Chapter 1
Chapter one
Paisley
Five and half years later . . .
“Paisley Grace, are we getting this show on the road?” my husband’s amused baritone called from the hallway. “Or do I need to come get you?” The words held a flirtatious threat I’d have to be deaf to ignore.
“Coming!” If he came to get me, we would both be late for work.
I snapped shut the volume of Sherlock Holmes short stories I was perusing and tucked the last of my notes about summer-reading-list ideas into my leather satchel and stepped out of our home library into the hall.
Did I have everything? Lunch. Check. Reading list. Check.
I nodded, satisfied everything was in apple-pie order.
At the front door, Greyson had his phone to his ear, flashing me an apologetic grimace. “Keegan, when we decide, you’ll be the first to know,” he informed the caller. “Yes, I know it’s the opportunity of a lifetime.”
I scowled, and Greyson’s lips twitched despite their thin line.
“Persistent Keegan again?” I grumbled when he finally hung up. “It’s not even 7:30 in the morning.”
“Yeah, well, even in the military, patience was never one of his strong points. But we’ll need to give him an answer soon.” Eyeing my blue gingham sundress and oversized cream cardigan with appreciation, Greyson smiled. “You take the wrong left between here and Rivendell?”
I sniffed and flounced past him. “Baker Street actually.”
He caught my satchel strap, tugging me to a stop before I exited the open front door.
Without a word, I let him take it. “Changing jobs and moving halfway across the country is a big decision. Don’t let him rush you.” Standing on tiptoe, I kissed his cheek. “Rosie Cotton already in the truck?”
“Mm-hmm. Exactly where we should be right now.”
Oops. Time always got away from me when it came to books. “Sorry, how late did I make you? I was trying to hurry.”
Greyson chuckled lightly and ushered me out the door, locking it behind us. “We’re not late. Not yet.”
“Then why are you rushing me?”
He opened the passenger door of his sky-blue 1974 Ford truck for me and grinned. “So we can say a proper goodbye.”
Once he hopped in the driver’s seat, I huffed a breath, ruffling my bangs. “If you wanted to make out like teenagers, you should have just said so instead of stressing me out about being late.”
Greyson only laughed and backed out of the driveway.
He didn’t usually drive me to work, but my car was in his mechanic shop off Main Street needing a new fan belt—whatever that was—so we were carpooling for now.
Off Main Mechanic was only a two-minute drive around the corner from the library or a brisk five-minute walk.
Close enough we always met to have lunch together.
Serenity Springs was a small town nestled about half an hour south of Caldwell, our nearest major city.
But to look at us, you’d think we’d stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
We were the love child between Avonlea and Stars Hollow, and we took charm seriously, since we were a touristy town during the spring and summer months.
We might know our neighbours’ business a little too well, but it also meant we had each other’s backs when it counted.
And you could always bank on a guaranteed steady stream of casseroles during emergencies.
“You got all the material you needed for the reading list?” Greyson broke the comfortable silence, motioning to the satchel on my lap. “I left you some notes for inspiration.”
Ha. His notes included trying to get me to give Moby Dick another chance.
No, sir. Not taking the bait, I smiled. “Yup. You wouldn’t believe how many kids come in asking me, ‘Ms. Paisley, what’s that book with fossils and adventure and kids living in a lighthouse?
Ms. Paisley, is there a Herman Melville book shorter than Moby Dick?
’ As if, the man never knew when to shut up!
‘Ms. Paisley, are there CliffsNotes for just about any book in existence?’ This is just summer reading! ”
He smirked and shot me a wink. “I hope you don’t plan on recommending that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde book to any of the impressionable youth this summer.”
I tilted my head, eyeing him with bewilderment. “Whyever not? It’s a classic, and an incredibly thought-provoking one at that. Riveting.”
“Oh, I know.” Greyson eyed me slyly, turning onto Main Street. “But you wouldn’t want to accidentally encourage them to become a fire hazard.”
I blinked. What in the world? There was nothing inherently dangerous about Robert Louis Stevenson’s masterpiece (better than Treasure Island, in my opinion) and no fires to speak of in the plot. Sure, Stevenson burned the first draft of the book and started again from scratch, but—
My nostrils flared with a sharp inhale, and I smacked his arm. “Greyson Satterfield, you promised to never speak of the Incident!”
