Love Lost & Found (Surfside Romance Book 2) Read online

  “Peace is the condition in which happiness exists. You cannot buy it; you must know how to manufacture it from within. You must learn to pattern your life as a triangle with calmness and sweetness as the sides, happiness as the base.”

  His voice rose and fell as the mist parted and the first step of healing was exposed. Pushing his chair back, Sean stood up and ran a rubber-tipped mallet around the rim of a large white bowl, filling the room with a pleasant pulsing vibration.

  “It’s a singing bowl,” he explained. “You might want to buy one to help clear negative thoughts. They sell them at the shop downstairs.”

  He conveniently forgot to mention he owned the Sedona Spiritual Shop. Again, he asked if she wanted to book the tour. “You already have the credit on account and we can discuss the results of this session at the same time.”

  “I’ll call,” she said, opening the door easily now. “I’ll be back.”

  Downstairs, she marveled at the array of crystals, bowls, dream catchers, and incense in every fragrance. She was coming unglued in a good way as she picked objects up and replaced them under the watchful eye of a black-haired young woman dressed in blue jeans and cherry red sweater. A text pinged her phone. The moving van was almost there.

  Sliding into her Jeep, energized and hyper-aware of her body, she failed to notice the dark-haired man in jeans and black denim jacket walking through the plaza.

  But he saw her.

  CHAPTER 22

  THE WEARY travelers arrived home in the early morning hours. Exhausted, they both tumbled into bed, leaving their shoes and suitcases in the living room.

  Hannah was still asleep as Alexa dragged herself out of bed bleary-eyed and dog-tired and left a message for Lana Cox saying she’d be late. Then she stumbled into the shower. Hot water, body wash, shampoo, and conditioner swirled down the drain and images of Rick Harlow’s chiseled abs and rugged face flooded her mind. She hated to awaken from this enchanting dream. Even as she brewed coffee and toasted a frozen bagel, Alexa realized she had a moral dilemma to untangle.

  Before leaving for work, she texted Luke: Home in one piece. Trip was awesome. I owe you one. xxx

  As she hit SEND, she wondered what she meant by “owing” him: Did it mean she’d buy him a ticket to some exotic destination, or that she’d do something erotic the next time they were in bed together? Either way, the message was already pinging off cell towers on the way to Fairfax.

  An immediate reply rolled in. No debt incurred. My pleasure. Pls have Hannah check on Z today and let me know how she’s doing. Glad you’re back safe.

  He hadn’t added any smiley faces, hearts, or thumbs-up emoji, something he’d been doing recently. Her first instinct was to call and ask if everything was okay, but she was already late. Scribbling a note for Hannah, Alexa grabbed her purse, tossed a power bar, yogurt, and an apple into her lunch bag, and scooted out. She dictated a shopping list into her cell phone, as well as a reminder to get an estimate on fixing the dings on her SUV from a Thanksgiving night dustup in the Publix parking lot. Now there was a new scrape from some knucklehead at the airport parking garage.

  She found an empty space near the front door of Comet Communications. Many businesses had shut down for the holiday week but they were always on deadline.

  “Happy Wednesday,” chirped Crystal, whose hair looked as though someone had set it on fire.

  “You should go to Portland. I think you’d fit in perfectly.”

  “Because I look like a lobster?” She laughed. “Good one, Alexa.”

  “I mean Oregon. There’s a weird vibe out there.”

  “You think I’m weird?” She sounded offended.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “I am. Thanks for noticing.” She shot Alexa a big grin and thumbs-up.

  In the main office, everybody’s nose was down, pens scratching. Cara’s high-pitched excited voice carried over the cubicles. Lana was skulking somewhere as Alexa found two new manuscripts, in addition to the three yet to be completed by Monday, the last day of the calendar year. Luke would be in town this weekend and having wild and crazy sex was a very real possibility. But pretending it was Rick was just plain wicked.

  She was unusually cold and shrugged into her sweater. The sleeve caught the small, pretty sapphire and diamond ring. As she pulled her hand out, the phone rang. Mrs. Parry’s tone was flat and distant, lacking any holiday cheer. “Mr. Frost would like to see you.”

