That Second Chance Page 6

  He exits the coffeehouse, leaving me with a pounding heart and racing thoughts.

  Dear Lord, did I just tell him I wish I had chest hair?

  I kind of want to go crawl in a corner right about now.

  As Ruth hands me my coffee and sandwich, I go to pay her, but she holds up her hand. “It’s on me, not just because you’re new but to welcome you to the club.”

  “The club?”

  She nods. “The ‘I said something idiotic to Griffin Knightly’ club. Happens to all of us at some point.” She winks and then starts wiping down the counter. “He might be untouchable, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still act like fools around him.”

  Untouchable? Bad case of love? There’s something I’m missing here when it comes to Griffin Knightly, but no matter how curious I might be, I’m not about to ask. Strange as it might seem, I feel loyal to Griffin. He’s the guy who pulled me out of my car, and he’s been so incredibly kind to me. I don’t want to go digging around for dirt when I don’t need to, especially with the way the gossip is around here. You never know what’s true and what’s not.

  And hell, I hope to God Ruth isn’t one of the people I need to worry about when it comes to gossiping. If word got out that the new algebra teacher wants to grow chest hair, the town telephone line might very well explode.

  I have a half hour to burn until my landlord arrives with the lease. I spend it sitting in the back of the coffeehouse next to a window, people watching, taking in all the patrons who come into the coffeehouse and all the people walking by on the streets. Just from a small amount of time observing, I can already start to tell who’s a tourist and who’s a local.

  The locals have a faster, more purposeful step, while the tourists take their time, getting a feel for the town while they cautiously make their way down the sidewalk. I hope to be a combination of both, sure of where I’m going but also happy to take in the sights, sounds, and smells as I make my way through my new home.

  The door to the coffee shop opens, a light breeze floating around the tables and chairs. I focus on the figure in the doorframe, tall and broad, the spitting image of Griffin. But instead of short hair, this man’s hair is longer, curling over his ears, and instead of a white lobster shirt, he’s wearing black jeans and a black button-up shirt, unbuttoned at the top and showing off a small V of his skin. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, a tic pulls at his jaw as he takes in the coffee shop, eyes searching. He’s a man on a mission.

  And then a pair of familiar electric-blue eyes spots me, and I’m having a hard time looking away. “Usual, please,” he calls out to Ruth as he walks toward me.

  I swear this man is Griffin in a wig. I’m so thrown off it takes a moment to register that he’s standing in front of me, hand held out as a greeting.

  “Uh, are you okay?” He bends down slightly to take me in.

  “Yes, sorry.” I shake my head, trying to get it together. “Hi, I’m Ren.”

  “Rogan from Rogue Realty. Nice to meet you.”

  This man is my landlord?

  This man who looks like he just walked out of GQ, freshly styled with a douse of cologne from one of the free sample pages. He is all kinds of wow . . . just like Griffin. Port Snow apparently is hot-guy paradise.

  He takes a seat across from me and sets down a leather-bound folder. Leaning back in his chair, he casually drapes his right ankle over his knee and stares me down.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re giving me a weird look.”

  I clear my throat, inwardly chastising myself for staring. “I’m sorry, you just look a lot like the guy who helped me out of my car yesterday.”

  “Griff? Yeah, he’s my brother.”

  Well, that makes sense. Maybe I do have a concussion; that should have dawned on me a lot sooner than it did, especially knowing his last name.

  “Oh . . . yup, there is a definite resemblance. Funny that he didn’t mention you last night when we spoke about the house.”

  Rogan flips open his folder with one finger and pulls out a pen just as Ruth brings him a cup of coffee. He looks up at her with a sincere smile. “Thanks, Ruthie. Put it on the tab?”

  “Always.”

  When she walks away, Rogan turns back to me. “Griff likes to leave out details and keep to himself. Heard he had to extract you from your car using the jaws of life.”

  With a lift of his brow and a pointed look, he studies my reaction as I roll my eyes.

