Wreck the Waves (Pine Rock #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Lola

Pretty sure a party in the orchard after midnight counts as trespassing, Firebird.

You gonna tell on me, Roman?

No, but if I’ve not dragged your ass back home in ten minutes, Mase will.

My brother needs to break more rules.

Or maybe you need to break less.

- Conversation between Lola, age 15 and Roman, age 22

Old Man Gregor drops the keys into my palm and my heart hammers my ribs. “It’s really mine?” I ask, needing to hear the words.

Gregor grunts. “It’s yours. I don’t want to hear about no trouble though, kid.”

I shake my head so hard my ponytail whips my cheeks. “No, sir. I’ll look after the place. I promise.” Not that there’s actually much to look after at this point.

The shop floor is little more than scuffed linoleum stacked with empty, metal shelving units and the walls are a sickly green studded with holes and spackle.

It’s a far cry from the coffee shop I want to turn it into, but the fact that I’ve managed to find someone who will rent to me with the reputation I have in this town is astounding enough.

I can deal with the hospital green walls and a grumpy landlord.

Gregor, the verbose man that he is, grunts again then leaves through the backdoor of the shop. It rattles shut and the crack in the glass snakes farther up the pane, but even that doesn’t stop the grin I’ve been biting back from breaking free.

I look around the dusty shop.

This is really happening. The completed paperwork is right there on the beat-up counter.

I scan over our signatures once more just to make sure and my heart swoops along the curves of each letter.

I don’t exactly have the best track record for making wise decisions, but I made a promise to myself I wouldn’t let that get in my way.

Forget the haters. I am not the same, reckless kid I used to be.

I am Lola fucking Ford and I can do this.

I take out my phone and send a message to the guy who’s to blame for my obsessive love of coffee and everything it’s led to. Mix freshly brewed Brazilian coffee with a dangerously hungover girl and you get one life changing revelation. Or you do in my case at least.

Lola: Want to see my new shop?

I send some photos of the place even though I doubt I’ll get a reply because while I returned to my hometown three weeks ago, Scott is still traveling the world.

I spent six years doing the same thing, avoiding Pine Rock like my life depended on it. Being back here hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing but the metal teeth of the keys are firm in my palm and I know I made the right decision. It’s time to stop running.

I tuck the paperwork under my arm and step out the front door of my new shop right onto Main Street.

Despite being away for so long, it still smells of home here.

The salty sea-breeze and the summer heat bounce off the paving stones and wrap around me, the scent memory soothing me to my bones.

I loved the years I spent traveling but nowhere in the world smells quite like this.

Pine trees and salt. Fried donuts and sand.

I twirl the keys around my finger, my excitement starting to rise again, but apparently my emotions are having a theme park day because the second I see him all that excitement drops like a rollercoaster. Hard and fast.

Roman Banks. AKA my brother’s best friend. AAKA the man I can’t look at without remembering the whole reason I left this town.

My heart can’t decide whether it wants to race or flip and it’s making me a little dizzy. I press a hand into the old red brick that all the shops on Main Street are built from, the striped awning above Tea’s Bookshop keeping me in the shade as I focus on my breath.

Roman strolls down the street towards me, a cowboy hat pulled low over his brow as he reads a book with the front cover bent back. I just stand there, my feet glued to the sidewalk.

Roman is my kryptonite. Has been ever since I was a pre-teen with my very first crush.

He’s changed a little over the years, his brown hair half a shade darker, the shadow of scruff on his jaw making him seem older.

But he’s still got his nose buried in a book and he’s wearing his trademark checked shirt.

I can’t see his eyes from here, but I don’t need to, the devastating ocean blue will be forever imprinted in my mind.

My gaze follows his hand as he tucks his book in his back pocket, and that’s when I realize he’s about two seconds away from looking up and noticing me.

Shit. He can’t see me here. I can’t see him. Not when every thought of Roman reminds me of what happened that night. Of biker jackets and bonfire smoke. Of nauseous touches and waking up with blood.

Roman gets closer and my damn feet finally do what I tell them to and move.

Except a trio of tourists spill out of Tea’s, blocking my path, their arms stacked full of vintage books.

I reel back, shielding my chest with the folder and dart across the street, only narrowly avoiding becoming car splatter.