  For months Bryan Frost had coached her progress on the novel she’d ultimately trashed, nitpicking as though she had lice. Apparently he wasn’t content with his new protégée, Cara, or he simply liked to micromanage. Alexa dreaded another face-to-face as she passed the executive secretary in a midnight blue sweater accented with a paisley scarf. She wore opulence well, but was humorless and tight-lipped as usual.

  “Close the door,” he said as she slid into his office. Was this the kiss of death? “Please, sit.”

  She sank into the chair too jet-lagged to worry. Whatever happened happened.

  He appeared well-rested and unusually handsome in a cream colored shirt and paisley tie, freshly shaved, fingernails neatly trimmed and polished. Bryan Frost was uncommonly good looking, but at this moment his panache couldn’t compare to Rick Harlow’s outdoorsy charisma.

  “I hope your holiday was enjoyable,” he said, making a steeple with his fingertips. “As you know, we have two books moving forward into production for our new mystery and romance lines. We’ll also be sponsoring another contest starting next week.” He smiled kindly. “We’d talked about the hermit who leaves messages in the sand for some unknown woman. Are you still working on that?”

  Alexa had totally forgotten their discussion. It seemed light years ago. So much had happened it was impossible for her to process his words.

  “Actually, I had another idea on the airplane coming back from Portland.”

  “Maine?”

  “Oregon.”

  “What were you doing out west? You barely had time to get there and back.”

  “We went to see my mom,” she said, conveniently omitting that Sari was AWOL, but her old boyfriend had kissed her passionately—and more than once.

  “What’s the new angle?”

  “Long-distance Lovers.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re writing about yourself again. That didn’t turn out well last time.”

  Alexa nodded, well aware that her personal life had become an open book.

  “No worries. I promise.”

  “What about Lost Love Found? It implies mystery, romance, and intrigue.”

  Her cheeks flushed and a hive popped up on her chest. She was sitting on a goldmine: The story of a woman torn between two lovers, one on each coast. Now that was a slam-dunk winner. Apparently Bryan was thinking along the same lines. He was onboard.

  “Okay then, you’re off and running.” He stood up and smoothed his tie, grabbed his jacket and added, “By the way, Mrs. Parry wanted to talk to you.”

  Without waiting for her to leave, Frost pushed the back door open and slipped out. Although it was none of her business, she wondered if he had a hot date. At Helen’s desk she asked, “How are you coming with the book? Do you have an introduction or first chapter for me to review?”

  Helen seemed baffled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Before the holiday we talked about you writing a book called Dress for Success.”

  Helen’s hands stopped typing, she looked puzzled. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “You’re always the picture of perfection with your amazing outfits and accessories.”

  “First of all, I’m not a writer and second, what could I possibly have to say?”

  “Look at you. You’re not only perfection personified; you’re the boss’s executive secretary. In other words, a shoo-in.”

  “You’re so naïve, Alexa. It’s because I’m an executive secretary that my book would never be published.”

  “Why not?”

&
nbsp; “Can you imagine Mr. Frost telling everyone that our latest title was written by his secretary? Anyway, I’ve never written a word, I just have good taste.”

  “But you said you wanted to see me.”

  “Yes, I have a delicate matter to discuss.”

  Had Bryan left the office so Helen could do his dirty work?

  She used every ounce of will power not to faint, bolt, or throw up as she waited for the bad news. Her bloodshot eyes pleaded with Mrs. Parry. Please don’t fire me today.

  Pretty please with sugar on top.

  CHAPTER 23

  ALEXA MUDDLED through the rest of the day, feeling as though she’d been tossed over the railing of a cruise ship—freefalling into a frenzy of hungry sharks. Her phone, which was muted and tucked away in her purse, had multiple text messages from Luke and Hannah and Rick. Thank goodness for texts or she would have been inundated with calls and Lana would be all over her like icing on a Mojo doughnut about using company time for personal business.

