Page 9 of A Fall to Remember

She grabbed her laptop and pulled up directions to the Green Grocer on her phone. Fortunately, everything in Half Moon Bay seemed to be within walking distance. Then she hurried to the lobby, surveying the dregs of the breakfast buffet, before finally settling on a banana and a stale bagel on her way out the door.

Damn, she never slept in.

Lately, she never slept. Period.

She’d even set an alarm, but last night, the instant her head hit the pillow, she was out. Maybe it was the dull roar of the ocean or the way everything smelled clean and fresh like Mother Nature had woken her with a crisp spritz. Or perhaps it was because subconsciously her brain had turned off at least for the night, knowing that she was nearly a thousand miles away from Seattle.

She stuffed the banana in her bag and checked her directions.

Who knew what scenarios Jim might pitch to their new content partner in her absence? He had a tendency to go rogue, and she couldn’t let that happen. Her promotion and bonus were riding on making this weekend a success.

Time to book it.

She hurried toward downtown, wishing she had longer to take in the sweet coastal village. Fragrant bay laurels, eucalyptus, live oaks, and maple trees lined the sidewalks, creating a canopy of green and yellow overhead. That would make for good B-roll.

She passed a historic white concrete jailhouse now turned museum and had to stop briefly to take a quick video of the sidewalk sign designed to look like a card from Monopoly that read: Go To Jail. An old rustic red grange advertised garden supplies and live baby chicks. She gasped at the beautiful fall displays that greeted her as she turned onto Main Street—hay bales, cornstalks bundled with gingham orange and green ribbons, and bunches of pumpkins. Fall bunting and Edison-style bulbs stretched from one side of the charming street to the other. A cheery, bright orange banner advertising the Fall Harvest Fest hung beneath the lights.

The same was true for the restaurants and coffee shops with bistro tables set up on the sidewalk. She tried to imagine the decorations in Seattle, and the only word she could come up with was soggy. Very soggy. As she walked along, every storefront was painted a different color. Some had bright awnings. Others had bay windows or roll-up garage doors. Each of them had colorful umbrellas to block the sun—the sun!

Shelby closed her eyes, lifting her chin to the sky, and inhaled as deeply as she could, letting the warmth soak into her skin.

Her therapist had hinted that Shelby might have a touch of seasonal affective disorder that could be exacerbating her anxiety and depression over her family situation. Maybe she was right.

Shelby couldn’t deny there was an extra spring in her step as she passed storefronts equally in the spirit for the Fall Harvest Fest. Everything in the sweet downtown was drenched in shades of orange, green, yellow, maroon, and brown. Her phone announced that her destination was two hundred feet ahead on the left. There it was—the Green Grocer.

Ironically, the Green Grocer was not green. The paneled front windows and awning were painted a calming grayish blue, and the door stood out with its bright cranberry-red paint and a large autumnal wreath constructed from grapevines.

She crossed the street and ran smack into a guy coming out of the store. He was tall and lanky with light brown hair, a little cleft in his chin, and a deep dimple in his left cheek. His hair was probably naturally highlighted like that from the sun. She would have to pay a small fortune to get salon highlights that good.

“Sorry.” The guy caught her arm as she stumbled over the threshold. His forearms were strong and sturdy. Much more muscular than she would have guessed.

Why are you thinking about his forearms?

Shelby gave her shoulders a shake. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” She cleared her throat, wondering why she suddenly felt so flustered.

“Are you sure?” The guy looked at her with concern. “You almost faceplanted there.”

“No, I did not,” Shelby snapped, trying to brush past him. It wasn’t because of the guy. He was, well… well… hot. And cute. And maybe slightly nerdy, but in a good way. She had to resist the urge to check him out again.

No, it wasn’t that. It was Jim. He was already here, and by the looks of it, had been for a while. He had a bunch of paperwork spread out on one of the small tables near the deli counter and was chatting easily with their new client, as if they had known each other for years.

Damn.

And why the hell is his shirt stained with coffee?

“You’re sure, you’re good?” the guy asked one more time.

“Yes. Fine. I’m fine.” She let out a long breath in irritation. “Fine.”

“Can I help you with anything?” The guy brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. He looked like he was headed out for the day with a hiking pack slung over his shoulder and sunglasses propped on his head. He wore a pair of relaxed shorts and a gray, breathable trail shirt. “Happy to help.”

What was his deal? Did he have some kind of a Good Samaritan complex?

“No, I’m here to meet with the owner.” Shelby’s gaze drifted toward Jim again.

“It’s your lucky day. You’re looking at one of them.” The guy leaned back and spread his arms wide. “Pete Brown.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Shelby gave him a curt nod, keeping her face as passive and professional as possible. Internally, she was trying not to freak out. This was Pete? The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. She cleared her throat and held her head higher. “You’re Miranda’s son. You posted the viral video.”