Make You Mine (Honeybrook Hollow #2)

1. Ren

Chapter 1

Ren

“B efore I sign the check, I want you to meet my granddaughter.”

Damn it.

To be clear, I was never against meeting anyone’s granddaughter. But I was against being set up with one, especially when the introduction subtly hinted that her donation hinged upon it.

“Ah, nothing like romance born out of mild obligation.” I tried to keep my expression neutral as she patted her purse and winked at me.

“Pardon me?”

“Your granddaughter sounds like a wild temptation, Mrs. Ross.”

Think of the center, think of the center.

“She’s a good girl. You’re going to love her.”

I didn’t bother returning her smile. She never noticed anyway. This was the worst part of this job, and I’d rather be anywhere else right now. I could feel my frustration mounting with every interaction. The furrow of my brow was going to give me away if it got any deeper. God, my head pounded. I needed to get out of here.

Twinkling lights and shimmering candles filled my vision as my gaze drifted around the room, adorned with flower-bedecked tables, bouquets resting on pedestals, and elegantly dressed guests. These dinners aimed to bring donors and charities together. Two hundred fifty guests filled the grand ballroom of this upscale hotel in Portland, Oregon, tonight. But damn it, I’d forgotten the name of the place. These events were beginning to blur in my mind.

I was so incredibly fortunate to meet every daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece, cousin, and best friend of marriageable age—all sarcasm intended—tonight. Somehow, instead of attending a charity dinner, I found myself trapped in an alternate reality version of The Bachelor , encountering woman after woman, yet I had no desire to get married again. All I wanted was to go home, crack open a beer, and relax in front of the TV rather than endure whatever version of hell this might be.

I couldn’t even get drunk. The glass of champagne in my hand was for toasting, not drinking. My reputation had to remain untarnished. As the face of a growing charity, image was everything. With a yank, I pulled my chair out and sat back down, shoving a tiny quiche into my mouth while I went through my mental list of excuses I could use to get out of here.

My younger brother and I established Lyla’s Place, a women’s center to honor our mother. We provided self-defense classes, a GED program, referrals for mental health care, and legal services.

Apparently, I failed to realize that to raise funds, I needed to include myself on the list of things we offered. But I was not charming. Banter and casual flirting were not my strengths, and I was uninterested in playing games, especially since I’d never known the rules.

“Fuck,” I muttered beneath my breath.

“Go on. Get out of here.” Lost in thought, I jumped as a hand gripped my shoulder. “You can go home.” My brother, Jake, had returned to our table after his trip to the bathroom. He grinned and took his seat across from me. “I’ve got this. You’ve done enough tonight.”

I glanced around the ballroom again as memories of our old apartment flooded back. The stark contrast between my current life and the run-down apartment we had once shared with our mother and sister was undeniable.

I worked hard to get to this point. I joined the Marines to help pay for my education, which I followed with college and law school. Afterward, I entered family law, specifically helping women secure everything they deserved from their worthless husbands—something my mother could never afford.

I wanted to help people, to step in in all the ways no one had stepped in for my family. I didn’t want any part of this spectacle tonight. I wanted to do my job. I wanted to talk about how many women and children Lyla’s Place could help rather than put on an expensive suit and become the preening asshole everyone seemed to expect me to be.

So, yeah, the thought of cutting out early to go home was almost irresistible.

“Are you sure? How did tonight turn into a matchmaking thing again? I don’t understand how this keeps happening. I’m done with this.” I said with a low growl of frustration. “Do you know how hard it is to keep fucking smiling and being pleasant to strangers? I want to help people without having to?—”

“Speak to people?” My brother supplied helpfully, grinning at me over the rim of his glass of champagne. ‘I understand, and once Violet is ready to socialize again, we can take over doing this if you want.” They had a new baby at home. His wife was still recovering. “Look, you’re a good guy—successful, not bad to look at. You’re also single, and everyone knows it. That’s why they keep trying.”

