The Book Lover’s Beach House (Sweetbriar Cove #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Poppy Somerville was a stinking great romance fraud.

“The Queen of Happily-Ever-After!”

She whimpered, reading the tag line emblazoned on the cover of her latest romance novel release.

Usually, she’d be thrilled at the prize placement for one of her books: front table center at the airport bookstore. But today of all days, it felt like the universe was taunting her.

“More like, queen of disastrous romantic choices that mean I’ll wind up single forever and dying alone.”

“First of all, that wouldn’t fit on the front cover,” her best friend, Summer, teased her down the phone line. “And second, you’re not going to die alone. You can always get a pet ferret.”

“A ferret?” Poppy snorted in surprise.

“Sure. Anyone can have a cat or a chihuahua,” Summer declared. “But if you see a fabulous old lady out walking her ferret, you know, that’s a woman with stories to tell.”

“Well, just as long as there’s a plan.” Poppy paused, feeling a now-familiar lurch of panic. “Have I just made the worst mistake of my life?” she whispered, as she followed the directions to baggage reclaim.

“No!” Summer yelped. “The mistake would have been marrying him.”

“I know, but…” Poppy gulped, remembering the look on Owen’s face two weeks ago when she’d told him it was over; she was calling off the wedding. “I still feel like the worst person in the world, backing out at the last minute.”

“And you’d feel even worse saying ‘I do’ to a man you know isn’t the one,” Summer reminded her. “Even though I would have killed it in that green bridesmaid’s gown.”

“You did look great,” Poppy agreed wistfully. “It would have been a beautiful wedding...”

She could picture it perfectly—she’d selected every detail.

She knew the music that would have been playing, the white roses decorating the chapel pews.

It was her dream wedding from start to finish—and it was all still just a dream.

Because today, instead of saying her vows and embarking on a life together with her new husband, she’d boarded a last-minute midnight flight, and set off for Cape Cod.

Alone.

“You did the right thing,” Summer said firmly. “You deserve to find the love of your life— and Owen does, too. Besides, whoever heard of a bestselling romance author settling for second best?”

The irony wasn’t lost on Poppy. As she hoisted her suitcase into the rental car trunk and got behind the wheel, Summer’s question echoed in her mind. She’d always had faith that her romantic streak would steer her right in life, but now, she wondered if it had sent her veering way off course.

Call her na?ve, or hopelessly romantic if you want—she’d heard it all. But ever since she sneaked her first drugstore romance novel to read under the covers at night, she’d believed in soulmates. That there was someone for everyone. A place her heart could find a home.

A man who could make her snort with laughter and moan the house down in pleasure, and maybe even whip up some soft-scramble eggs the morning after, too.

OK, maybe just brew a great cup of coffee, to refuel after all those nights of wild passion.

But love — great love — was something worth believing.

It’s what made Poppy sing along with every love song on the radio, and sit up nights watching classic windswept movies while her college friends were out drinking in the rowdy bars on State Street on a Friday night.

It’s why, when she finally sat down to write her very first book, a love story was the only thing on her mind.

Now, a few years and half a dozen novels later, she had millions of readers all over the world—because they wanted to believe, too.

Some people rolled their eyes, but Poppy didn’t care. She figured there was something brave about that kind of hope, especially with so much darkness in the world. Love was worth taking a risk on, no matter how easy it seemed just to play it safe and settle for something less than The One.

But now that she’d actually taken that risk — blown up her whole life and relationship, run out on her wedding, and potentially doomed herself to a life alone, all because she couldn’t shake the bone-deep feeling that there had to be something, someone more?

Well, Poppy could only pray she hadn’t made a massive, monumental, life-ruining mistake.

Her Aunt June would say she was being dramatic. She did, in fact, when she reached out and offered Poppy a lifeline: her beach house in Sweetbriar Cove.

“Trust me,” June had said down the phone line, in her usual no-nonsense tone. “You don’t want to be around for all the gossip. I’ll be on my cruise and out of your hair. And don’t you have that book that needs finishing?”

Poppy didn’t need reminding. Her deadline loomed large.

Her ‘already pushed three times, editor leaving panicked voicemails, black cloud’ of a deadline.

It was the final book in her series, the installment all her readers had been waiting for.

She’d been avoiding that blank page for weeks now, so Aunt June’s offer was the perfect solution.

She could escape to Cape Cod, get away from the wedding-that-wasn’t, and focus on giving her readers the happily-ever-after they deserved.

Now, speeding up the highway with dawn just starting to streak the sky pink, Poppy felt the first stirrings of excitement.

Six lanes narrowed to just a sandy two-way road, and then suddenly, the sun lifted over the horizon, glinting through the lush green woods and glittering on the dark ocean.

Even though she had the car heater blowing on full against the early-morning chill, Poppy wound down the windows to inhale a lungful of crisp, tangy sea air.

It tasted like summertime.

Melting ice-cream cones and sticky sunscreen, the shriek of cold water, plunging into the pond—the memories hit her in a rush, and just like that, she was ten years old again.

The last time she made this drive, she was curled in the backseat, her head in a book while her parents bickered up front.

They told her it would be an adventure, a whole summer at Aunt June’s, but she knew well enough they just wanted her out of the way so they could fight at full volume back home.

As she stood on the porch and watched their car disappear back up the bumpy lane, she was surprised to hear June say, “Ten bucks says they’ll be divorced by the time they come pick you up again. ”

Poppy had stared at her in shock. Of all the things they didn’t talk about those days, the D-word was the biggie, something they tiptoed around like an elephant slap-bang in the middle of the house.

June gave her a knowing look. “C’mon kid, you’re smarter than anyone, all those books you’ve been reading. It’ll be alright,” she added, patting Poppy on the shoulder. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

Poppy learned a lot of things that summer, like how to swing out over Black Bottom Pond to hit the water just right with the biggest splash, and the secret ingredient that made Aunt June’s sweet iced tea so sweet (a splash of maple syrup), but that one stuck with her the longest. Because if some things weren’t meant to be, then that meant there was plenty that was.

True love existed, and maybe her parents hadn’t found it with each other the first time around, but she had to believe it was still out there, for everyone.

Except you.

She pushed away the whisper of doubt in the back of her head, and focused on finding the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it turn off the highway.

She’d been up all night, and exhaustion was hitting hard.

She had to force herself to keep her eyes open as she wound her way down past clapboard houses and white picket fences, bright with hydrangeas in the early morning sun.

When she finally found the blue-shingled beach house sitting squarely at the end of the lane, she could have cheered out loud.

Poppy parked out front and grabbed her purse from the front seat.

She had a suitcase in the trunk, but the only thing she needed right now was a soft mattress and sleep, so she fished the spare key from under the ceramic whale on the porch, let herself in, and crawled straight upstairs to collapse face-down on the nearest bed.

She kicked off her shoes, buried her face in the nearest cool pillow, and let out a sigh of satisfaction. Ahhh…. All she could hear was the steady crashing of the early-morning waves against the shore, and a distant seagull cry.

Bliss.

This had been the right decision. A few weeks of peace and quiet by the shore, and she was sure to find inspiration for her new book — and figure out the rest of her life, too.

Professional salvation? Check. Personal revelation?

Sure, throw that in, too. This summer would turn it all around, she was certain—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Poppy sat up with a start, her perfect peace already shattered.

The hammering had begun.