That Swoony Feeling Page 2

  “Don’t like dirtying a dish if I don’t have to.” I set the mustard-filled napkins to the side and then sit taller, trying to earn back some dignity while looking between them. “Tell me everything.”

  “Can I trust that you keep this to yourself?”

  “Not really, but I’ll try,” I answer.

  Harper chuckles and says, “At least he’s honest.”

  Rogan rubs his hand over his forehead and says, “You can’t tell anyone, at least not for a few days until Mrs. Davenport announces. Can you promise me that?”

  “It will be painful, but I’ll give it a valiant effort.”

  “Thank you for your sacrifice,” Rogan replies with an eye roll. He glances at Harper quickly, almost as if he’s asking permission. She gives him a brief nod and then he turns back to me. “Mrs. Davenport is putting together a Summer of Love Pen Pal program.”

  “What?” I ask, full of intrigue, sitting at the edge of the couch now, feeling life start to pump through my veins again. “Pen pal love?”

  He nods. “She was telling me about it this afternoon while we were eating ice cream together. She said she was bored and felt like her time could be spent helping the singles in town connect.”

  “I’m listening,” I say, fully facing Rogan now.

  “Apparently, she watched Love is Blind and was so fascinated by the concept of talking but not seeing each other, so she came up with her own Port Snow version. Since she can’t stick people in pods and keep them there forever, she went with pen pals. She asked me if I thought you would be interested—”

  “Hell yeah, I’m interested,” I say, popping off the couch and walking over to where my discarded shirt is. I put it on and then pick up the deodorant from my kitchen table. I swipe under my armpits, cap it off, and then clap my hands together. “When do we get started?”

  “Uh, not right now. It’s eight at night.”

  “But I’m full of life,” I say, hopping up and down. “This could be it, this could be my shot at love.” I push my hand through my hair. “Think of the possibilities. Is she pulling singles from Pottsmouth? Because I’m cool with that. More variety, you know? There aren’t many single people here in town.”

  “Not sure on the details. She just asked if you were interested.”

  “Put me down as a hell yes.” I pump my fist. “God, here I was, thinking I was going to die single, and then this just dropped in my lap. What are the odds?”

  “Yeah, crazy,” Rogan says in a monotone voice while scratching the back of his neck. “So I’ll let her know you’re in. She’ll give you all the details.”

  “Perfect.” I clap my hands loudly and then give the echo of the apartment a good old-fashioned “woop woop” while heading to the kitchen. Mood shifted, I strap on my hostess pants and ask, “Can I delight you two in a drink?”

  Harper chuckles and shakes her head. “I’m good, but I’m pretty sure your brother is going to need a beer.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got that right.”

  I grab two beers, crack them open, hop over the back of the couch, and take a seat while handing Rogan his bottle, a local brew from here in Port Snow. Relaxing and feeling more invigorated, I ask, “So, what do you want to discuss about the wedding? Need to use the back of the garage?”

  I own an auto shop in town, having spent my younger years fixing up cars. And trust me when I say this isn’t your ordinary oil-changing tire shop full of grease and grime. Fuck no. I take pride in my shop. It’s clean, it’s modern, and the back of the lot is surrounded by trees, the perfect event space. I’ve rented it out to many weddings in town. The appeal? It’s secluded, I have a liquor license, and as a side business, which is included in the event package, I rent out vintage Mustangs to tourists.

  It’s different—unique—but it’s become a wildly popular venue, especially for out-of-towners. It’s an easy incentive to keep my building looking pristine at all times, and the extra revenue has allowed me to expand my business to include vintage car rentals for those wanting to tour in style. “Well, we’re getting married at Snow Vale Manor for obvious reasons.” The old white manor that Rogan renovated is another event space in town, one that holds special meaning for Harper and Rogan. Pretty sure they lost their virginity in that place. “But we were looking around for the perfect rehearsal dinner location and were hoping we could have it behind the garage,” Harper says, as she twists her hands in her lap, looking nervous.

  Not sure why.