I looked away, frowning. “Yeah, but it’s not fair to you when Violet isn’t here to keep you company.”

“Don’t worry about me. Now that I’m happily married and off the market, they’ll bounce right off my deflector shield.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed me yet another picture of my adorable baby niece. “Just look at her, man. All I have to do is pull this out and soak in the compliments.”

“She is the cutest.” I huffed a cynical laugh. “Though you being married with a baby won’t stop some of them from trying, you know that, right?”

He set his jaw and raised an eyebrow. “It will. I’m not worried about it.”

“I love that for you.”

Shit.

I never thought of that. Jake settling down and marrying the love of his life just put an even bigger target on my back for the matchmaking grandmothers. My brother was genuinely happy, completely in love with his beautiful wife, his stepsons, and their baby, and I was truly thrilled for him. But that ship had sailed for me. Considering how we grew up, it had never even been docked in the first place.

He hesitated. “Are you sure you should be alone?” he asked again, and the question was absolutely loaded. “You seem a bit down tonight. Are you okay?”

He’d fixed his life. Clearly, he thought mine should change for the better as well.

I steeled my gaze and met his eyes directly. “Yeah, man. I’m sure.”

“Okay, but—it’s been almost three years since Tabby, and, uh, I’m not trying to pressure you into talking if you’re not ready. I really don’t want to do that, but—” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m not great at this. I’m here for you, Ren. You know that, right?”

My wife passed away almost three years ago. Jake supported me as he always had, and I appreciated it, but found it difficult to discuss. In fact, I refused to talk about it anymore—to anyone.

Tabby had been the best friend I’d ever had. She grew up in the apartment next to ours, and we went all through school together. I would always miss her. But I didn’t want to think about her now, so I shoved the memories out of my mind.

“I know, and it’s okay. This really isn’t the place for a heart-to-heart, Jake.” I gestured around the ballroom. “I mean, come on.” I let out a chuckle.

He had good intentions, but I was not about to delve into my tragic past at a charity dinner, for fuck’s sake.

"This is bad timing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He glanced over my shoulder. “They’re coming. Go out the back. I’ll tell them you have a headache or you ate some bad seafood and shit your pants. That ought to keep them at bay for a beat.” He winked. “Don’t worry. We can talk about this later.”

Or not.

“Thanks.” My hand pressed against my sternum in an almost unconscious gesture. One that did not go unnoticed by Jake.

Sympathy filled his eyes as his smile softened, and I didn’t know how much longer I could avoid having an honest conversation with him, especially since Lyla’s Place was now up and running, and I was moving from Portland to be closer.

Fucking great.

I stood up to go.

“Later, man.” He eyed me speculatively. “We’ll have dinner soon. I’ll text you. I think it might help to talk about it. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I won’t say no to dinner, but I’m fine. I’m always fine.”

Contrary to what he obviously thought, I didn’t want what he had. Love was beautiful yet precarious. It was dangerous and fleeting and far too easily lost. It wasn’t worth the risk. I knew that better than anybody.

He slid his chair back, standing to embrace me with a back-slapping hug. “You will be. I’ll make sure of it.”

I pulled away, shaking my head at his well-meaning but unintentionally foreboding words. Then, I made my way to the exit, winding through the crowd and not stopping until I reached my car.

With each mile away from the city, I felt more relaxed. Letting out a sigh, I removed my tie and tossed it over my shoulder, exhaling sharply in relief as I undid the top two buttons of my dress shirt and leaned back against the seat.

Streetlights and skyscrapers blurred into my rearview, and starlight flickered through the trees as I entered the mountains. Lowering the windows, I inhaled deeply as the combined scent of pine and petrichor filled the car. There was something magical about mountain air. I could feel it, misty and clean against my skin, and I let it wash away the stress of the evening.

