A Coastal Crush: A Small Town Beach Romcom (Sunkissed Summer Novellas Book 2)

Chapter 1

Chloe

You know when you’ve wanted something your whole life, finally do it, and feel incredible—like you’re on top of the world? I haven”t experienced that yet, but I’m hoping I’m about to.

I just handed my boss Linda Ricci, Senior Editor at Mountain View Press, the manuscript I spent the last three years perfecting. I’ve been working up the courage to show it to her for months.

The sunlight illuminates Linda’s regal facial features as she reclines in her high back, leather office chair. Linda could easily be a covergirl in her sixties. She’s always dressed in stylish, professional power suits and never has a speck of makeup out of place.

Since becoming Linda’s editorial assistant, I’ve often pictured myself as Anne Hathway in Devil Wears Prada. Linda isn’t as cruel as Meryl Streep’s character, but she can certainly be as demanding.

In a power move that I can only assume is to create an impersonal distance, she calls everyone by their last name. My name’s Chloe Reid, but from Linda you’ll only ever hear, “Reid!”

She says everything in a perky, down-to-business way. For example, when I arrived at the office today she told me, “Good morning Reid! Can’t wait to see five chapters of that manuscript all polished up by noon and not a minute after!” She’s sneaky like that. Her tone doesn’t necessarily match her words.

My toes are tingling as I scrutinize her every movement. Linda’s eyes are scanning the bottom of the first page, and just as she begins to turn to the next one…she lets my manuscript close.

“Reid, darling,” she says with a sparkling smile. “This plot has potential, but your characters have the charisma of wet chalk. There’s no emotional depth to make me buy in.”

My heart drops. “But, but you only read the first page.”

She plops my manuscript down like a dead fish and leans forward with her elbows on her shiny mahogany desk. “I’ve been doing this for thirty years. One page is all it takes.”

Blinking back tears, I reach for my decimated dream. I cannot let my emotions spill out—especially here.

Linda hands it to me, but doesn’t let go when I grab it. “Reid, writers need life experiences that are raw and challenging. You’re too sweet for that. You’re an editor. Stay in your lane and don’t waste your time trying to be an author, okay? Trust me, it’ll save you a ton of heartache.”

She lets go of my manuscript and I give her a silent nod. My body feels numb.

Somehow, I make it back to my office. After throwing my manuscript in my bottom desk drawer, I collapse into my chair. That’s when the tears fall.

I’m a notoriously ugly crier, and if I don’t get it together soon, my face will be blotchy for the rest of the day. I blame my auburn hair and fair complexion. I’m like a white T-shirt that advertises every blemish.

Just suck it up, Chloe. You have so much to be thankful for.

I”ve wanted to be an author since I learned to read, but when I was sixteen, books became my life preserver.

That”s when I started caring about things like boyfriends and school dances. The allure drew me in and rejection pushed me out. I can still feel all the emotions of Friday afternoon, sophomore year.

No one had asked me to the homecoming dance. No one. I wasn’t aiming for the stars—I knew better than to dream that James Royce, a handsome football player, would ask me out. I was truly just hoping for anyone to see me, acknowledge me, want me.

But, as three o’clock rolled around and the school day was ending, the reality slammed in on me that no one was going to ask me to the Homecoming dance. I acted like it didn’t bother me, that I didn’t want to go…and that made it so much worse because I had no one to console me.

Instead of going to Homecoming, I went to the library. My safe place, my comfort. And once again, I found solace in books. That night I decided even if I couldn’t live an exciting life, I could write about one.

I got a job in publishing to safely pursue my dream of becoming an author, but that clearly didn’t work. I feel the tears welling up again. I sniffle and grab a tissue from my desk.

Taking a breath, I will one of my dad’s ‘tough love’ pep talks to work. “Take it on the chin and keep grinding, kid.” He’d tell me people encounter much worse.

He and my mom have worked blue collar jobs tirelessly so that me and my siblings could get a good education. They wanted more for us.

Taking a long inhale, I manage to slow my breathing. After wiping my face, I smooth my shirt and sit up. I’m an editor. I have a job to do. So what if my life plan has been blown to shreds? My intricately thought out idea was to work my way up, learn the industry, be close to other authors. I thought that if I rubbed shoulders with the experts, I’d learn what I needed to do.