  “I would be fucking honored,” I say with a smile. “I can plan the whole thing.”

  “You know Mom will want to be a part of the planning,” Rogan says, sipping his beer. “She wanted to have it at the house, but I convinced her to ask you since the land is flat in the back and we’re not up against the ocean. You know how Mom gets when she hosts things at the house. I’d rather not stress her out.”

  “She turns psychotic, which ignites Dad’s temper, and then for some reason, Jen always steps in with snarky comments about how her four brothers are useless.” I shake my head and sip my beer. “Why does Jen always have to get involved in the hysterics?”

  “Older sister always butting in.”

  Harper clears her throat. “So that’s a yes?”

  “Of course, sis,” I say with a wink. “You didn’t even have to ask. Whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” Harper says, leaning over and pulling me into a hug. From over her shoulder I spot Rogan’s gaze, taking in the hug, a large smile crossing his face.

  It’s been a while since I’ve seen that smile. His relationship with Harper has had its dark moments, moments I never thought they’d get through. If I’m happy for any of my brothers finding love, it has to be Rogan. He was the one who’s punished himself the most. The one who’s worked his ass off for the Port Snow empire he has now, and with Harper at his side, he’s finally able to enjoy it.

  Harper pulls away and says, “You’re a good brother.”

  “The best, and don’t you forget it.” Turning to Rogan I say, “Now tell me more about this pen pal summer of love . . .”

  Chapter Two

  RUTH

  “I’m exhausted,” I say, taking a seat across from my best friend, Rylee.

  She sets her computer to the side and props her feet up on the wood coffee table in front of her. Since noon, she’s been tapping away at her computer in her “sex chair,” finishing one of her very steamy romance novels. Her favorite place to write is in my coffee shop, Snow Roast, in one of the big armchairs in the corner, next to the window. She calls it her “sex chair” because she supposedly writes the best sex scenes while sitting in it.

  I avoid that chair at all times now.

  “When are you going to hire more people?” Rylee brings her almond milk chai to her lips. “You make so much money being the only coffee house in Port Snow, you can afford it.”

  “I know,” I say on a sigh. “It just feels weird, hiring someone else. It’s always been family owned and operated.”

  Rylee sets her hand on my knee and says lovingly, “I adore you, Ruth, and I loved your parents so much, but you haven’t taken a second to breathe since they passed. They wouldn’t want you working this hard.”

  “But they were able to do it on their own,” I say, pulling my bottom lip under my teeth.

  “Yes, and they had each other and your aunt Moira and uncle John. They weren’t a one-woman show with a baker. You need to hire help and pursue the things you really want to pursue.”

  “And what things are those?” I ask, leaning my head back on the chair next to Rylee’s.

  “Well, for one, you can finally open Piccadilly Parlor.”

  I shake my head. “There aren’t any storefronts in Port Snow that I can afford. You and I both know that. To make a successful business, it needs to be on Main Street.”

  “Talk to Rogan.” She nudges. “I bet he can help you out.”

  Is she insane? “I’m not talking to Rogan.”

  Just casually
talk to Rogan Knightly? I can barely form words when any of the Knightly brothers walk into the coffee house, let alone ask one of them for a favor.

  “Why . . . because he’s Brig’s brother?” Rylee says with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

  “No,” I answer quickly, even though I can feel a blush creep up my cheeks.

  Brig Knightly. Enter shameless sigh.

  I’ve known of him ever since my parents moved us to Port Snow and opened Snow Roast. He caught my attention immediately. The youngest of the Knightlys, he was charming in the hallways of our school. Smart, driven, and handsome. I felt my entire body heat up whenever he came close. But being shy around boys, I never gained the courage to speak to him, and it’s still like that to this day. Me pining after someone I’ll never get to know on a deeper level.

  “Ask him out . . . please, just ask him out already,” Rylee pleads, knowing the saga that is my crush on Brig Knightly.

  “Have you lost your mind?” I ask on a whisper, looking around the shop, even though I know it’s empty. “What have I told you about saying things like that in public?”