Greyson parked in front of the library and draped his arm over the back of the bench seat, giving me his full attention. “Promised is a strong word, love. Particularly about something like that. And I’d want to give Shane a heads-up to put the fire station on alert.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.
He just smiled. Just before we’d gotten married, I’d been cooking dinner for the two of us and decided to read The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the same time.
Wrong decision. Chicken wasn’t supposed to be black, and we never did get the charred veggies off the bottom of that pan. “You’re a rogue.”
“But I’m your rogue.”
I couldn’t bite back the smile or the eruption of butterflies in my stomach. Greyson wasn’t an overly romantic man, but he sure knew how to make my heart flutter.
Marrying my best friend nearly four years ago was the best thing that’d ever happened to me.
Sure, we’d weathered our fair share of hardships—like repeated negative pregnancy tests and the nightmares Greyson struggled with from his last tour overseas with the Marines—but I wouldn’t trade him and this beautiful life of ours for anything.
Sometimes I felt almost guilty about this level of happiness, but I sure didn’t take it for granted.
I unbuckled my seat belt and smoothed the skirt of my sundress. “Well, I guess we can pray the kids have better attention spans than I do.”
Greyson gently pinched my chin and made me look at him. “Oh, I like your attention span just fine, Mrs. Satterfield.”
“Even when I make us late because my head’s stuck in a book?”
In a move so smooth it made me swoon a little, Greyson gripped my hips and lifted me across the bench seat to sit next to him.
Bench seats, the most romantic thing about trucks.
“Especially then,” he growled playfully, our noses brushing.
“I fell in love with an incredibly smart, sexy librarian, and I seem to recall something about a proper goodbye.”
Then he kissed me. Long and slow. Not a peck or a buss. This was a toe-curling goodbye kiss filled with promise.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him take the lead, loving the slight rasp of his scruff against my cheek. The firm pressure of his hand on my hip, the other trailing up my spine. The way his lips teased mine, giving and coaxing.
It was a perfect kiss in every—
“Ugh!” I shrieked, yanking away as a very cold, very wet nose bumped my ear.
Greyson groaned, and I glared at Rosie Cotton, the two-year-old golden retriever we’d adopted last winter. Her mouth opened, and I ducked, shoving my face into Greyson’s chest. There was no way I was getting tongue action from a canine.
“I know you think you love him best, but I was here first, missy,” I scolded, shoving her lightly back onto her side of the narrow back seat and out of licking range. She’d been so well behaved until now that I’d forgotten she was in here.
“You’re still my best girl, Pais.” Greyson chuckled, leaning in for another kiss.
A firm thump from the hood startled us apart.
Mrs. Gulliver stood at attention in front of the truck, hands on her ample hips, scowling at us.
In most small towns, there was always one lady who ran the local gossip mill and took to policing the morality of the young folk .
. . or in our case, happily married couples.
Avonlea had Mrs. Lynde; Serenity Springs had Mrs. Gulliver.
Mrs. Gulliver, in all her fuchsia-streaked white-haired glory, was a town staple.
Or a menace, depending on who you asked.
She’d taught Sunday School for forty years, been a PTA mom before it was a thing, and was married to the mayor.
Plus, her son was the police chief. All a bit too much in the family, if you asked me.
Lucky for us, she must have been in a chipper mood to have only smacked the hood with a warning. We definitely could have been hit with a ticket, courtesy of the mayor.
For what, you might ask? Probably something along the lines of a public amorous embrace. Didn’t know that was a crime? Neither did I until I moved to Serenity Springs.
I bit my kiss-swollen lip. “Gulliver sighting.”
Greyson snorted. “What’s she going to do? Report us for public indecency? I didn’t even take my shirt off”—he side-eyed me—“this time. And we were just kissing, not even fogging up the windows.”
Cheeks flaming, I swatted his middle—his abs perfectly muscly and solid.
Thank you, Marine Corps. “Did you see if she had her phone? I’d rather not have our making out end up on The Vine.
Seriously, what was your brother thinking when he made that thing?
It was supposed to be a local app for news, not a gossip column! ”
“Love, that was hardly making out,” Greyson scoffed. “In fact, if you want—” He leaned towards me, warm breath skittering over my neck.
“I’d advise you not to finish that sentence.” I scooted farther to my side of the cab, out of reach.