Well, part one was a success. Part two, an epic fail.

I stare out my 19th floor window. I’m proud that I”ve worked my way up to Senior Editorial Assistant. But that’s where I’m stuck—assisting—which was never my end game.

I graduated from Colorado State and immediately got a job at Mountain View Press in Denver. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I did in some ways. I have a steady paycheck and a respectable career.

Being promoted to Linda”s editorial assistant last year at twenty-four made me feel like I was on top of the world. I thought that since I was so good at proofreading and editing, Linda would take me seriously as an author.

I thought I’d proven myself. But, I guess not. I feel liquid welling up in my eyes, so I attempt to distract myself. I glance down at the postcard on my desk. It arrived yesterday from my adventurous, world traveling aunt, Valerie.

The front image shows a flock of seagulls spread along the beach, staring out at the teal ocean with a woman in a floppy sun hat laughing as she walks in the shallow water. The bubbly font says, “Be crazy, be stupid, be silly, be weird, be whatever. Life is too short to be anything but happy.” The words scrape back and forth like two sticks rubbing together. My chest tightens. Faster and faster the sticks spin, and a tiny spark flickers. This piece of mail now seems like a sign from above.

Flipping it over, I reread my aunt’s message in her flowy script.

Hello Miss Chloe! I just got settled into my new cottage in the quaintest little beach town. Sunshine Shores is just as sweet as its name sounds. If you ever want to get away from the big city, come see me! Love you!

-Aunt Val

My parents are like me, responsible and put together. Or I guess, I’m like them. My aunt Valerie is not like any of us. She’s a free spirit. Always has been, which is why her and my mom’s relationship is continually rocky.

I, on the other hand, am drawn to Aunt Val’s carefree, optimistic, and whimsical nature. Plus I have two older brothers, so I often felt like the odd person out growing up. But, Aunt Val always made a point to make me feel special. Whenever she visited, she”d bring me trinkets and treasures. And, just like this one from Sunshine Shores, she”d send me postcards from all over the world.

Even though she”s bounced from country to country, we”ve stayed close. We talk on the phone at least once a month, with texts and emails in between. After managing a retreat center in the Italian countryside for the last three years, she’s finally decided to settle down in the States…at least for a little while.

If you ever want to get away… Her words land softly in my wounded soul. I have never wanted to get away more. I’m disappointed that my work as an editorial assistant did nothing to help me in my goal of being a published author. I’m burnt out from reading page after page of other people’s masterpieces. I’m disenchanted by the words of the person I looked up to shredding my manuscript. I’m done.

The more I say it to myself, the more right it feels. “I’m done,” I repeat out loud.

“You’re done editing Landry’s manuscript?” My best work friend and fellow editorial assistant, Brittany Wilson, walks in.

“Ah… no.” I bite my bottom lip, trying to decide if I should embrace or deny this life-changing decision taking root in my mind.

She plops down in the chair across from my desk. “Oh… then what are you done with?”

I glimpse the idyllic image on the postcard once more and the words easily tumble out of my mouth.

“I’m done being an editorial assistant.”

Brittany leans in, “Shut up, you got promoted again?”

Brittany is a few years older than me, and while the rest of the Senior Editorial Assistants threw shade my way when I moved up in the company so quickly, Brittany fully embraced me. We’ve been friends ever since she waved me over to sit next to her at our first editorial staff meeting.

I walk behind Brittany and close the door. In a hushed voice, I say, “No. I’m quitting.”

Brittany brings her hands to her cheeks. “You’re quitting? Why? What happened?”

I sigh and sit back in my cushy office chair. “It’s what didn’t happen.” My voice trails off.

No one knows about my dream of becoming an author. Not even Brittany…and I’m not about to tell her now. My rejected manuscript might as well be a carcass on the side of the road. Bringing it up would be sad and depressing. I don’t want her to pity me.

“Have…you…told Linda you’re quitting?” Brittany’s words are so quiet it’s almost like she’s gasping for air.

“No, I haven”t told anyone. You’re the first.”

“I know Linda’s a handful, but I didn’t realize you were so unhappy.”