  “No one’s here, Ruth.” She sighs, exasperated. “And frankly, watching you pine after him from over the counter is starting to give me metaphorical blue balls. I think it’s affecting my sex life with Beck.”

  Scoffing, I say, “Pretty sure your triplets are affecting your sex life with Beck, not me.”

  “They’re angels,” she says, hand to heart. “But three nights a week is just not enough, and I think it’s because of you.”

  Three nights a week. Good grief, if only she knew the last time I had sex . . . hell, if only I knew.

  She nudges me with her foot. “I’m serious, Ruth, when are you going to make a move?”

  “Never. And if we can talk about something else, I would love that.”

  “You never know until you—”

  “He doesn’t like me,” I practically shout and then try to calm my accelerated heartbeat. Lowering my voice, I repeat, “He doesn’t like me, Rylee.”

  “Why do you say that? Did he tell you he doesn’t like you?”

  “No, but isn’t it obvious? The man is desperate for a relationship, has practically dated everyone in town, but has never looked in my direction.” I glance to the side, my eyes landing on the stack of clean mugs I need to put away. “He’s not into me, and I’m not about to embarrass myself and ask him out.”

  “That’s not true, maybe he’s just—”

  The bell above the door rings and Rogan walks in dressed in all black, head to toe, looking handsome as ever, just like every other Knightly man in this town. I admit, Rogan is incredibly attractive, but he’s always been a bit of a mystery to me, maybe a little intimidating too.

  He spots me and Rylee in the corner, and once again, I feel my cheeks burn in flames. I know he couldn’t possibly have heard what we were talking about, but the thought that he did catch us talking about his youngest brother makes me break out in a thin sweat anyway.

  “Hey ladies, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says, casually walking toward us.

  Oh, not at all, just talking about your brother and my impossible infatuation with him and how he won’t look my way.

  “Nope, nothing,” I answer, swallowing hard.

  “Nothing at all,” Rylee says slyly. “Come join us, Rogan.”

  “Sure,” he says, looking a little apprehensive. He takes a seat on an arm of a chair diagonal from me.

  “How’s the wedding planning going?”

  “Good.” He nods, hands clasped in front of him. “Trying to keep it small in this town feels next to impossible, but we’re determined.”

  “Everyone vying for an invitation?” Rylee asks.

  “Yeah, especially since the newspaper keeps saying it’s the party of the century.” He grips the back of his neck in distress. “We don’t even know what we’re doing yet and the town is blowing it up.”

  “If I were you, I’d elope,” Rylee says.

  “I wish. My parents and Harper’s dad would murder us, plus, we really want to get married at Snow Vale Manor. We can’t think of anywhere else that would hold more meaning.”

  Rylee grips her heart. “Oh that’s right. Your love story would make the perfect romance novel. I might have to pick your brain one day. Friends to lovers, second-chance romance. Ugh, I need it in my life.”

  He chuckles and then nods at me. “How are you, Ruth? Plan on participating in the Summer of Love event?”

  “Uh.” I look over at Rylee who perks up.

  “What’s the Summer of Love?” she asks.

  “Mrs. Davenport is putting it on. Basically, you fill out a questionnaire, then she matches up couples, and they write to each other all summer. Pen Pal kind of stuff. She has a mailbox in the post office that’s dedicated specifically for the project, so all letters are anonymous.” Rogan shrugs his shoulders. “Brig’s doing it.”

  Oh dear God.

  My heart seizes.

  “Really?” Rylee drags out, giving me a sly look.

  I want to kill her.

  Stop looking at me. Stop looking at me.

  Don’t give me away . . .

  “Hear that? Brig’s doing it.”

  Mortification creeps up the back of my neck, stiffening my spine and stealing all words from my mouth in a breathless act of embarrassment.

  Face blazing, I clear my throat and stand. “Uh, is there anything I can get you, Rogan?”

  “Yeah, I’m actually meeting—”

  “What would she have to do to apply?” Rylee asks.

