Chapter 3
THREE
Jesse
The phone rings just as I shift my car into reverse, one arm draped over the passenger seat, the other on the wheel.
Music hums low through the speakers—something upbeat that fits the mood perfectly.
I tap the button on the steering wheel to connect the call, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror as I back out.
My brother Noah’s name flashes across the dash. “What’s up?”
“Not much. You busy?”
“Heading to Replay,” I say, easing down my driveway.
“Please tell me you’re not dragging the marketing team to another post-work happy hour.”
“Define dragging,” I say as I glance at my driveway, still covered with sawdust from the deck I swear I’ll finish one of these weekends. “I’ve never had to drag anyone anywhere. I’m heading out with the guys, celebrating my win today. The whole board loved my pitch they gave me the green light.”
“It seems like you’re always celebrating something.”
“Yeah, because I get a lot of wins.”
He groans. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Of winning?” I smirk. “No.”
Noah says I feed off approval. He’s not wrong. But if the world’s going to hand out gold stars, I’ll take mine with a whiskey chaser.
“Seriously, Jess,” Noah continues, his tone halfway between concern and amusement.
A former Olympic gold medal skier, my younger brother is nothing if not disciplined and is always hoping some of that might rub off on me.
“You work all day and you’re out every night. You can’t keep that up forever.”
I laugh, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. “Sure, I can. Sleep’s for people who hate their lives.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“Still taking it as one.”
I turn onto Front Street, the glow of Replay Brewery coming into view ahead. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to your spreadsheets and solitude. Tell Ford I’m being a shining example of work-life balance.”
“Pretty sure he’d call it the opposite.”
“He can call it whatever he wants,” I say before hanging up.
I pull into an empty parking spot and cut the engine, my eyes drifting to the view of the Pacific Ocean at the end of the street.
I was born and raised right here in Deep Cove with my brothers, Ford, Noah, and Wes.
The four of us have always been tight. We had to be.
Our mom died when we were kids, and our dad wasn’t exactly father of the year.
Looking back, it was Ford who did most of the work of raising us.
He was only twelve when Mom passed away, but he was the oldest, and he grew up fast after that.
He never hesitated, never complained, but I know it took a toll on him.
It also gave him a drive and determination to succeed, to make sure we’d all be okay.
That’s how Cove was born. When Ford came up with the dream to build something huge, he made sure there was space in it for all four of us. Years later, we’re still running it together, and Cove has become one of the biggest upscale apparel brands in the country.
I’m the marketing guy. The one who makes things look good, sound better, and sell themselves.
What can I say? Some people build, some people crunch numbers, and some of us were just born with natural charm and a killer tagline.
Ford runs the whole show—he’s the CEO who makes the big decisions.
Noah has always been good with numbers so he keeps the books and the rest of us from accidentally lighting our budget on fire.
Wes is the only one of us who doesn’t directly work for the company.
He’s a pilot but consults when we need him.
He gives strategic advice and outside perspective whenever we have a problem we’re spinning our wheels on.
The moment I step inside Replay, the sound hits me — music, laughter, the rise and fall of conversation. This place always feels like home. I’ve been coming here for years.
Nolan waves from behind the bar, already sliding a pint across the counter before I even reach him. “You’re predictable,” he says with a shrug.
“Loyal,” I correct him with a grin, taking the drink. “Thanks, my man. The place is packed tonight.”
My eyes drift around the room, the end-of-summer energy buzzing through the air. Locals gather around the long wooden tables. I spot a few familiar faces in the crowd.
Nolan nods toward the stage at the far side of the room. “New singer tonight. The crowd’s loving her.” I follow his gaze to the pretty brunette with a voice that reminds me of Lana Del Rey. “Your crew is here, over there by the windows.”
I spot them immediately—three of my buddies, already half a round in. I raise my glass in their direction, earning a cheer. By the time I reach the table, the guys are already shuffling down the bench to make space.
“Jesse,” Mason calls, grinning. “Thought you got lost.”