  After completing one of her assigned projects, she read Rick’s texts, and grinned. What a sweet and caring guy, asking about her trip home and freely admitting that he missed her—even though it had been less than twenty-four hours. His second text was steamier. Alexa glanced around to make sure nobody was looking over her shoulder. Blushing, she sent back a string of red-faced emoji.

  Luke wanted to solidify plans for New Year’s Eve, which was days away. He texted that he’d made dinner reservations at Morton’s Steak House for four. A second text followed indicating the rest of the night was Alexa’s to plan and he was open to all suggestions, the wilder the better.

  She studied the words and the implications, assuming he was leaving the payback for the tickets up to her. Before going to Portland, she would have texted back, Can’t wait to jump your bones. Now she wasn’t so sure. Lana Cox appeared.

  “It’s curious how you have so much time to text when the rest of us are on such short deadlines.”

  Alexa placed the phone face down on her desk, picked up a green felt pen, and opened the manuscript with her left hand as Lana gasped. “Is that an engagement ring?”

  She whisked her hand under the desk.

  “Let me see that! You’re engaged?”

  A sea of heads peered over the low burlap-covered dividers. Cara rushed up for a better view gushing, “I’m so happy for you. You totally deserve this.”

  Word spread faster measles. Within minutes Zev Humphries lumbered over.

  “I hear you’re quitting to get married,” he gasped, winded from the twenty-foot walk from his office. “That’s too bad.”

  Alexa stood up feeling woozy, her throat scratchy. “Okay, hold on a sec everyone, I’m not engaged. This is a friendship ring from an old friend in Portland.”

  “Portland?” asked Lana. “What’s in Portland besides weirdoes?”

  “We went there for Christmas. It’s no big deal.”

  Cara gushed, “It’s a very big deal and a great plot for book. How about Love in Portland?”

  Other zingers flew at her like darts as her colleagues vied to select the title for her new novel. Lana offered up Married by Mistake and Zev suggested Love Torn Asunder.

  Alexa hurried to her thinking place: the ladies room. The buzz in the newsroom filtered through the door as she leaned her forehead against the cool tile. How could life take so many U-turns in such a short time? A week ago they were going to see her mother in Portland, have a cozy Christmas dinner together, and possibly heal old wounds. Now things were completely loco. With Lana’s clumpy boots approaching, she slipped into a stall feeling like a gerbil on a spinning wheel.

  ________

  The following morning, Alexa was summoned to see Helen Parry who sat primly, fingers intertwined, and a chilling smile on her face. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

  As if I had any choice.

  “We have a lovely girl,” she said, “a foreign exchange student from Denmark who needs a placement for the spring term.” She shuffled some papers on her desk. “Since I’m this year’s chairperson of the Executive Professionals Committee, I thought of you.” Helen held Alexa’s eyes hostage. “We thought with your daughter being the same age, what’s her name, Anna?”

  “Hannah.”

  “Yes Hannah. That’s funny.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The girl’s name is Gretel Jepsen. They’ll be Hansel and Gretel.”

  Please tell me I’m on some stupid reality show and this is a colossal joke.

  “Her initial placement family didn’t work out the way we’d hoped. We need a new home right away.”

  How many ways can I say no?

  “Gretel is sweet and quiet, a diligent student, highly motivated to earn good grades.”

  Alexa cleared her throat and heard her ears pop. “Can we meet first? See if it’s a good fit?”

  Helen smiled broadly. Alexa was certain her teeth were veneers. “I’ll be sure to tell Bryan how you opened your home to a student in need.”

  Will I get a raise, bonus or promotion?

  “What happened to the other host family?”

  Helen flipped through her paperwork, but Alexa was certain she knew. She averted her eyes and kept her voice low. “Boy trouble.”

  Boy oh boy.

  “But since you have a daughter, I don’t foresee any problem, do you?”

  Only a million and a half. Hannah is an only child and not accustomed to sharing and I need two teenagers like another tit.

  Unable to find a loophole to this potentially disastrous situation, she said, “Not at all.”