I set my panicked gaze on the navy and white umbrella in front of me and the four foot nothing wrinkled face of the woman below it.

Beli is over seventy but still spends every day of summer out here manning her ice cream cart. An ice cream cart which is soon to become my refuge. “Hide me,” I squeak at Beli before diving under the cart at her feet.

Beli’s patterned skirt sways around her ankles as she goes about business as usual.

I close my eyes and shut memories of that night away in a locked box until my heart slows and the sounds of Main Street filter back in.

The panic fades and I think I’ve gotten away with it. That is, until Beli opens her mouth.

“Roman,” she calls across the street. “It’s been too long. Come. Say hello to me.”

My jaw drops, and I let my forehead fall against my knees.

Roman, of course, crosses the street. All I can see in the gap between the sidewalk and the cart are his deep brown work boots and it’s completely unfair that even his shoes are attractive.

“You don’t like my ice cream?” Beli asks, and I picture her barely there eyebrows pinching together as she points one of the small wooden spoons at him.

“Your ice cream is the best in Nova Scotia, Beli, you know that.” I can hear the smile in his voice, the soft edges of his British accent only adding to the charm he doesn’t know he has.

“You should come more often then,” Beli declares.

“Yes, I should. How about a scoop of caramel with tapioca?” This is Beli’s genius, ice cream meets bubble tea. It really is incredible and if I wasn’t mad at her for calling Roman over, I’d for sure be buying a tub.

The cart shifts above me as Beli makes Roman’s order and I drag my nails over loose flecks of blacktop, begging her to finish quickly and send him on his way. But no, that would make my life too easy and Beli something other than the meddling old witch she is.

“So, I hear Lola is back in town,” she says.

I freeze. Is it considered disrespectful to murder your elders? Because I’m plotting Beli’s death right now.

Roman’s feet shift. I imagine his thumb running over the pages of his book in his back pocket, like he always does whenever he doesn’t know what to say. “Yeah, I heard that too.”

“You know I always thought you two would be good together.”

My eyes bulge. I wriggle my fingers, extremely tempted to poke the deep brown skin of Beli’s flipflopped foot with my new key.

Roman fakes a cough. “She’s younger than me.” Only by seven years. “And I’m not sure how Mase would feel about that.”

Ah yes. Mason. My brother.

I dig my nails into the ground. Roman’s rejection is nothing new, but I feel my heart sink down to my stomach all the same.

“She’s a wild one for sure. Deserves a good man by her side.”

Okay, maybe I won’t kill Beli. Most people in this town see my wildness as something to tame. Something bad. They’d say I need a good man, only Beli would say I deserve one.

“Yeah. She really does.” Roman’s voice softens and deepens at the same time and the combination swirls low in my core even as dampness gathers in my eyes.

I tilt my head back to stop the tears from falling at the finality in his words. Despite Beli’s overt matchmaking attempt, Roman and I will never be.

I thought I’d be over it by now. I thought six years traveling the world would be enough to get him out of my head, but I’ve been back less than a month and all the feelings I had as a teenager have come back with full force.

If I’m honest, despite everything that happened the night of my eighteenth birthday, I’m not sure they ever went away.

Beli goes up on tiptoes to lean over the cart and hand Roman his ice cream. The till clinks open and I let my head drop back against the wall of the cart, finally relaxing.

“Thanks for the ice cream, Beli. It was good seeing you.” Roman clears his throat. “You too, Lola.”

My eyes flick open.

Fuck.

Me.

Maybe I will kill Beli. Death by ice cream.

Roman’s footsteps fade away and I crawl out of my now defunct hiding spot.

Beli’s wrinkled eyes twinkle with mischief.

I jab a finger at her. “You owe me ice cream. Lots of it.”

She curls her small hands around my finger. “He likes you,” she sing-songs.

My shoulders drop, a tangle of emotions twisting in my stomach because I want Roman with everything in my body and I want to run far away from him too.

I want the knitted sweaters he wears in winter and to steal the glasses he only ever uses when he’s reading at night.

I want all of that and I want to leave the country and go back to never seeing him again.

But none of it matters because Beli’s wrong.

“No,” I breathe out. “He really doesn’t.”