I had just bought a house in Honeybrook Hollow, one of the small villages along the highway to Mt. Hood, and tonight would be my first night there. I had sold my apartment in Portland and was almost finished clearing the place out. I’d also resigned from my law firm and would join Jake to work at his small law office in Sweetbriar, the next town over. This arrangement would give me more time at Lyla’s Place and allow for a slower pace.

It was time for a change. Past time, if I was being honest.

I’d been busting my ass for years, and I needed time to—I had no idea what I wanted, but I knew I needed to take the time to figure it out.

Honeybrook Hollow was a mere dot on the landscape, easily missed if you weren’t looking for it. The highway twisted and turned as I ascended into the mountains, each curve revealing a new vista of tall pines and dots of light from the homes scattered here and there.

Welcome to Honeybrook Hollow. The sign marked the turnoff from the highway onto Sycamore Street, which ran the length of the town. As I approached, I could see the small town lights twinkling like so many scattered stars in the distance. The road narrowed, forcing me to slow down as I navigated the way to my new home.

I turned on Loganberry Lane to go home. I needed a good night of sleep and a fucking sandwich. I was starving. Caviar and toast points were not my thing. My stomach growled in approval.

Jake probably thought I was just lonely. But I wasn’t lonely, I was just bad with people—talking, relating, trusting. Plus, he had no idea about me and Tabby. We had kept the truth about our relationship just between us. I would always love her, but we were never in love .

She had leukemia when we were kids. A few years ago, it returned, so I stepped in after her husband left. We got married, and I ensured she was well cared for. When she died, I lost my best friend, and it has been tearing me apart ever since. I missed her.

Maybe I should talk to Jake. If anyone would understand how I felt, he would. He had loved Tabby, too. But the thought of talking about my feelings was exhausting.

I turned into my driveway and cut the engine. My house was a simple one-story on a street lined with more of the same. Painted beige with blue trim, it was L-shaped and basic. With three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a big backyard, it was more space than I needed, but the idea of owning a house appealed to me. Maybe I’d get a dog or two to keep me company after I’d settled in.

The only thing wrong with this street was the Victorian eyesore at the end. It wasn’t run down, but it loomed over the street like it was watching it. The stark white paint job and spiky turrets did nothing to hide that it was likely riddled with the ghosts of residents past.

Past me would already be home in bed, getting enough sleep so he could win in court the next day. This version was something I was still figuring out.

Honeybrook Hollow was not known for its nightlife, and the options were limited to one bar. With a turn of the wheel, I drove around the Victorian and was back on the main drag. Businesses lined each side, a couple of restaurants, and a general store. There was a bookstore down at the end that I wanted to check out, but I hadn’t yet found the time. Maybe tomorrow.

I just survived another night of being flirted with and fussed over, I think I fucking deserved a damn beer.

At the end of the road sat the Honeybrook Inn, which is what put this town on the map. It was a tourist favorite amid one of the country’s premier ski destinations. I was not a skier—yet—but the idea of it had promise. Everyone should have a hobby, and I’d spent too many years doing nothing but work.

Slightly outside of town, down a gravel road, was where I was headed. Bubba’s Bar belonged to one of my clients. In fact, I had helped her secure the place during her divorce. Perhaps it was time to check in on her—it was as good an excuse as any, and Paige was always good for a laugh.

My tires crunched through the parking lot. I pulled to a stop beneath the lone light and got out. Shrugging out of my jacket, I tossed it inside the car and slammed the door. I wiped my hands on my slacks, suddenly nervous. When was the last time I had a drink in a bar solely just for fun?

Had I ever?

I realized I hadn’t and almost turned around to get back in my car.

I was almost forty-three years old and had never had a drink in a fucking bar that didn’t involve a business meeting of some kind. Jesus Christ—Jake was right about me—I was a workaholic.

Steeling myself against the nerves threatening to send me into a cold sweat, I looked up and frowned in uncertainty when I caught sight of the bright purple neon glow coming from above the door that spelled out the words Twilight Tavern in swirling script. With a shrug, I pushed open the door and entered.