  Slightly startled, Rogan turns toward Rylee and says, “I think just fill out the questionnaire and turn it in. Brig already filled his out. I think the deadline is Wednesday.”

  “She’s doing it,” Rylee says as I round the counter of the coffee house. “Imagine if you got matched up with Brig.”

  Wow!

  She’s ripe today.

  Just going to throw that out there . . . in front of his brother.

  “I’m not doing it.” I shake my head, put the mugs away, doing anything to keep myself busy. “I have a lot going on.”

  “Just thought I’d mention it,” Rogan says, and I hear him walk toward the counter.

  “Yeah, busy,” Rylee says, walking up as well. “She wants to open a new business, just looking for some space . . .”

  Oh my God.

  “Rylee,” I snap at her, wondering what in the ever-living hell has gotten into my best friend.

  “Are you looking for real estate?” Rogan asks, his interest piquing, just as the coffee house door opens.

  I glance over Rogan’s shoulder and immediately spot a pair of blue eyes that make me completely and utterly weak in the knees.

  Worn blue jeans wrap around long legs and button at his narrow waist. An air of charm floats in with him, clinging to his torso just like the light blue shirt he’s wearing. His gait is one of confidence, as he eats up the space from the door to the counter.

  Perfect, flawless skin with a light shade of scruff on his carved jaw.

  Brilliantly blue eyes that sparkle with humor.

  Soft, supple lips curve into a heart-stopping smile.

  Brig Freaking Knightly.

  A wave of lust falls over me, capturing my mind in a swirl of need. Like it does every time.

  If you asked me to pinpoint a moment when I fell for Brig, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s as if over time, he became a staple I looked forward to seeing every day, like’s he’s a necessity in my life.

  His charming smile beats straight to my chest as he steps up behind Rogan and clasps his shoulder. Happy as usual, he looks around and says with his New England timbre, “What are we talking about?” When his eyes meet mine, I quickly look away, unable to take the brilliance of his irises, not when I’m in a state of peril.

  “Ruth’s new business,” Rogan answers.

  “Oh yeah, you got something brewing, Ruthie?” he asks and then chuckles to
himself. “No pun intended.”

  Rogan rolls his eyes at his brother’s goofiness, but I melt right there in my white, sensible sneakers.

  Instead of answering him, I get straight to work on their orders. They don’t even have to put them in anymore.

  Plain black coffee for Rogan.

  For Brig, dark roast with a shot of blueberry flavoring, two sugars, and a quarter cup of skim milk, because he can’t stand the bitter flavor of coffee.

  Of course, because of my silence, Rylee says, “Piccadilly Parlor. It’s a tea shop with a dine-in section for tea parties and small gatherings.”

  “Rylee,” I warn, but she doesn’t care that I’m trying to shoot desperate daggers at her with my eyes.

  “She’s having a tough time finding space on Main Street though.”

  “Yeah, there isn’t much available,” Rogan says, scratching the side of his cheek.

  “Hear that? Not much available,” I say through clenched teeth, silently telling Rylee to shut the hell up. “So we should just—”

  “The shop next to the garage is opening up soon,” Brig says, stilling every muscle in my body. “It’ll need some renovations but nothing we can’t help with.”

  “Really?” Rogan says. “Mrs. Burberry’s selling the sewing shop?”

  Brig nods. “Yup, had a long convo about it with her the other day. She was going to contact you but must have gotten distracted. Have you seen the space?” Brig asks me, and I practically swallow my tongue trying to respond.

  “Uh . . . I think I went in there once. Don’t remember it.”

  Brig looks at his watch—brown leather strap, fits him perfectly. “You close in fifteen minutes. I can take you down there. I have a key. Mrs. Burberry would probably be thrilled to not have to do anything to sell it.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Rylee says . . . before I can open my mouth. “I can close up, and Brig can take you to the store to take a look.”

  “I don’t want to bother you. It’s fine.” I finish up their drinks and set them on the counter. Rogan pulls out a ten from his wallet but doesn’t accept change. He never does, so I don’t bother trying anymore.