  “Not you too. Being Griffin’s brother, I would have expected you to not buy in to the town gossip.”

  “I don’t; I’m just testing out your rage level. I’m sure you’ve heard multiple stories by now. You handled that well. Glad to know you won’t be going on a rampage in the Alabaster Haven while you’re staying there.”

  “Oh, you’re going to have to push me a lot harder than that if you want me to go on a rampage.”

  “Yeah?” He plays with his pen, twirling it between his fingers. “What’s your hot button?”

  “Is this part of the landlord interview? You know I’ve already moved in, right? I put my clothes away in the dresser drawers.”

  “I’m not opposed to eviction.” His dry sense of humor and delivery throw me off. The only way I can tell he’s joking is from the small crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

  “Playing hardball, I see. Okay.” I take a sip of my coffee and then set it on the table, cradling it with both of my hands as I stare back at Rogan, taking in the strong, classic features, so similar to Griffin’s. Their parents must have incredibly attractive genes. “Hot button? Well, I’d have to say it would be something like destroying my sweets stash.”

  “Sweets stash?”

  I nod. “I love sweets. Any kind—I need them in my life. I always have a stash in my house for emergency purposes, and if someone touches it, we’re done. Horns grow from my head, and I start spitting fireballs.”

  “Fireballs, huh? Not just fire?”

  “Nope, straight-up balls.” I point at him. “Remember that if you don’t want your house burned to the ground.”

  “Noted.” He starts pulling out paperwork and shuffling through it. While Griffin, I imagine, would have laughed with me or at least chuckled, Rogan is a little more straitlaced, business type. “Do you have a stash yet?”

  “Huh?”

  He peers up. “A sweets stash. Have you established one yet?”

  “Oh, no, not yet. The whole car-between-trees incident set me back yesterday.”

  The corner of his lip barely tilts up as he looks back down at the papers. “Well, I suggest you head on over to the Lobster Landing. They’ll be able to set you up with some sweets for your secret stash.” He hands me a business card. “On the back of that is a twenty percent off coupon. Go wild.”

  “Wow, thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “Now let’s get down to business.”

  Lease papers, a coupon for some yummy treats, and a brisk conversation later, I’m headed to take a look at the damage to my car. It’s at the town’s auto shop, which, according to my phone’s navigation, is just a short walk down Main. It seems like I won’t even need a car that much; everything is within walking distance, or at least the bare essentials are.

  Now that it’s past ten and all the shops are open on this bright and humid Tuesday morning, the tourists are filling up the sidewalks, excitement beaming from their faces as they talk about the Lobster Landing and catching a boat tour. I’m even more enamored with my new little town as I watch visitors take pictures in front of the beautiful stone library, the rows of pastel buildings lining the harbor, and the kitschy tourist photo opportunities like the giant rocking chair and the lobster bench in front of the Lobster Landing.

  I make a mental note to take my own pictures at some point.

  I turn down Lighthouse Way, which I know—thanks to some well-written Yelp reviews—leads to the town’s lighthouse and attached restaurant known famously for its lobster bisque. I’ll be trying that as soon as I can, as
well as eating my fair share of lobster.

  To the right, I immediately spot the auto shop, a large white building with the name BRIG’S GARAGE spray-painted on the side in the same pastel colors seen throughout town. For crying out loud, does everything here have to be so cute?

  Two large garage doors are open to the public, displaying a very pristine-looking interior with white walls and chrome tool benches, and that’s when I spot my car, raised up on a platform, looking pathetic with its caved-in sides and broken window. Oh boy. It looks worse than I remember.

  “Can I help you?” A man wiping his hands on a red cloth steps up next to me, his forearms covered in dirt and oil. I glance up, and my jaw drops.

  What in the hell?

  Same blue eyes.

  Same brown hair.

  Same built body.

  But instead of a clean-shaven face and smile lines around his eyes, he has thick stubble caressing his jaw and a tattoo peeking past the neckline of his shirt, and his hair is styled thickly on top of his head, messy in the best way.