“It’s my hero!” A cheerful voice called to me from behind the bar. “Come over here. Let me get you a beer.” She patted the bar in front of her. “On the house forever for you, Ren.”

Paige didn’t take no for an answer when it came to being her friend. She was relentless in her pursuit of finding out even the most mundane facts about me. She baked cookies and brought them to all our meetings. She told me all about her kids and her family. But for some reason, it had been easy to talk to her, so I allowed it.

“Twilight Tavern?” I grinned as I greeted Paige, the bar’s now official sole owner and my former client. “I thought this place was called Bubba’s Bar.”

No matter what she chose to call it, it resembled a classic country western bar, with wooden floors and booths in the corners. High-top tables were scattered throughout the space, and an alcove led to a room that housed a pool table. A jukebox blasting old eighties rock stood next to a small stage in the far corner. Neon flashed in the windows, and strands of lights threaded through the beams overhead provided illumination, along with moonlight streaming through the windows and a few strategically placed ceiling fans with dimly glowing bulbs hanging beneath.

“I changed the name.” She glared toward the central part of the bar, where her patrons were studiously avoiding looking directly at her. “And I don’t want to hear another word about it,” she loudly announced to the room. “I love it. It’s what I always wanted to call it. I mean, did you see the sky when you drove up? The mist? The freaking stars? It’s the perfect name.” She crossed her arms over her chest, practically daring me to say something negative. She was a pretty blonde, tall and curvy with sparkling brown eyes and a smile that could get anyone talking—me being a perfect example of that.

“I like it.” I approached and slid onto a barstool. The place was busy, but the vibe felt off.

“What were you up to tonight? You look tense.” Pot, meet kettle. Tension radiated off her in waves. I decided to ignore it and let her make small talk. I could find out what was going on later.

"I just came from a charity dinner in Portland, hoping to raise funds for Lyla’s Place.”

“Ahh, hobnobbing with the rich and snooty.” She scoffed with a sardonic grin. “My ex was real good at that, as you know.”

“Yeah, I did not grow up that way. And I’m sick of hobnobbing. Why can’t people just do good things without having their asses kissed first?”

“Isn’t that the eternal question?” She asked, turning to grab a glass from the shelf behind her. “Why can’t people just lead with kindness? It’s not that fucking hard.”

“I wish I knew,” I muttered as she filled the glass and slid me a beer.

“Thanks.” I took a sip and tried to stop worrying about fitting in. Paige owned the place, and it seemed like she didn’t fit in either.

“Hey! It’s the mysterious Ren.” I squinted into the dim light of the bar, watching as a tall, curvy blonde approached from the restrooms.

It was Piper, Jake’s wife's best friend and Paige’s younger sister. I’d met her a few times over the years but had never found the time to get to know her.

Each time I saw her, her hair looked different. Tonight, it was a pale shade of honey blonde. The long waves shimmered under the lights as she moved. God, she was gorgeous. I’d always thought so.

She wore a simple white T-shirt and jeans. But the way they hugged her curves made it hard not to stare. Her brown eyes were warm, inviting, shimmering with a light that drew me in every time I saw her. It wasn’t just her appearance; it was her entire presence that captivated me. There was something undeniably magnetic about Piper, something that made it hard to look away. I had always been attracted to her, but tonight that feeling was more intense than ever. Shaking my head, I dismissed the thoughts. I hardly knew her.

“Is anyone else giving you shit?” She asked Paige as she sat next to me.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“No to both questions,” Paige answered. “But I’ll be fine—eventually. The townsfolk appear to be a little bit peeved that I got the bar in the divorce. Who cares that we opened it together, right? Who cares that I’m the one who kept it open when Eli wanted to sell it a few years back?”