“You know me,” I grin, clapping Carter on the shoulder. “I just like to make an entrance.”
“Always late and always full of shit,” Luca jokes. “Good to see you, man.”
I take the open seat next to Carter, sliding in beside two girls who are chatting over flights of IPA at the end of the table.
It’s a tight squeeze and my shoulder brushes against the woman nearest me.
She glances up, and for a second, the noise around us blurs.
I haven’t seen her before—no chance I’d forget a face like hers.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s new to Deep Cove. How do I know? I know everyone.
“Sorry, space seems to be a hot commodity tonight,” I say, leaning into the gorgeous blonde wearing a hot as fuck halter top, just close enough to be heard over the music.
She glances at me, and there’s a flicker of surprise.
Recognition, maybe? And then it’s gone. It was the kind of look people give when they’ve seen your face somewhere before but can’t quite place it.
It’s something I’ve gotten used to, working for a brand that plasters my photo across social media sites.
Still, something about the way her gaze sharpened felt different.
“You’re fine,” she says, tone slightly clipped. “I can try to move over.”
“I’m good either way. I’ve survived tighter squeezes.”
Mason, of course, hears that. “Yeah, you have,” he says, chuckling over the rim of his beer glass.
The friend laughs, but it dies on her lips when she meets the gaze of the blonde next to me. I glance over at her again and she doesn’t look amused.
But damn, she’s beautiful.
It’s the kind of beautiful that sneaks up on you, and then suddenly, it’s all you can see.
Her skin is smooth, and sun-kissed in a way that makes me think she spends a lot of time outdoors.
Her hair is dark blonde, long and glossy, pulled back off her face.
She has these sharp, striking features—high cheekbones and a defined jawline, a straight, delicate nose with just enough of a slope to make it disarmingly feminine.
But it’s her mouth that has me captivated.
Her lips are pillowy and full, with the faintest dip in her top lip.
They look impossibly soft, and they part slightly when she breathes, just enough to reveal a glimpse of perfectly straight white teeth.
There’s something about her that feels polished and composed—the way she’s perched on her stool, spine straight, posture perfect. I can already tell there is a quiet stubbornness about her, the kind of self-control that makes me wonder what it would take to break it.
My thoughts are interrupted when Luca elbows my side, smirking. “Alright, gentlemen, let’s talk about what really happened at that investor dinner last week.”
Carter groans. “Oh, here we go.”
“No, no—this is good,” Mason cuts in. “It’s not every day Jesse tells a man worth two hundred million that he ‘vibes corporate transparency.’”
“It was a solid point,” I say. “In context.”
“There was no context,” Luca says, laughing. “You were three bourbons in.”
“Four,” Mason corrects.
I shrug, unapologetic. “He agreed with me.”
“He called you a ‘refreshing risk,’” Carter says. “Which is billionaire code for a liability.”
“At least I made an impression,” I say with a grin. “You guys should take notes.”
“You’ve had some memorable moments, I’ll give you that,” Luca laughs.
I’ve known Luca and Mason since we were kids in middle school, so they know all of my most infamous stories—they were there for most of them. Carter and I met at the gym several years ago. He’s a personal trainer and the guy has muscles that make gym posters look underachieving.
“A refreshing risk,” Mason repeats. “That’s going on your business card.”
“Along with ‘Professional Shit Disturber’ and ‘Part Time Firefighter,’” Luca adds, taking a pull of his beer.
“But only if he starts the fire first,” Carter says, cracking up.
“You set a kitchen on fire one time, and you never hear the end of it,” I deadpan.
The table breaks into easy laughter again, and the noise fills the space around us—music, chatter, glasses clinking.
Beside me, New Girl and her friend whose name I overheard as Lottie, are mid-conversation but every now and then, I catch the blonde glancing our way.
She’s trying not to be obvious, but I can feel it—her attention on us, slipping toward me.
I tell myself to let it go because she seems to have her guard up. But I can’t help wondering who she is. I want to know her name, what brought her here, what her voice sounds like when she’s not holding back.