  “Uh . . .” I can feel myself scanning his younger face, the same face I’ve been staring at for what seems like the whole day. “Are you by any chance related to Griffin Knightly?”

  A smile stretches across his face as he holds out his hand. “Yup. Brig Knightly. I’m his brother. And you are?”

  I take his hand in mine. “Ren Winters, the owner of the red tree-smashed car up there.”

  He glances up at the car and then chuckles. “Ahh, so you’re the one my brother rescued from the pond.”

  “The pond?”

  “Yeah, heard he had to crack the window open so you didn’t drown. Not sure where the tree came in or if the pond was really a thing at all, because I didn’t see any water damage, but still, you’re the girl. PE teacher, right?”

  “Algebra,” I correct him. “And there was no pond. Just trees, a ditch, and a moose.”

  He nods knowingly. “Ah, classic. Happens to the best of us. I’ve seen many cars in this shop because of a wild moose.”

  “Really? I was thinking I didn’t know any better because I’m new to town.”

  “Well, that’s correct”—he chuckles—“but there have been locals who’ve lived here all their lives and still end up getting in some moose-related accident. It comes with the territory.”

  “That makes me feel a little better.” I twist my hands together, feeling nervous. Don’t say anything stupid, Ren, like wanting to grow chest hair. “So is the damage bad?”

  He turns to fully face me and looks both ways before leveling with me. “It isn’t good, but it’s fixable, and trust me when I say you’ll be treated fairly here. We can get the old girl up and running again, but it will take at least a few weeks. There’s been some real cosmetic damage, and then there’s the parts we need to replace, along with the new airbag. It’s going to be a bit. Plus, it’s behind a long line of cars that are waiting to be fixed.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” I sigh, plastering a smile on my face. “At least Port Snow has two Uber drivers to rely on. Do you happen to know if they drive into other towns that have either a Walmart or Target?”

  “Bart will; Wallace won’t. He’s a stingy old bastard and tries to cut down Bart every chance he gets.”

  I was a firsthand witness to that last night.

  “Rogue told me you’re in Alabaster Haven, right?” I nod. “Which means you’re a few houses down from Griff. Just borrow his truck if you need to go anywhere; he rarely uses it. Likes to walk most of the time.”

  “Oh no.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t bother him for his truck. That seems a little too aggressive for someone who just met him yesterday, and not in the best way either. Me getting rescued while freaking out doesn’t make us best friends who borrow trucks, you know?”

  “Nah, he’s cool. Just ask. Until then, let me take your number so I can call you with any updates.” He walks me into the very clean and orderly garage, where he writes my number down on a clipboard with my car information on it. He then pulls out a card and hands it over to me. “Here’s my info if you need to get in touch, and hey, there’s a twenty percent off coupon to the Lobster Landing on the back. They have great fudge; check it out if you get a chance.”

  These boys seem to really enjoy promoting their family business—it’s certainly endearing.

  I think I’m just going to have to go there and see what all the fuss is about.

  I flash him a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate your help and the discount.”

  “Not a problem. Welcome to Port Snow, Ren.”

  Holy hell, is it busy in here.

  I stand still, taking in the cutest little gift shop I’ve ever seen. White shiplap covers the interior, with the exception of the exposed-brick wall behind the register, which is painted the same teal color as the trim outside. The gold, old-fashioned register itself is still in working order. Adorable.

  The hardwood floors are a beautiful blond color, and the cases of fudge and pastry are spotless, the glass curved enough to give you a lovely view of all the goodies. There is a roped-off area where you can get in line for sweets, separating visitors with a hankering for fudge and pastries from the ones who want to buy something else, like a lobster-shaped oven mitt or a Port Snow T-shirt with the Lobster Landing logo on the front. Smart.

  I glance toward the glass cases, and my mouth quickly waters, anticipating what I’ll bring home. One of those scones, for sure—my God, do they look amazing. I’m pretty sure this is where I’ll be spending half my teaching salary.

