Unforgettable

Chapter One

Monica Garcia Smith believed in signs and omens.

She had wallowed around in her grandmother’s DNA pool long enough to be slightly superstitious.

Like that time when she was in the middle of a novel about a sexy guy who cheated on his wife.

Then out of the blue, a man who looked like the cover of the book came into the library, flirted with her, and even asked her out to dinner.

Something didn’t seem right, so she gave him the excuse that she already had plans.

She found out the next day that he was married.

She didn’t always obey the signs, and when she didn’t, she paid the consequences.

She sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case this time, though.

For six months, she had planned to go to Colorado for her vacation, and then she found a brochure tucked inside a book at the library where she worked.

The picture on the front was of pristine white sands and a woman relaxing on a lounge chair.

Every time she closed her eyes, the emerald-green water and clear blue sky told her to change her mind and go to the beach rather than the mountains.

But now, looking down from her window seat of the plane and watching the ground come closer and closer, she wondered if she should have left the advertisement in the trash.

As far as she could see, red flags dotted the beaches.

A vision of shark fins or rip currents dragging anyone down into the ocean depths popped into her mind.

She just wanted to sit on the beach and listen to the waves, so she figured the flags were not a warning to her.

“Unless,” she whispered, “they are a sign that I should have gone to the mountains instead of the beach.”

“Did you say something?” the teenager sitting next to her asked.

“Just talking to myself,” Monica answered as the plane’s wheels touched the ground.

All she needed for a whole week was to relax on the beach, eat seafood, and read the thick romance book she had brought with her.

No stress. No worries about anything. Lately, she had questioned her decision to even be a librarian.

Her parents had been so happy that she went to college and got a degree in library science, so she couldn’t talk to them about her dissatisfaction with her job.

She sure couldn’t discuss it with her sister, Fiona—the famous model and pride of the town where she and Monica had been raised.

She didn’t know a single person in Panama City Beach, Florida, and didn’t want to.

As the head librarian in the Alvera Public Library just south of El Paso, she had to deal with people all day.

This week, she planned to unwind and find a sign that would tell her what to do with the rest of her life.

She was one of the first to deboard the plane and had no trouble finding her way to the baggage area.

She grabbed her suitcase when it came around and pushed it outside into the hot, humid Florida weather.

Her rental car was ready and waiting. Other than spotting those red flags, all signs seemed to point to the fact that she had made the right decision when she made up her mind to go to the beach rather than the mountains.

She passed a few of those Little Free Libraries on the thirty-minute drive from Panama City to Panama City Beach and on to Laguna Beach where her hotel was located.

Other than that, nothing even reminded her of where she came from or her job.

Checking in at the hotel’s front office was a breeze.

She took her room key from the sweet lady at the desk and rolled her luggage to the elevator.

She pushed the button for the fourth floor and found number 414 right around the corner.

Another good sign in her mind. According to a book she had read about signs and omens, the number 414 promised new beginnings that paved the way to a happy future.

It was one of the few numbers that asked someone to change their way of thinking in order to build stronger foundations for the journey that they would soon embark on.

She used the key card to open the door and pulled her suitcase into the room.

She felt like she had stepped right into the picture of the condo that she had seen in the brochure.

Bedroom and bathroom to the right, hallway to the living area and kitchen straight ahead.

Monica left her suitcase inside the bedroom, slipped her backpack off her shoulder, and tossed it on one of the queen-sized beds.

She crossed the living room and stepped out onto the balcony.

Other than having more people on the beach and lots more noise, the scene was exactly as pictured—white sands, lovely water, and blue skies.

She hurriedly changed into a pair of denim shorts and a halter top, then packed a tote bag with spray-on sunblock, a couple of bottles of water, her book, and a blanket.

With her room key tucked inside her pocket, she was ready to catch a few sunrays before the sun dipped below the horizon.

She left her phone and shoes in the room and headed straight for the beach.

Every few steps, she stopped and wiggled her toes in the sand.

The fact that it wasn’t raining, and the way the warm sand felt on her feet, were more signs that she should be there and not in the Colorado mountains.

No one seemed to be paying any attention to the wind creating little sand tornadoes everywhere.

Kids ran in and out of the surf but didn’t go far.

Seagulls flew overhead, but they didn’t make much headway.

Adults either read books, helped their children build sandcastles, or walked along the hard edge of the beach.

It looked like a lovely afternoon in Monica’s eyes—if it wasn’t for the wind whipping her dishwater-blonde hair around and attempting to sandblast the skin from her face, it would be perfect.

She found a spot between two groups of people, dropped her bag, and removed her sunglasses.

She was the only one on the beach when she pictured it in her mind back in Texas.

That was silly thinking. Today was the beginning of a long weekend and could be the last time families could come to the beach before school started. Even at that, when she looked down the beach, she could see that it was a lot more crowded than her little bit of paradise.

She brought her blanket out with full intention of dropping it on the beach and digging out her book.

Before she could unfold it, three teenage kids waded out a long distance into the water.

A huge wave curled, splashed, and knocked all three of them down.

Monica stopped what she was doing and looked around for a lifeguard.

Not a single one to be found. Her breath caught in her chest, and she took a step toward the edge of the water.

That’s when she remembered reading that the whole area was a swim-at-your-own-risk place and warned everyone to pay attention to the flags. Just what she needed when she was trying to relax on the beach: having to attempt to rescue a bunch of kids who made a stupid choice.

She was a strong swimmer, but there was no way she could rescue those stupid kids in rip currents. Then all three heads popped up, and they made their way back to the shallow water. She breathed a long sigh of relief and said things under her breath that would frighten the fish and the seagulls.

“Learned your lesson, did you?” she whispered as she flipped the blanket out, and a gust of strong wind tried to rip it from her hands.

This was her first vacation, and she was determined that not even a hurricane could ruin a single of the five days she had booked at the Sugar Sands Hotel. She wrestled with the blanket a second time, but it did not cooperate.

“Dammit!” she swore under her breath.

That’s not appropriate language for a librarian to use. Her mother’s voice was loud and clear in her head.

“I’m not a librarian today,” she muttered.

She had looked forward to and planned for everything to be perfect during her first time being away since she went to work at the library. She bought a new bathing suit—a two-piece, because no one would know her in Florida—and when the flags came down, she intended to swim in the ocean every day.

Monica had been to a few library conferences during the past six years since she took the job as the head librarian in Alvera, but that was business, not pleasure.

She had eaten rubber chicken dinners and smooshed with lots of vendors and people.

But from the time she set her feet on the ground right up until the final speech was given two days later, she was constantly busy with work situations.

There was certainly no relaxing with a juicy romance book or listening to the sound of the waves slapping against the beach.

The red flag flapped in the wind, a sign that she should go home to Alvera. But she closed her eyes and ignored it as best she could. Maybe if she went back to her room, sat on the balcony, and listened to the waves from that point, she wouldn’t have the antsy feeling in her gut.

“No, I had a very clear sign,” she declared.

Stop fretting. The voice sounded a lot like her great-aunt Agatha. Those signs and predictions that Granny Garcia had were only fears. Be calm like me, not worried like her.

Aunt Aggie never got in a hurry about anything.

Her blood pressure was probably so low that a coroner would tie a string around her big toe when she was still alive.

Monica didn’t think she would ever be that calm and collected, even though she would probably be just like Aunt Aggie when she was past seventy.