I pause to come up with a true but vague explanation for my sudden desire to quit. “I need a change. Mountain View Press was my first job out of college. I need—” what did Linda say? “Life experience.”

“You can’t leave me.” Brittany sighs dramatically as she sits in a chair across from me. “Who am I going to go on coffee runs with? Or discuss my latest romance novels with? Who’s gonna point out all the plot holes and flaws, huh? Plus, you’re the only person in this office who doesn’t speak in polite pleasantries constantly. If I hear someone ask ‘how are you’ one more time while jogging past me, I’m gonna scream.”

That makes me crack a smile. “I’ll miss you too.”

Brittany puts her elbows on my desk. “So, what’s your plan?”

”I”m thinking about moving to the beach.” I slide the postcard to her.

“What’s this?”

“Sunshine Shores, Florida.” I can’t help but smile. It’s impossible to say that town name and not be happy.

“That looks…nice. Like in a sleepy retirement community sort of way.”

She has a point, but I’m undeterred. “I think it looks peaceful, the perfect place for a fresh start.”

“Are you sure about this?” Brittany twists her hair up into a messy bun. “I don’t know who this new woman in front of me is and what you’ve done with Chloe, but I’m intrigued. You’re killing it professionally. I’m shocked you’re gonna walk away. But, I gotta say…I’m most surprised that you’re giving up on Bronson…you know with you being his future wife and all that.” She winks at me and I roll my eyes.

“Ha,” I quip and stare out the window, shaking my head. Bronson Campbell. My literary agent crush. He represents Mitch Landry, one of the biggest authors in commercial fiction. I have been in awe of Bronson from my first day at work. The feelings don’t seem to be mutual, though. Mostly because he doesn’t seem to know I exist. I mean he sees me, but he calls me Carly.

I had this fantasy that Bronson would discover I’m actually an amazing writer. He would be my literary agent and soon after, become smitten with me. And obviously we’d live happily ever after, probably traveling around the world with him smiling adoringly at me and me at him.

No one was supposed to know, but I might have disclosed it all to Brittany during an all-nighter at the office a few months ago. The combination of sleep deprivation and sugar are my downfall apparently. “You mean the guy I’ve spent the last three years wishing would fall madly in love with me but still calls me by the wrong name?”

“Okay a big part of that is on you for never correcting him.”

“Well, when I was just a newbie copy editor, I didn’t have the courage to tell him. He was all Jude Law handsome and smelled like warm donuts. My mind went blank.”

My first year at Mountain View Press, I only saw Bronson sporadically. When I moved up to editorial assistant, we were in meetings together every few months. By then, too much time had passed. It would have been way too awkward to tell him, so I just went with it. And of course, Linda never corrected him. She probably doesn’t know my first name either.

I sigh. “Good thing it doesn’t matter. Mortifying interaction avoided, because I’m moving on.”

She continues anyway. “I’ve noticed that he always makes a point to sit next to you in meetings.”

I shrug. “We have a shared love of snacks. We both sit strategically next to them.”

“I still hope you don’t go, but I’m also inspired by your chutzpah.”

“Chutzpah?” I laugh.

“Yeah it takes some serious chutzpah to walk away from a job like this.”

I nod slowly, and it feels like fire ants are starting to crawl up my abdomen. To squash them, I change the subject. “You can always come visit.” I hold up the postcard and hand it to her. “Something to remember me by.”

Brittany grabs it, and an Andes mint from a little glass tray on my desk before walking over to hug me. “I want regular life updates, okay?”

The bustling streets of downtown Denver catch my eye through the window. This should be enough for me, shouldn’t it? This job has given me a salary and a nicer apartment than I ever thought I could afford. I’m working with some of the best in the publishing world.

The words on the front of the Sunshine Shores postcard ring in my ears. Life’s too short to be anything but happy. Apparently, no amount of money or success can appease the tiny dream in my heart. It’s like a toddler who’s been without goldfish crackers for too long. It’s screaming to have its way, its desired nourishment.

I can’t wait any longer.

All I have to do is submit my two weeks” notice, dodge any and all sightings of Bronson, and not freak out that I’m making a giant irresponsible mistake. Oh, and I need my aunt to be cool with me ‘getting away’ semi-permanently at her cottage. Easy peasy, right?