  The line is a bit long, so I decide to venture around the store first, maybe check out the shirts. As of this morning, I am officially a resident of Port Snow. I should have a shirt to represent my new hometown.

  I make my way toward the T-shirts, where I see one that immediately grabs my attention. A pale teal with Port Snow printed in a white font. Cute and simple with a V-neck and a feminine cut. I’m sifting through the sizes, searching for a medium, when I hear a familiar voice next to me. “Can I help you find something?”

  I look up and spot Griffin, wearing a backward ball cap and a cocky kind of smile. “Hey, Griffin, I think—”

  “I’m Reid, but I get that all the time.” That devilish smile appears again. “Despite the five years between us, we’re pretty much the same guy. The way you can tell the difference is he has wrinkles and I don’t.”

  I blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust. “You’re Griffin’s brother?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How many of you are there?” I finally ask, a question that probably should have been posed earlier in the day.

  He laughs, that rich sound I’ve already heard a few times. How is it possible to have so many replicas of one person? It’s actually a little freaky and weird. “There are four of us. Griffin, Rogan, myself, and Brig, who’s the baby of the family, and Jen is our older sister. I’m assuming you met Griffin already?”

  “He was the man who rescued me from my car yesterday, and before you ask if he rescued me from a pond or a tree, he didn’t; it was just straight from my car, and he carried me up the hill.”

  “Ahh,” Reid says knowingly. “You’re the new algebra teacher who was almost run over by a moose on your way into town.”

  Wow, it’s actually refreshing to hear all the facts come from one person.

  “Yes, that’s me.” I hold out my hand. “Ren Winters. Pleasure to meet you, Reid.”

  “Nice to meet you too. Griffin told us a little bit about you this morning when we were opening shop. You’re staying in Alabaster Haven, right?”

  “Yup. It’s how I met Rogan.”

  “And your car must be in Brig’s shop, so you’ve met him already.”

  “Correct.” I point at him, loving how friendly everyone is here. Living in Los Angeles has jaded me a bit when it comes to interacting with strangers, so this is refreshing. “You guys all look exactly alike. It’s thrown me off all day. I kept thinking yo
u were all Griffin in disguise.”

  “What? That old man? He doesn’t have time to be running around in costume. But I will let you in on a little secret.” He leans forward, and I mimic his posture, ready for a little dirt on his oldest brother despite myself. He looks furtively from side to side. “I’m the hottest out of the four,” he whispers.

  Oh Jesus.

  “Keep dreaming,” says a deep voice that rumbles over me, smooth as molasses. I turn to find Griffin standing behind me—the Griffin—hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, a charming smile showing off his straight white teeth, pecs apparent beneath his crisp white shirt.

  I might just disagree with Reid on who the hottest brother is.

  Griffin nods toward Reid. “Cover me up front; I need a fudge break for a second.”

  Reid grumbles under his breath and walks away, leaving me alone with Griffin.

  He shifts on his feet. “Get everything done you needed to get done today?”

  I fold my arms over my chest, trying to ignore my marathon-level heart rate and sweaty palms. “For the most part. I ran into all your brothers. Nice of you to let me know you have so many.”

  A small dimple appears on the left side of his face as he chuckles. “Get a little confused?”

  “Uh, yeah. I kept thinking I was seeing you all over the place. It was not good for my psyche.”

  “Sorry to break the news to you, but we are all over the place. And as a heads-up, we have a sister, too, but she doesn’t look anything like us. She takes after our mom. We boys look like our dad.”

  Well then, their dad must be freaking hot.

  “Five kids? That must have had its challenges growing up.”

  He shrugs. “It had its moments.”

  I decide to leave it at that. “Well, I’m going to get this shirt and some pastries. Any suggestions?”

  Glancing over at the glass container, he nods. “Blueberry scone, three cider doughnuts, a quarter pound of the neapolitan fudge, and two thumbprint cookies.”