“Ugh, they’re only talking about you because no one cares when they talk about themselves, okay?” Piper’s hand hit the bar to emphasize her point. “And apparently, it doesn’t matter that he is a lousy, abandoning, cheating pig-man, right?” she scoffed. “Leaving you alone with the kids while he goes gallivanting all around town with his new piece of ass. If he ever shows his face around here, I’ll?—”

“I’ll be okay,” Paige cut her off. “No use getting upset over him—again.”

Paige’s husband was a real dirtbag. The kind of man I loved raking over the coals. However, this was not the setting I was accustomed to when a woman was ranting about her ex.

I cleared my throat with a nervous cough. Should I apologize for men everywhere? Or should I go find a table? My eyes darted back and forth between them as I tried to decide what to do.

“The patriarchy is alive and well, and I’m over it. That’s all I’m saying. I’m done with men. After what happened with Richard, I mean it this time. For good. The end. Just me, the cats, and Cody.”

“Oh god, girl. You’re grim as all hell tonight. Have a shot.” Paige grabbed the tequila from the shelf behind her and filled a shot glass for Piper. “Richard is her ex, and Cody is her dog. They’re trying to share him, but it’s not quite working out.” Paige informed me before turning her attention back to Piper. “One shot, Piper. You need to chill out. Let’s toast. One shot will make it all better, or at least ten percent less shitty. I don’t know. Whatever. I’ll pour.”

Deciding to leave them to their moment, I stood to go.

“No, you too, Ren. Please stay.” She filled a second shot glass and pushed it toward me.

“To sisters.” She clinked her shot glass to Piper’s. “And to mean ass divorce attorneys.” She turned to me with a grin. “I owe it all to you.”

I curved my lips in a sardonic smile and raised my glass to hers. “I wish I could have gotten you more. But the state of Oregon doesn’t allow me to go after his soul. Not yet, anyway.”

“He turned out to be a soulless jerk anyway. Trying would have been a waste of time. You two go find a table,” Paige encouraged. “I’m going to zone out and start taking inventory, and there’s no point in drinking alone.”

“I—” Piper started to protest.

“I insist. I’ll have Noah bring out some wings, okay? Someone around here should have a little bit of fun. Entertain my sister, Ren. She could use it. She’s had a bad couple of weeks.”

“Make it cheese fries, and I’ll leave you alone to work,” she grudgingly agreed.

“You got it. Noah!” Paige yelled. “Grab some cheese fries for your Auntie Piper.”

“Will do.” Her eighteen-year-old son shouted back. I knew he wanted to be a chef someday. He was a good kid.

I stood up to find a table, not realizing how close Piper would be when she stood up too. She had a faint spray of freckles across her nose. I’d never noticed—god, they were cute.

Her eyes riveted on my collar, it was undone, tie now gone, before flicking her gaze up to mine with an awkward laugh. A flush covered her cheeks, rosy and warm.

“Shall we?” I asked, surprised by the gravel in my voice as I offered her my arm.

My heart thumped in my chest in reaction when she took it. “Why not, right?” I sucked in a startled breath when she aimed a radiant smile up at me. “Drinking alone is kind of sad. However, I did not intend to drink tonight in the first place. I just dropped by to check on Paige.”

“Funny. So did I.”

“She has a way of bringing that out in people, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” I agreed. “I have to confess that making small talk is not one of my strengths. Awkward might be my middle name.”

“It’s not his middle name,” Paige snickered behind the bar.

Laughing, Piper leaned into my side as we walked toward a booth in the corner. “Should I ignore her?”

“God, please do.” I watched, intrigued, as she laughed without restraint; her eyes alight with humor and held tilted back like she put her whole body into the feeling.

While Paige was full of brash humor and dry as dirt jokes, Piper seemed… different .

I wasn’t sure what to make of her, but I had the oddest feeling that maybe I was glad I had decided not to go home.

I eyed an empty booth in the corner and guided her through the crowd toward it, my hand hovering at the small of her back, so careful not to actually touch her.