I’ve just about convinced myself to lean in and get answers to all of my questions when someone slides up beside our table.
“Jesse Winters,” a familiar voice purrs.
I turn, already smiling. “Hey there.”
She’s tall, confident, in a tight dress that leaves very little to the imagination. I don’t recall her name, but she works for one of Cove’s PR firms, if I remember right.
“I should’ve known you’d be here,” she says, angling her body toward me. “If there’s a crowd or a camera, you’re usually not far away.”
“I guess I’m predictable that way,” I admit, noticing the color of her eyes—one green, the other blue. I’m fascinated as hell, but I know better than to mix business with pleasure. Ford would chop off my balls if I slept with her and I like my boys attached to my body.
“I won’t interrupt your evening, just wanted to come over and say hello” she says, hand resting at the back of my chair. “I’m sitting at the bar if you want to find me later. It’s Anna, by the way, in case you need a reminder.”
“Sounds good, Anna.”
She taps her nails once against the back of my chair and walks off with a deliberate sway that says she knows people are watching.
“Unreal,” Mason mutters.
“What?” I ask, playing innocent.
“Do you ever go out and not have some girl all over you?”
“Hasn’t happened yet,” I say, leaning back with a grin.
Luca groans. “My God.”
Carter laughs. “And yet, somehow, magnetic.”
I shrug. “It’s a gift.”
Across from me, the friend hides a smile behind her glass, but I feel New Girl exhale next to me, like she’s already had her fill of my particular brand of charm.
I turn slightly toward her, the edge of my knee brushing hers.
“I’m heading to the bar,” I say, nodding toward the counter. “Can I get you something?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, steady and cool. “I don’t think your date would appreciate that,” she says, nodding to where Anna is leaning against the bar.
For a second, I just blink. “My—oh.” Then I grin. “You heard that, huh?”
“Hard to miss,” she says dryly. “You might want to focus on one at a time.”
I huff a laugh, can’t help it. “You make it sound like there’s a list.”
“Just seems to be a pattern,” she counters cooly.
Something about the steady way she is looking at me makes my mouth curve at the edges and my dick take notice. I’ve always had a weakness for a woman who can keep up, who can dish it as good as she can take it.
I drag my thumb along the rim of my beer glass, eyes still on her. “You always this honest with strangers?”
“Only the ones who introduce themselves by flirting with someone else first,” she says, eyes flicking back to her drink.
Ouch. And okay, fair.
“Noted,” I murmur, still smiling as I drag a hand through my hair, a habit that betrays the unexpected nervousness I suddenly feel.
She doesn’t respond, just lifts her glass and takes a slow sip, eyes fixed straight ahead like I’m not even here.
It should roll off me—most things do—but for some reason, it doesn’t.
There’s something about her calm that gets under my skin.
It’s like she’s the only person in the room who doesn’t care who I am…
and that alone makes her impossible to ignore.
I am aware of the guys talking around me, but even their occasional bursts of laughter can’t pull my attention away from the woman sitting next to me. Her eyes are on the singer now, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles in the condensation of her glass.
“Let’s start fresh,” I say, leaning in just enough for her to hear me without invading her personal space. “How about you tell me your name?”
Her head turns, slow and deliberate. “Why would I do that?”
“Because otherwise I’ll have to keep calling you ‘the new girl in town who thinks I’m an ass’ and that’s a bit of a mouthful.’”
That earns me the faintest quirk of her mouth, the first sign of a smile I’ve seen since I sat down. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“Not when I’m curious,” I admit.
“And you’re curious about me?”
“Painfully,” I say, admitting the truth. “But don’t worry, I can be patient.”
“Good,” she says lightly, standing. When her friend looks up, the blonde nods toward the door. “You’ll need to be.”
I watch her go, a smile tugging at my mouth as it occurs to me that I may have just met my match.
Whoever this girl is, I’ve got a feeling she’s about to make my life more interesting.