bee laughed. “Well, I’m currently running the bookstore, but I’m sure you already figured that.”

He smiled ruefully at her. “Couldn’t outrun it, huh?”

She shook her head and took a bite of her salad, sneaking a glance at him from under her eyelashes. The Kit Lawrence she knew growing up wouldn’t have said that. He’d have jumped on top of the Jean bandwagon and found some flaw Bee was ashamed of and pointed a spotlight at it. She moved her food around on her plate, feeling a strange mix of surprise and admiration for this unexpected insight.

“Speaking of,” Kit interrupted her thoughts, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you without a book.”

Bee’s cheeks warmed as she laughed, genuinely surprised at his observation. “Well, that seems appropriate.”

Kit grinned, his brown eyes suddenly more lively. “Yeah, it does,” he admitted, and for a moment, the noise around them seemed to fade.

“Are you much of a reader?” Bee asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Not really,” Kit chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess I haven’t found the right book yet.”

The clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation filled the air as they continued to chat over their dinner plates. He told her about his life in Miami, describing the sun-soaked beaches and vibrant nightlife with a nostalgic smile. 

“Sounds like you’ve really made a life for yourself down there,” Bee mused, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “But I have to admit, I never pictured you as someone who’d be into the whole party scene. You were always the guy who did his own thing. I thought you’d end up being a beat poet, or running for president or something.”

Kit grinned at her as he ran a hand through his tousled sandy brown hair. “Well, people change, I guess. Besides, it’s not all wild parties and debauchery –” He suddenly cleared his throat, and his cheeks flushed. “I mean, it’s not all about the nightlife. There’s art, culture… you know, that kind of stuff.”

Bee laughed, her gray eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, really? You, Kit Lawrence, appreciating fine art and culture? Now that’s something I’d love to see.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” He grinned at her again and she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, like some stupid schoolgirl.

AS THEIR EMPTY PLATES WERE WHISKED AWAY, the host returned to the podium, his voice cutting through the din. Kit felt an unexpected twinge of annoyance, realizing he didn’t want the moment with Bee to end just yet.

“Alright, folks!” the man announced, clapping his hands together. “It’s time for the real event – the dance competition! Remember, this is all in good fun, and the couple who lasts the longest on the dance floor will win half of the donation money raised tonight. The other half will go toward repainting our beloved gazebo!”

Bee pushed back her chair and stood, looking expectantly at Kit. When he didn’t understand, she was forced to explain. “Clark would’ve been my partner,” she said, “but since he’s not here, I guess that means you’re up.”

As she stood in front of him, his brain short-circuited. Unable to stop himself, Kit visualized grabbing her by the hips and dragging her forward to stand between his knees. In his mind, he ran his hands up the sides of her legs, pushing the black sheath dress up her creamy thighs until he got to the black lacey thong underneath. He would bury his face in her crotch and inhale her musky scent while her fingers would thread through his hair-

He blinked, shook himself free from whatever the hell that had been and rose to his feet with a sheepish grin. She laid her cool hand in his, and he led her out onto the dance floor. 

He probably just needed to get laid, he reasoned. And Bee was a reasonably attractive woman. Hell, if he was being truthful, she was more than just reasonably attractive. She had the kind of hips he wanted to sink his fingers into and hold on tight. 

As Bee stepped into his arms, her black heels bringing her nearly level with his gaze, he found himself captivated by her clear gray eyes. He couldn’t quite remember if they’d always been that color or if time had somehow altered them. As his hands settled on the swell of her hips, another moment of madness flickered through him, and he fought the urge to crash her against him. Instead, he swallowed hard, adjusting his grip so that her smooth palm rested against his and placed his other hand gently on her waist.

The music started, and they began to swirl around the room like two synchronized swans. She stared into Kit’s face as they danced, and he tried to summon his best cocky smile. But something about this woman, so different from the girls he usually pursued, made the smile falter before it could fully form.

She smelled like silk and musk and he opened his mouth to compliment her dancing skills, but his brain glitched.

“Jesus, you smell good.” 

A laugh burst out of her mouth, and he stared at her, mortified. Had he just said that out loud?

“Thank you,” she said with a chuckle. “You don’t smell so bad yourself.”

He cleared his throat and looked away from her laughing eyes. The desire to bury his face in her hair and breathe her in was almost overpowering, and he had to concentrate on the movement of the people around them to stop himself from acting like a total moron.

Someone crashed into her back and suddenly they were smashed thigh to thigh and breast to chest with no space to breathe. She gasped as they were thrust together, her eyes widening behind her glasses. His breath caught in his chest as he stared down at her. She was soft against his body as her squishy bits molded against his hard bits. His hands were on her hips, he could feel the edge of  her underwear through the fabric of her dress, and in his pants, he felt the tell-tale stirrings in his balls. 

He quickly stepped back, giving them both some much needed room. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

She nodded, looking breathless, and he had the sudden insane urge to cradle her face in his hands and kiss her. 

As he stared at her, the music switched to a new tune, and Clark appeared beside them with a sorry-not-sorry smile on his face. 

“May I?” he asked, sweeping Bee away, and leaving Kit momentarily disoriented as he watched her face light up with genuine joy. It was a sight he’d never seen before, and it left an unexpected pang in his chest.

“Hey there, handsome,” Rose said, grinning as she thrust herself into Kit’s arms. “How did you end up all the way over here?”

He blinked, forcing himself to focus on Rose instead of the vision of Bee dancing with her stepdad. “I don’t know,” he admitted, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just following the flow of the dance, I guess.”

Rose laughed and began moving to the music, pulling Kit along with her. He tried to shake off the strange feeling that had come over him and concentrate on the woman in front of him, but it was no use. 

“Come on, Kit,” Rose teased. “We’ve got a competition to win!”

Kit had to force a laugh because his heart just wasn’t in it.