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“Then what's going down, baby sister?” His voice softens. Calming. Soothing. “C’mon, Kenna. Talk to me. Let it out.”
I take several breaths, quick and deep, trying to get myself under control until I’m not stammering and hitching with every word.
“Everything, Steve.” I croak out finally. “My publisher just rejected my latest novel. My rent’s going up. I can’t meet a single man who isn’t like some creepy carbon copy of Ryan Seacrest. I’m so cursed I might as well be a black cat, and my life is shit. It’s justshitand I don’t know what to do.”
The last part is a wail that makes even me cringe, but Steve takes it all in stride. He always does.
He’s older than me by a few years, almost thirty, but with his bright cheer you’d think he was the younger one. He’s like a Labrador or Golden Retriever or something. Just scratch behind his ears and his world is all good. And if you're hurt, he comes running.
“You’re not cursed,” he says with more confidence than I could ever muster. “You’re going to be fine. Everyone has bad streaks. The important thing is to make a plan and get through it. You’re great at planning, remember?”
“Right. Just fabulous. The last time I planned a family vacation, we ended up sleeping in a stable in Nepal. With goats. Remember?”
“That was an AirBnB mixup, not yours.” He laughs. “Look, sis, you need to recharge your batteries before you write your next book. So why not stop worrying about rent and get away to the beach?”
I snort. “Sure, I have beach money lying around. I’ll just live on my wealthy rich kid trust fund for a few months.”
“Okay, smartass,” he teases gently. “But I’m serious. I know a place you can hang out. Look, it’s just a few hours north of L.A., like twenty minutes north of the bay in Sausalito. You can drive there in less than a day. An old friend has this place on the beach where you can stay in the guest house rent free.”
I tilt my head, eyeballing the bottle of Moscato. It’s calling me, but I’m trying to resist its lure. It won't help me. Steve, on the other hand...
“No such thing as rent free,” I tell him. “Where's the catch?”
“Nah, no catch. Friends helping friends, that’s all. You remember Landon, right? My best friend? How we were always over at his place when Mom and Dad were traveling?”
I remember.
I remember hard enough to drop a stone on my heart, and the bottle of Moscato’s suddenly in my hand like a woman dying of thirst while I take a deep swig.
Holy hell, Landon Strauss. I could live ten more lifetimes andI'd never, ever forget that name.
“Nope!” I say as soon as I swallow. “Sorry, Steve, but no.”
Landon Strauss isn't someone I need to be around. He’s just a dark memory.
But wasn't it that memory of blue eyes and how starry-eyed he made me feel that led to a completely foolish decision tonight?
Once upon a time, I had the worst crush on Landon Strauss. More than a crush, actually.
I was crazy mad in love with him, and how he’d spin me all around until I was ecstatic and floating, the next I was small and awkward and ready to crawl in a hole and die.
I don’t want that feeling back. The nerd next door, glasses and all. Annoying baby sister tagging along everywhere.
I'm also not ready to revisit that unspeakable, unholy thing that happened the day my crush on Landon ended. That stupid, dark, soul shocking thing that transformed him into someone else right before my eyes.
Not just no.Hell no!
I’ve grown into myself and I’m now McKenna Burke, successful romance author.
But to Landon, I’ll always be that annoying child who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, and uncovered secrets I never should've seen the day I picked up his damn journal when he wasn't looking.
I’ll always be the girl who knows something damning I can never believe, but that could ruin him if I ever opened my mouth.
He hates me. And I should hate him.
And he sure as hell won’t want me living on his property anytime this century.
“Kenna? Why not? What's the big deal?” Steve asks, pulling me back from my memory-misted past and into my wine-fogged present. “Hey, it’s not like he’s going to invade your fortress of solitude or anything. You’ll have plenty of free writing time. He won’t even be there most of the time.”