  Helen stood up and offered her hand, manicured nails painted the same shade of her sweater, but Alexa felt trapped. Alarm bells were blaring. Apparently this was a done deal.

  She drove home wondering how to break the news. It wasn’t enough that her heart was torn in half, and the snafu with the ring had caused a ruckus at work, she now had THIS.

  Guess what, sweetie; we’ll be hosting a sweet and fun girl from Denmark for a few months. She’ll sleep in your room, share your closet, use your bathroom, and take up half of your dresser space. We’ll learn all about Danish culture and try new foods.

  She pulled into her parking space and turned off the engine. There had to be an upside; Danish pastries perhaps.

  But no, not even close. According to the internet, the four most popular dishes included:

  Frikadeller (meat balls).

  Leverpostej (liver paste), served with pickled beetroot, mushrooms or bacon.

  Mørbradbøf (pork tenderloin), served with fried onions.

  Flæskesteg (roast pork) served with crackling and red cabbage.

  Alexa decided to take a positive approach. Everything would be fine. She sneezed twice; a cold was coming on. Her throat was already scratchy, her joints aching. The airplane ride, the change of temperature, and the stress had taken its toll.

  As she slipped the key into the lock, Bryan Frost’s words echoed in her ears: “Are you putting yourself in your new book?” She said “no,” but isn’t that what most writers did? They took the flotsam and jetsam of their lives and twisted them into fiction. She liked the idea of Lost Love Found, tying up the protagonist and some brawny woodsman into a neat little package with whatever ending she wanted.

  If only life were like that.

  She tossed her keys into the glass bowl on the shelf near the door and put her empty lunch pack in the kitchen. Hannah was probably at Zelda’s. Gretel wouldn’t arrive until after the New Year and there was no point in bringing it up now. Once they were back in school, they’d be too busy to bicker or fight. Actually, it might be fun having a new point of view or even someone to take her side for a change.

  Gazing down at the ring on her finger, she wondered again what, exactly, Rick had said to her on the top of Bald Peak Mountain. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow,” she muttered, as she sorted through the bills and junk mail that accumulated in her absence. Feeling worse by the minute, she p
opped two Advil and lay down on the couch.

  Friday morning she dragged herself out of bed and nearly collapsed on the floor. Her head was stuffy, her sinuses were on fire, and she was weak as a newborn. Since it was payday, she had to get to work. After choking down some tea and half a piece of toast, she drove to the corporate park, her head pounding like a gong. She struggled through the morning but felt feverish by noon. She said to Helen, “I’m sick, I have to leave. Can I get my check?”

  Slowly, Helen pulled an envelope from her top drawer. “Your last one.”

  “What?” Her knees buckled. “My last check?”

  “Yes, next year you’ll be in auto-deposit, like everyone else. Oh, and thank you for helping out with Gretel. You’re a lifesaver. Feel better and happy New Year.”

  At home she tumbled into a feverish dream. During October and November, when Publix was offering a ten dollar coupon for getting a flu shot, she was juggling three men, the pressures of single parenthood, while writing a book and hoping to win the five-thousand-dollar grand prize. Now she could only pray Hannah didn’t get it or give it to Zelda, which could be disastrous.

  Hannah stood in the doorway.

  “What are you doing in bed?” she asked. “Who’s making dinner?”

  Her voice was thick. “I’m sick.”

  “You’re not allowed to get sick.”

  Without the strength to reply, Alexa closed her eyes and let the world float away.

  CHAPTER 24

  LUKE PRESCOTT packed up the last of the computers. Soon he’d be in Florida, basking on the sand with Alexa Boswell’s bikini-clad body at his side. After celebratory drinks with the staff, Luke drove home and staggered up the stairs into his apartment, checking the bedroom for uninvited guests before undressing. For a split second, he wished Esperanza was back for round two. Instead, she’d delivered a signed contract from the Japanese businessman and arranged for a moving van to pick up his clothing and other personal items. The concierge at his beachfront luxury condo in Boca Raton would have them delivered up to his newly furnished three-bedroom unit.